Origin of The Prince of Light
by Scuttlest
Summary: All tales have their beginnings, all legacies have their roots. This is one such story, the origin of Marth, the Prince of Light. FE11/Shadow Dragon. SERIES COMPLETE.
1. Betrayal

**This will be a novelization for Shadow Dragon's four-chapter prologue. At present time, that is all I'm planning on doing. If I feel I'm up to it, I might choose to novelize the entire game, but... we'll see.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>It truly was a beautiful day. A sunny, partially cloudy day in the lush fertile lands of Altea, with the sun shining its golden strands of light to illuminate the landscape. Farmers did their farming, the horsemen tended to their horses. Altea had no real problems with bandits or troublemakers, the country always seemed to be flow with peace and goodwill, some called it the blessing of Anri, the ancient hero who founded the country. Others would have said it was simple luck that Altea was spared what other nations sometimes went through. Whatever the case, Altea had always been a peaceful nation, one at peace with itself and its neighbors. It even had a long-standing friendship with the nations of Gra and Talys. All this peace contributed to why the sudden disappearance of the military didn't phase most individuals.<p>

This was not to say that Altea was complacent with its bounty, it's military was one of the most finely crafted in the world. Gra could not match it, but then, why would Gra be fighting Altea? Macedon, the home of the famed wyvern-riders, could not match it, Talys, the greatest naval power in the world, could not match it, Khadein, the nation of mages, would be similarly overwhelmed. Perhaps Archanea and Grust were the only nations that could meet Altea head on and not look like fools rushing to death.

Despite its military strength, Altea was a fairly small country, compared to mammoths like Archanea and Macedon. Yet Altea had by far the greatest legacy, it was Anri's country. The hero's country.

Centuries ago, Anri was the name of the hero who defeated the Shadow Dragon, Medeus. It is said that Anri wielded a divine blade known as 'Falchion', crafted from the tooth of a Divine Dragon, and with it, crushed Medeus and the empire of Dolhr. That divine sword, ever since Anri's time, rested in Castle Altea.

Of course, skeptics to the story of Anri were abound. Dolhr was nothing but a countryside home to Manakete dragons hiding in caves and abandoned castles. It seemed mere foolishness that the Manaketes had ever maintained an Empire. Yet all the same, there were others that believed with all their hearts, but even they had to admit that the legend may have… exaggerated his tale somewhat.

Anri likely had not slaughtered ten thousand Manaketes with only his bare hands, likely did not fight the entirety of the Dolhr Empire single-handedly, nor was it likely that he had defeated a well-rested Medeus when he himself was half dead from exhaustion. Yet it was true that Anri had likely turned near defeats into rousing successes, had lit a fire in the hearts of the humans of his era, and led humanity from the depths of slavery, to freedom.

The proof of his existence lay in the Falchion that for so long had sat undisturbed in Castle Altea. A mere glance at it and any blacksmith could tell that the blade was forged of a material they had never seen before. Whether it was truly forged from the tooth of a Divine Dragon… was debatable.

Right now, Altea's military was not present in the country itself. A full month ago, Cornelius, the king of Altea, had left with the greatest troops the nation had to offer, in his hand was Falchion.

That fact seemed to unsettle some of the elders, who knew that the military disappearing might have foretold a conflict. Though rumors of a war with Archanea or Macedon certainly persisted, and talks of relations with Gra having turned sour were abundant, no one really knew what was going on.

And that last rumor would have simply been laughed off. Dolhr was just a collection of bitter Manaketes loosely allied together, and Medeus, he was dead. No more then a story for children, 'You had better behave, or Medeus will come take you away', just something to try and get the younger ones to act properly. No, whatever Altea's military had left to fight, if indeed it was a war they had run off to, was another human nation, not against Dolhr, or against a bunch of Manaketes stewing in resentment.

Yet, in the coming weeks, the people would find that the suggestion of Dolhr, and the possibility of being betrayed by Gra, were, perhaps, a bit closer to the mark then anyone could have suspected.

At present, Altea was ruled by Queen Liza, Cornelius' beloved, and with her were the royal children. The older sibling, princess Elice, and the younger sibling, prince Marth.

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><p>Marth, prince of Altea, paced anxiously through the halls of the castle he called home. His father, along with the great majority of Altea's knights, had left once they had determined that Medeus, known as the Shadow Dragon, had risen. Marth's father, Cornelius, unlike most of the nobles, was interested in the tales of the ancient conflict between Medeus and Anri, the legendary hero. Cornelius didn't ridicule it as a fantasy as others had, and believed that there was, indeed, a chance that the Earth Manakete was out there, plotting a cold revenge from whatever realm he had been banished to.<p>

When Cornelius made the call to arms, there were no objections, though many, Marth knew, were skeptical about Medeus' existence, let alone his 'resurrection'. Cornelius even petitioned Altea's ally, Gra, for aid, this aid was granted, and the combined force of two of the world's most prominent military forces now marched on Dolhr, and Dolhr's newfound allies, Grust and Khadein.

What of the other nations? They had surely caught wind that war was coming, though they made no move, perhaps biding their time to see how it could be turned to their advantage, or waiting to see which side fate would favor.

Marth continued to pace, briefly bringing a hand up to the hilt of his rapier, 'if you have so much energy to pace, then surely you have the energy for your training' his father was fond of saying. Yes, perhaps a little time with Frey and Jagen could do him some good.

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><p>"Princess Elice." One soldier spoke, Altea's princess, older sister of Marth rose her head from whatever book she was reading here in her hearth. She smiled and nodded in recognition of the man. He wouldn't say that she had been so engrossed in the book that it had been his third time calling her name.<p>

"Is there something I should know?" She asked, closing her book, but not before putting a piece of cloth on the page she was on so she could come back later.

"We have a message from the front-lines. I'm not allowed to read it, but-" the soldier revealed a letter in his hand, taking a step forward to hand it to the princess, who accepted it between two fingers. The man stood stoically silent as princess Elice opened the letter, she knew full well that this could have offered horrible, horrible news, or tremendously uplifting news, but she remained calm and in control. She held the letter in front of her and began to read.

For several seconds she seemed to be sucking in the words in the paper, perhaps just as mesmerized by it as she had been enraptured by the book she had been reading previously. Then she suddenly gasped, her free hand going up to her lips, her other hand tightening its grip on the letter as she continued reading, her breath now frozen, and her eyes welling up with horror. As she finished reading the letter she bolted from her chair.

"G… get Marth, now!" She suddenly exclaimed, offering the tone of voice that didn't allow any questions to be asked. "The throne, tell him to meet me at the throne." The soldier hurried out of the room, she sank back into her chair, her head dipped down, wearing a face of utter defeat.

"Father…" she voiced, barely audible, "Father… tell me… you didn't…"

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><p>Marth always seemed to sweat profusely after a good session with his many trainers, a sign that the sessions are going well, as he had been told before. Most trainers came and went, but Jagen had been helping him develop his skills for as long as he could remember. Because Jagen had been one of his trainers for so long, he knew full well Marth's potential, and how little flaws were present in Marth's swordsmanship. After the session a nice bath had been prepared, and now, with a new set of clothes on, he felt refreshed and better, but with nothing else to do, he returned to his anxious pacing in his room. He didn't have his older sister's interest in reading books and scrolls, he always wanted to be moving, actually <em>doing<em> something. So, his pacing continued, contemplating on what to do next today, until a knock came on his door.

"Please, enter." Marth responded to the knocking, his door creaked open and a soldier walked in. One of the few royal guards that was still here in the country.

"Prince Marth, your sister wishes to see you." He said, folding his arms behind his back, "Said to meet her by the throne, she wants to talk to you about the king's war effort."

"I see." Marth responded, feeling a mixture of relief and dread over what the news could be.

"I'm not privy to the details, but I suspect that it's urgent." He said, then added under his breath "Considering the tone of voice she used when requesting your presence."

"I understand. Thank you." Marth nodded, then walked past the soldier.

"At your service, sire." The soldier answered, though the words were spoken too softly to carry to Marth. Feeling no need to escort him, the soldier continued on his way, conducting a patrol of the castle, a few short minutes told him that the interior of the castle was safe, even despite the lack of the normal soldier supply. It would seem the ideal time for bandits to make their move, perhaps even the ideal time for some Altean noble to try and pull a coup, but nothing had happened. The castle was-

He was suddenly pulled to the side by the arm of another, the Altean soldier was disoriented by the sudden movement, but regained his equilibrium with professional swiftness. He found himself face to face with the person who grabbed him, he was staring at the helm of a Gra soldier.

"What-" The Altean began, "Gra…? What are you-"

"Hm." The Gra soldier began, "I had been hoping the prince would be with you. Too bad." At those words the Altean felt an acute sharp pain in his gut, sharp enough that it took an effort not to scream in response. He tilted his head down to see a sword of Gra design sticking into his gut.

"G-Gra-" the Altean choked out, "What… are you…"

The Gra soldier's only response was to grab the Altean by the shoulder and shove him away. The Altean fell on his back, blood beginning to pour out of his wound. The Gra soldier kneeled down to grab the hilt of his sword, and swiftly ripped it out.

"Bleed to death." Was all the Gra soldier said to the Altean. The Gra soldier raised his hand and made a number of small gestures with his fingers, in response, a number of Gra soldiers appeared from pillars and corners and a number of other hiding places. Taking their cues from the soldier who had performed the kill, they stalked down the hall, their presence in the castle remained unknown to all. All who had seen them had been killed, or, in the case of the last Altean, were about to die.

There was no need to clean up any corpses, it was only early morning, Altea would be dotted with corpses by the time the sun reached it's zenith.

Marth began to near the throne, oblivious to the Gra soldiers behind him. No strike came, they were to take him alive, King Jiol of Gra wanted the prince taken alive, the princess was irrelevant. The lead Gra soldier made more hand gestures to call for a halt in the Gra movement. The soldier examined the prince for a moment.

"He's heading for the throne." The soldier said, he made another series of gestures, two members of the group broke off to head down another path, one that led to the throne, just in case they needed to corner the prince to seize him. With that order given, the soldier made a final gesture to have the others follow him, they moved quickly and silently at first, then louder as they got closer to their target. Stealth was no longer required, and the prince noticing them was no longer an issue.

As expected, Marth realized that there was someone behind him. He continued to walk, and turned his head over his shoulder, probably expecting another Altean soldier, instead what was behind him were clearly soldiers of another land. He stopped, spun on his heel, and faced them, the Gra soldiers, in turn, stopped several paces away from the prince.

"Who are you?" he asked, not raising his voice unless he had a reason to believe that he was in danger.

"We're soldiers of Gra, prince Marth." The lead soldier answered. The soldier's eyes traced themselves to the rapier fastened to Marth's side. Trivial. A prince who had endured little beyond mock battles against instructors that were supposed to lose would prove little challenge to him. "If you know what's best for you, prince, you'll be surrendering to us."

"Surrender?" Marth raised an eyebrow. "But… Gra's an ally nation. Why would I be asked to surrender?"

The lead soldier tilted his head in confusion and bafflement, then leaned his head back and laughed. "Oh, guess word hasn't reached even the nobles of Altea yet." He stopped laughing, and drew his sword. "Prince, Altea lost a friend in Gra today, and if you don't cooperate, it'll lose a prince in _you_ today." The other soldiers began drawing weapons, two wielded lances, another two had axes, but the leader, the one talking to Marth, was the only sword wielder. "I won't repeat myself again prince Marth, surrender."

"I will not." Marth responded defiantly, his hand instinctively going to his rapier, "I will never brook a surrender in my nation, under my own roof!"

"Humph. This little mouse thinks himself an eagle. That pride will attain you only a slow death, Altean prince." The Gra soldier scowled, he watched Marth closely, as if sizing up a meal, then sighed. "We're supposed to deliver you alive, doubtless that meant in pristine condition, but perhaps a little roughing up can be forgiven." The soldier pointed at Marth with his free hand, and two axe wielding Gra soldiers ran forward, they shifted their grip on their axe to a slightly more ineffective grip. They weren't good at holding back, so all they could do was change their method to one slightly less lethal.

They rushed as Marth took his rapier out, the prince backed away from an axe swing that would have critically wounded his sword arm, and leaned to the side to dodge a horizontal swipe. With his rapier in hand, Marth sliced at the elbow joint of one of the Gra soldiers. The soldier responded with a yelp and drew back as the other advanced on the prince. The second soldier missed again, Marth's retaliatory stab went into the soldier's lightly armored gut.

Marth flinched. Enemy or no, he felt it as the Gra fell down as the prince removed the rapier. Unless a Cleric saw to him, Marth had probably indisputably damaged a vital organ or two. He recovered from the realization that he had fatally injured the man just in time to respond to the other axe man, who made a massive swing down, attempting to slice into the prince's shoulder. Marth jumped back, letting the axe swish through the harmless air, Marth sprang back and slashed his rapier across the man's chest, the Gra soldier fell back, clutching his chest, but Marth attacked again. This time across the throat, the soldier fell down and ceased movement.

"Hmm… it would seem that the mouse knows how to bite." The lead soldier mused. He turned to the two lance wielders, "Subdue him, but remember, he must be taken alive. 'Else it'll be _our_ heads on display, not his."

The lance wielders charged forward, but to no avail. Though the reach of their weapons benefited them, and allowed a few cuts and scratches to be applied to the prince, they were swiftly defeated as well.

Marth paused, breathing heavily, bent down, one hand resting on a knee, the other still clutching his rapier. He raised his free hand off his knee and wiped his brow, which was sweating. Operating off of reflex and instinct at the moment, he shut out thoughts of guilt or regret over the now deceased soldiers. He couldn't be thinking about it, not now.

The lead soldier growled as he stepped forward with his sword. "I suppose my men let their guards down because of your obvious pampered life, but I will not follow their mistake. You'll see for yourself the difference between holding back, and pointlessly giving your enemy opportunities." The lead soldier charged, true to his word, he allowed no opening, though he clearly was not fighting with his all. He swung, he stabbed, he parried, he had clearly been training since a young age, and was in his physical prime, the fourteen year old Marth had much growing still to do.

The prince was no lightweight, the soldier had to give him that. Marth's fighting style had few faults and openings, but as the soldier pressed himself, probing for weak points, he suspected that he already knew how to subdue Marth. Marth, he figured, knew little of long drawn-out battles, and would likely panic if he could not make a quick decisive blow to the soldier. Yes, the soldier decided to hang back and put himself on the defensive and allow Marth to grow flustered.

He didn't. Not for a moment did Marth seem to lose his composure. The soldier tried to draw out the battle, a minute passed, then two, then five, if anything was discomforting Marth, it came from his unfamiliarity with striking to kill. In the soldier's frustration, he sprang from the defensive to the offensive, and realized his mistake too late. He nearly ran into Marth's rapier, and the prince took his opportunity, fatally stabbing the soldier in the upper chest, directly beneath the neck.

"N…no…" the soldier spoke as he began to cough blood. "If… if I had captured you, I… could have… bought a nation… with the… re…ward…" The soldier breathed his last and fell down. Marth gasped in horror at the five corpses around him, there had been no other way, but, he didn't know, didn't understand killing. He could fight, but it was for pleasant sparring and entertainment, he knew nothing… nothing of striking to kill, but he had done it. Gulping hard, he turned away, trying to put the twisting feeling in his gut behind him. The door to the throne room was right there in front of him.

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><p>The two Gra soldiers who had been in the throne room turned expectedly, the presumed their allies would walk in, with Marth tied securely and gagged. They were surprised to see Marth walk in, armed.<p>

"Humph. Didn't they attack him?" One Gra soldier asked, crossing his arms in mild frustration. He examined the prince, the expression in Marth's eyes told them that the prince had encountered their allies, and then the soldier noticed the blood on Marth's rapier. "Wait, he… he killed them!"

"Oh, did he now?" The second Gra soldier, sitting on the throne, examined the prince before him. "Well then, less people to share the reward with." The soldier chuckled to himself, "Disable him anyway you feel is appropriate, but he must be taken alive, otherwise… you know how _he_ will reward failure, of course."

"O-of… course." The first Gra soldier answered, lance in hand, he moved in on Marth. "Drop your rapier, prince Marth. It's your only hope of survival."

"Have you gone mad? This is Altea, and you will be forced out of the nation."

"Oh? Tell me, Marth, who will it be that tosses us out?" The soldier on the throne asked. "Already your entire nation has been invaded, the march on your castle should begin momentarily."

"What-" Marth stammered, disbelieving. "You… you lie!"

"I'm afraid not." The soldier standing a few feet away from Marth answered, "But you won't see for yourself, you're about to fall asleep, and you'll awaken in the audience of… well, you'll just see." The soldier charged forward with his lance, keeping the lance low to the ground, hoping to end the fight quickly by hamstringing the prince, rendering him unable to use his legs. Marth jumped to the left, dodging the attempt to slice his legs, he spun around to regain orientation and stabbed his rapier at the soldier, but the Gra soldier was prepared. The soldier suddenly spun, the rapier moved through the empty air to the left of the soldier's head, and the soldier's elbow struck painfully into Marth's side.

With a grunt, Marth moved with the blow, taking a step to the side. The soldier tried to follow it up with a disabling round slash with his lance, but Marth ducked the attack, and cut into the soldier's upper thighs. The soldier shrieked and backed away, Marth saw the opportunity and pressed an attack, critically stabbing the man in the gut. The soldier toppled over, clutching his wounded abdomen as life began to drain out of him.

The last soldier looked at the display, and began to laugh. "Ah-ha. If I'm the only one to take you in, and take the reward all for myself, I'll easily be the richest man on the entire continent."

"You!" Marth suddenly growled, "Get _off_ my father's throne!"

The soldier just began to laugh louder. "Don't you mean _your_ throne? Because if I heard the reports correctly, your dear ol' pop is-"

"Silence!"

The final Gra soldier, somewhat taken aback from the fierceness of Marth's word, stood up from the throne and slowly descended down the steps. "Well, in a few days, it won't matter who actually belongs on this throne, now will it?"

"Altea will endure. It always has."

"I wonder if it can endure occupation, hm?" The soldier brandished his lance, and without further warning, charged. This one was more skilled then the last, but not as in control of himself as the one who wielded a sword in the hall. He was enthusiastic and relentless, no doubt envisioning the reward he would get for delivering Marth to his superiors. He allowed opening after opening on himself, made needlessly large swings, so needlessly large, that Marth managed to get into his range after one such swing, and struck across the soldier's neck.

The soldier, rather then sputter and fall over, clutched at his throat and simply laughed. "Sorry, unlike my comrades, I like some assurance." He pointed to his neck, wrapped around it was a guard, a piece of metal ready for this sort of situation. "Get more creative with where you're striking me!" The soldier sneered as he continued his attack, charging forward with his lance in an obvious attempt to stab the tip of his weapon in a non-vital part of the body, Marth moved to the side as the soldier ran across the room before skidding to a halt. He turned around and charged again, and again simply passed Marth, but this time Marth's rapier cut painfully into the joint between the soldier's upper arm and shoulder.

"Ungh…" The soldier backed away, "Perhaps I acknowledge your skill, I may very well not survive, fighting like this." The soldier looked at his lance and sighed, a small war was being fought inside the soldier's head. "I will fight with all I have, even if it means delivering you with some of your limbs missing."

The soldier charged again, but did not fly past Marth this time, stopping several paces away. He was now fighting more defensively, using the length of his lance to his advantage, preventing Marth from getting close enough to attack. You could never fight this defensively on the battlefield, with all your focus on keeping just one person away, but in a confrontation between just two people, it could prove highly effective. The soldier waited, forcing Marth's attacks away, until finally he saw what looked like an opportune moment. Marth shifted irregularly on his feet, he was off-balance, and the soldier took the chance, charging forward hoping to disable Marth with a blow across the arm and leg with one cut.

Taking that chance was a mistake. The soldier stopped mid-attack, as if he had been caught on something. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, tilting his head down he saw Marth's rapier imbedded in his chest.

"Ah… hard to believe…" he took a step back as Marth took his rapier out. "Still, I s-suppose… this is… better then… the Emperor's punishment…"

"Emperor?" Marth raised an eyebrow. "You're from Gra, you serve a king. King Jiol. Not an Emperor."

The soldier slumped onto his hands and knees, laughing one final laugh that dissolved into a hacking cough. "If… if you only… knew." He made an effort to stand back up, but only succeeded in rolling himself onto his back. He made a sputtering cough before his body began to spasm, then he lay still.

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><p>Marth breathed hard, the prince who had never killed before… the last few minutes had seen a total of seven people die at his hand. His arms shook, and he was sweating more from the mental strain then the physical. He had been given only a few scant moments to think about it during the actual fighting, but now? He closed his eyes, and all he could think about is if those soldiers might have had families waiting for them, or other people who depended on them. His head throbbed with guilt, even if the situation had been 'kill or be killed', he still couldn't completely rationalize his actions.<p>

It was not a pleasant feeling. To suspect that he may not have been in the right, he mentally pictured the faces of these soldier's families receiving the news, and-

"Marth!" Marth's attention was snapped to the here and now by a familiar female voice. He spun around on his heel to see his sister walk in the room.

"Elice!" The shadows departed his guilty heart for a moment. "Are you okay? Have you-"

"Calm down, Marth." She responded calmly, she walked in, then froze at the sight of the two deceased Gra soldiers, she hastened her movement suddenly, getting to Marth to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Are _you_ okay, Marth? Did they hurt you?" She directed her gaze toward the two Gra soldiers.

"No, I'm okay. Just a blow to a rib." He said, though with an almost sulky tone. "You… wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Marth." She lowered her arm to feel around Marth's rib area, looking for whatever injury Marth had just spoken of. She found one spot that Marth winced at when she touched, she sighed, not having a Staff on hand to heal the wound. "I would have sought you out rather then arrange a meeting point if I thought the castle had been infiltrated."

"You couldn't have known, Elice." He said, "But, these guys, they said they were from Gra, but Gra is…"

"Gra." The color went out of her face at the word. "So, the contents of the letter was true." She sighed, wearing a face of utter worry and fear. "Marth, please, read this letter." She handed a piece of paper to him.

Accepting the paper, he held it in front of him and began to read it. The contents were simple and to the point, but they had the most critical ramifications. Their father, king Cornelius, was defeated by the combined forces of Dolhr and Grust. The defeat was because of Gra, Gra betrayed Altea and struck the Altean force from behind. Unable to adapt to what was happening, the Altean army was decimated by its three enemies.

Marth reeled like he had been punched, he gasped in complete horror. "No…" he whispered. He bowed his head in misery, his vision misted up as tears tried to form, but none got out. The guilt eating him in regards to the Gra soldiers was a mercy compared to the shock he was feeling now. He had only one possible silver-lining.

"F-father!" Marth suddenly said. "I-is he okay?"

Elice's eyes turned even more sullen then they already were. "I… do not know. That letter contains all that I know. I do not believe he is dead, but we have something else entirely to worry about."

Marth looked at her miserably, not wanting to hear whatever it was she had to say, but there was nothing he could do but listen.

"After Altea's knights were defeated, Gra turned around, they're marching on Altea. With Altea's military already devastated, it's more of a mass pillage then it is an invasion, and they're marching on our castle right now."

_Who will it be that tosses us out?_

_Already your entire nation has been invaded, the march on your castle should begin momentarily._

_I wonder if it can endure occupation, hm?_

No… they, they were telling the truth. Plainly and coldly.

"We can't stay here, Marth. Gra's main force is already marching on the castle, and Grust's Sable Order will be here within the hour to serve as reinforcements. Altea is lost, and we have to accept that. If the nation is to persist, then we, the royal children, must flee at once."

Marth dipped his head back down, back to the letter that had spelt the end of his peaceful life in Altea. "Okay… which… which way do we go?"

"A few of our most reliable knights are still here. Head toward the western gate, Abel and Frey should be there. Trust your safety to them."

"Huh? Elice, what about you?"

"I'll flee as well, Marth. But, there are things I must see to before I leave." Elice responded, she did not, however, make eye contact with Marth as she spoke the sentence. "Go, Marth."

Marth felt his gut churn. "You… you'll follow me, once you've taken care of it, right?"

Elice looked at Marth's face, the concern that was so evident on his face both soothed and pained her heart. "Yes, we'll escape together."

"Okay…" Marth responded, an obvious feeling of reluctance evident in his voice. Elice gave him a sisterly hug, embracing him as if this was there last meeting, and it very well could have been, before sending him off. He sullenly dashed away, just as he escaped from Elice's field of view, the door in front of the throne opened, she tensed at the possibility of a Gra soldier, but was relieved at the sight of the aged Malledus walking in.

"Princess. Gra has broken through our front gate." Malledus spoke calmly, suppressing any form of panic he might have had in him.

"I assumed it had progressed that far." Elice settled herself into the throne. "I've already seen to it that Marth is fleeing to the western gate, if he's to have any hope of survival, he must trust the knights that remain there."

"Very well. I have all necessary things on me right now, let us follow him."

"No, Malledus." Elice spoke calmly. Malledus' eyes widened in shock. "I will remain here, in the castle."

"What? Elice, what are you saying? Gra is invading, and they'll reach the throne room in a manner of minutes. What knights we have are being cut down in scores, and-"

"Father might be dead, I don't know where mother is, and soon my brother will be gone from the land, I will be the only one suitable to lead our people. I cannot leave."

"Elice, that… that's utter foolishness." He sighed. "Ever since you were a child you were reasonable, you were always reasonable, surely you can be reasonable about this. Simply gather your things, follow Marth and I, and-"

"Malledus." Her tone sharpened, she was not interested in battling over this subject as Gra's treacherous blades were creeping closer. "I am not requesting or asking, this is a command. Go with my brother and leave me here."

"E-Elice, I-" He tried to protest, but she responded with a harsh, reprimanding look, and he knew the argument has been settled. "I will… assist your brother as best I can."

"I know you will, Malledus. You have proven reliable too many times in the past for me to believe that you will fail now." She rested her hands in her lap, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "If father is truly dead, then Marth will be the only man in the world capable of wielding the Divine Blade, Falchion."

Malledus paused, trying to understand her reasoning, and nodded. "I pray that you survive, if this is the way things must go." Malledus said solemnly, "I… hope that this won't be the last day you see your brother."

"As do I, but it is naïve to expect less then the worst." She nodded, and waved a dismissive hand. Malledus obeyed, leaving out of the exit that Marth had used to escape.

No sooner had he left that something heavy struck the door across from her. She saw the hinges strain to hold the door in place, but to no avail. The object struck the door again, and a third time, until finally the floor burst off its hinges upon the fourth strike. She saw what looked like a battering ram in the hallway that led into the throne room, and Gra soldiers began to pour in. Every possible form of soldier, those who wielded swords, axes, lances, tomes, it was good that Marth and Malledus had fled, they would not have escaped this mass.

One soldier, who seemed to be the commander, stepped forward.

"This is… the princess?" His voice revealed absolute disappointment. "Blast, we need the prince, not his wench of a sister."

Elice allowed herself a bitter smirk at how they were wasting time here, valuable time her brother was using to escape.

"Useless princess. The only thing you're good for is being a practice target." The commander walked forward with a lance. Elice didn't move, ready to accept this, if Marth could escape, to return someday, she would accept all the pain and agony that would be inflicted.

_Wait_.

The commander paused at the voice, scanning the area around him, wondering if it was just his imagination he heard. Then he turned around to see his troops looking around in confusion as well, across the room, even Elice's eyes darted to and fro.

_Not the prince… but she may well be of some use to me._

A gleam of magical energy burst into existence in the room, before fading as fast as it came. Elice recognized it as the effect of the Warp staff. She didn't recognize the man who had appeared, but the Gra commander apparently did.

"G-Gharnef!" The commander instantly fell to his knees in recognition. "You… you wish to take this one alive?"

This man, he had become ruler of the nation of Khadein, and his ascension had been… very recent. "A woman of royal blood… she could have many uses." Gharnef responded, "Seize her."

"Yes my lord! At once!" The commander pointed at two soldiers, who came up, swiftly ascended the steps to the throne, and seized the princess. Elice was led down the steps, and "escorted" out of the room.

"Continue your search for the prince. His death is the singular goal of this charge into Altea. If he escapes, this entire invasion will have been a mere waste." Gharnef turned to leave.

"Yes, lord Gharnef." The commander responded. The commander paused, pondering something, "Gharnef, what shall be my reward?"

Gharnef turned back to the commander. "You seek a reward?"

"My lord, we were told that the capture of any important individuals would result in a reward." He nodded, somewhat shakily. "The princess, though not an intended target, seems to be one such individual, in accordance with the system, I'm privileged a-"

Gharnef's eyes widened, and shifted to a hollow black color. The Gra commander gasped in terror as a geyser of Gharnef's forbidden magic erupted beneath him. The unholy magic wracked his body, and within seconds the commander died, but the magic continued to toss the limp body around for several seconds before it stopped, depositing the corpse onto the cool Altean floor.

The sorcerer turned back to the Gra troop, "Does anyone else want to demand a reward from me?" No one dared move, too fearful of what reaction Gharnef could give. "Good. Captain?"

"Yes, my lord?" One Gra soldier, who had been directly beneath the deceased commander in their hierarchy, walked up to Gharnef. He knew that Gharnef despised outward displays of fear, and commanded his muscles not to shake.

"Scour the castle for the prince. Find him and bring him to me." Gharnef pivoted his head slightly, addressing not only the captain but the entire Gra force as well, "Fail to locate him, and tell Medeus yourself." With that final statement, he warped out.

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	2. Fleeing The Castle

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>Gordin took air into his lungs slowly as he readied an arrow on the rope of his bow. Without warning, Gra had attacked him. He had met them as one of several dozen archers under an Altean commander, and though Gra suffered several casualties, the fight had ended in their favor. Had Gra not taken them by surprise, the end result might have differed.<p>

He was hiding in one of the towers of the Altean Castle, the only survivor of the small Altean unit that Gra had attacked in the middle of a training exercise. The commander had urged him to flee when it had become painfully clear that Gra had won that little exchange, he didn't want to feel like he was abandoning his comrades, but his superior's orders were clear.

_Flee, spread the word to all unaware. Gra has betrayed us. They must not be trusted, no matter what they claim._

As of yet, Gordin had not yet found anyone to rely that message to. It was only at this point in time that he had come to believe that the Gra force was not looking for him. He took another breath, unable to stop reflecting on the battle that had decimated the ranks of Altea's archers.

He had trained alongside some of those archers ever since his own apprenticeship. The commingled bits of regret and pity were tearing him apart from the inside. The question of _if only_ and the nagging feeling of _I should of done more_ consumed his every thought. He was lucky to have survived, but deep down, he wasn't sure if he was thankful, or if it was even a good thing.

His guilt was ever so briefly swept aside at the sound of the soft clinking of metal. Snapping to attention, it couldn't have come from his light armor, he realized that it had to come from someone else. It had to be a Gra soldier, living Altea knights within the castle were probably becoming increasingly scarce. Gra had abandoned any pretense for stealth it might have had, and had begun openly hunting and killing. Based on their movement, Gordin could swear that Gra seemed to be looking for… something.

He heard a door open beneath him, he crouched low and peered down the tower steps, yes, it was a Gra soldier. Gordin reaffirmed his arrow's place on the bow, ready to strike the Gra soldier at the first opportunity. Not yet, he wanted to be sure that the Gra soldier was by himself. Gordin wouldn't be able to single-handedly stop even a small Gra force, not with his quiver… drained, down to only three more arrows. he would be helpless if a squadron of Gra soldiers stormed up the tower. Perhaps he would pick a few off in such a situation, but what would that amount to in the end? He observed the ascending Gra soldier, the Gra soldier looked from left to right, as if he was looking for something, but never once looked up. A fortunate occurrence, otherwise he would have seen Gordin easily. Enough time passed for Gordin to surmise that the soldier was moving by himself, he readied himself to aim…

So engrossed in focusing on this one Gra troop, he failed to notice a second set of footsteps, footsteps that had taken an alternative approach up the tower, having crossed to the tower by way a connecting bridge from another tower, and were now right behind him. Before Gordin had realized what had happened, he saw a piece of cloth appear across his field of vision, then pull back onto his lower face, he made a sudden yell, but it was muffled.

"Be silent." The cold voice of a Gra soldier spoke up as he began to tie the piece of cloth securely. Gordin did not obey but instead made inarticulate yells, which likely would have been coherent words if he had not been gagged. "I said be silent!" The soldier repeated, "Maybe the captain will let you live if you behave."

Survival did not seem to be at the forefront of Gordin's mind, and he made an effort so struggle.

"Seems that Alteans aren't raised to be smart." The soldier murmured, clearly frustrated with having to restrain the flailing archer. He'd rope Gordin's limbs, first change he got. "You should feel privileged, you'll get to die, knowing exactly who it is that killed you. I can't wait to see the captain authorize someone to tear you apart."

The Gra soldier that Gordin had been observing arrived at the top of the tower. Witnessing the restrained Altean archer, he marched forward with arrogance. "Hiding out, were we?"

He seemed oblivious that his ally's timely gagging of Gordin had probably saved his life, and simply sneered. "You won't be needing this where you're going." He snatched the bow from Gordin's grasp, then moved to Gordin's side and ripped the quiver off of his back. He casually tossed both to the side, letting all three of Gordin's remaining arrows spill out. "To the captain with you."

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><p>Marth dashed through the Altean Castle, the path was a complicated maze, but he knew the route to the western gate easily enough. He knew the entire castle, along with all of its confusing snaking passages, like the back of his hand. It would be odd if he didn't know all the ins and outs of his home.<p>

Fortune seemed to favor him today, as he did not encounter any Gra soldiers along the way. However, he passed obvious signs of battle, as well as some stray corpses, mostly Alteans, with the occasional Gra soldier. Most of the Altean knights, he suspected, were taken by surprise, and might have at least taken some Gra soldiers with them if they had known about the attack beforehand.

He had been witness to training rounds and small mock battle between Altean and Gra forces. He had seen enough to know that in a direct confrontation, Altean knights were a cut above Gra troops. Gra's advantage right now was born out of stealth, surprise, and the fact that Altea's proper military was elsewhere, and possibly no longer properly existed.

Trying his best to shove away the sorrow and pity he felt for the deceased Alteans, and his shock at the realization that Gra was now an enemy, he quickened his pace. Before too long, he had arrived at the western gate. He felt relieved, but only for a moment, seeing a pair of cavaliers present. His hand moved to his rapier and slowed his movement.

Too late. One of them realized that someone was nearby and turned his head, Marth tensed for a moment… then relaxed when he recognized Abel.

"Sire." Abel nodded at the prince. "I am glad you're safe, your sister bade us protect you."

Frey, the other knight, came up. "Prince Marth, princess Elice has already made the preparations to escape from Gra's hands. Her plan is to escape the castle, cross the plains, reach a nearby harbor, and flee by ship."

"I see." Marth relaxed his muscles as he took his hand off his rapier. "My sister… always was one to calmly come up with a plan when everyone else would panic."

"Yes sire. Calm judgment comes naturally to her." Abel agreed. "Though you are more then capable of sound analysis of a situation yourself."

The compliment generated only a thin smirk on Marth's face, before returning to a more neutral expression. Something else just came to mind. "Wait, will this harbor have a ship ready?"

"Not to worry my lord." Frey said with confidence. "Sir Draug is seeing to that. We need only trust him."

"Draug." Marth looked lost in thought for a moment, then his expression slightly brightened. "A hundred Gra soldiers could throw themselves at him, and they still wouldn't get under that armor."

"Most certainly, sire." Frey agreed. "Draug is a veritable wall. It'd take more then Gra's cheap iron to bite through his proud armor."

"Sir Jagen will join us outside the castle." Abel said. "He may be getting on the older side of things, but he's still the pride of Altea, all the same. Elice suggested that we not attempt to leave without him."

"Is he close?"

"We don't know, sire." Frey responded, he turned to a tower. "Soldier, is Jagen en route?"

Marth turned his head to the tower Frey seemed to talk to directed his gaze upward. At the top of the tower was a lookout crouching at the top. The lookout peered out in the distance, straining his eyes to look across the whole landscape.

"Soldier, is Jagen-"

"I heard you the first time!" The lookout snapped back, as if people asked him if he saw something in the distance far too often. "I can see someone approaching, but I can't tell if it's Sir Jagen." The lookout stood slightly up from his crouched position, "I can't quite make out the color of his armor or his emblem, but I-" The voice suddenly ceased, as if the words had been ripped out of his throat, and without warning, the lookout fell backwards over the ledge. He landed motionless by Marth and the two cavaliers. Sticking into him was…

"…an arrow." Abel hissed. There was an arrow in the lookouts chest, which, combined with the fall, had killed the man. "Blast, what is Gra doing at the western gate?"

"Gra? But, we're supposed to meet Jagen here." Frey muttered, "How many of them are there?"

"Hold on…" Abel dismounted from his horse and went to the gate, he poked his head into view of the approaching Gra soldiers. "I'm counting… wait... six at the most."

"Six?" Frey sounded absolutely astonished. "Is that… it? Are you sure you counted correctly?"

"They've probably already entered en mass through the main gate, Frey." Abel said with a practical tone. "These troops are likely more focused on plugging up the western gate then actually invading through it."

"Six of them…" Marth closed his eyes, thinking hard. "I don't think even Jagen can handle six by himself, but if we… hm…" Marth's hand went to his rapier.

"Sire, are you sure that's a good idea?" Frey asked as Marth unsheathed his weapon. "Though a small force, they outnumber us and-"

"We can't turn around. The Gra force already in the castle is too large to fight with our numbers. Forcing our way through those six is the best way to handle our situation."

"Prince Marth…" Frey's mind swam for another option. In the current situation where Altea was in such a predicament, the greater priority should be placed on stealth, not on confrontation, especially if the sounds of battles could carry, but his groping for an alternative wound up giving him no counterargument. He sighed, conceding the point.

"If that's your decision for our course, then I am content." Abel nodded his approval as he got back on his horse. "Six Gra soldiers is no trouble, please stand back and let Frey and I clear a path-"

"No." Marth cut Abel off. "I will fight as well."

"What? But sire, you-"

"I will not stand back like a coward when others risk their lives for me." Marth adamantly swore, holding his rapier at his side.

Frey and Abel exchanged an uncomfortable look. With an expression of frustration, Abel spoke up "…with all due respect, sire. If one of them sees you and escapes, Gra's main force will be on us. There would be no escape."

"Abel, this is an order." Marth harshly responded. "If people are risking themselves for me, I have to do something more then just huddle in the corner."

"But-"

"No, Abel." Marth raised a hand up to command silence. "I need to do this. I am the prince of Altea, if I am fighting, then I need to be alongside my soldiers, no matter what the situation is."

A silence hung for a few seconds. Abel's expression hardened as his eyes traced to the side.

"Then… let us continue." Frey interjected, drawing the confused gaze of Abel. "Gra's forces are most likely building within the castle, every moment we waste is a blow to our chances of escape."

Abel might have tried to reach for something to say in protest, but almost as a way to end the discussion, two Gra soldiers marched into plain sight. Tense and clearly expecting a fight, a comrade of theirs having been the originator of the arrow that had killed the lookout. One soldier took one look at the cavaliers and scoffed. "Hmm. What a token force."

The Gra soldiers completely disregarded the two cavaliers, then their gaze flittered to Marth.

"Well, well…" one soldier chuckled as he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. "I spy with my little eye, a prince who is going to make me rich."

"Come quietly." The second Gra soldiers said as he took his sword out. "The captain will decide the fate of the remnants of the Altean military, surrender peacefully, and we'll put in a good word for you."

"Peacefully?" Abel snapped, "You're one to talk about 'peace'."

"So that's a 'no', is it?" The Gra soldier shrugged as he readied himself. "I thought you'd say that, you Alteans are defiant far past the point of absurdity."

"Better then betraying someone at the drop of a hat." Abel said with a deep, threatening tone.

The soldier readied himself, unperturbed by the insult. He charged, on his heels was the second soldier. Abel and Frey responded in kind, their lances flying forward, looking to pierce the Gra troops before they could approach their liege. It didn't help that their liege refused to behave and accept protection, and rushed forward. To his credit, even as he put himself in harm's way, he was surely competent, the thing that discomforted the cavaliers was just how precious his life was.

The two Gra soldiers jumped back, one of them narrowly avoiding a lethal jab from Frey's lance. "Not… bad." One of the soldiers conceded, taking a few more steps back. "Unfortunately, we have something you don't. Support."

Abel raised his eyebrow at the word, then something caught his eye. Something descending from above. Acting on reflex, he reached out and grabbed Marth by the shoulder and yanked him away, just as an arrow descended upon the exact spot Marth had been standing at. Without Abel's intervention, the arrow likely would have gone straight into Marth's gut, or pierce through his leg.

"Humph." The Gra soldier scoffed as two Gra archers appeared from behind, guarded by another two Gra swordsmen. All six Gra soldiers that Abel had seen were now accounted for. "Most people wouldn't see that coming, it would seem that your self-preservation instincts are the only thing about Alteans that leaves something to be desired."

"Your jeers are not all that clever to begin with." Frey responded. "Save your breath for your dying scream, turncoat."

Abel allowed himself a private, mental smirk at how easily the troops of Gra were angered. The soldiers postured their shoulders in offense, the swordsmen charged as the two archers readied their arrows.

They four swordsmen came at them no differently then when their numbers were only two. A straight and simple charge, no attempt at using their numbers to divide and conquer, not even as much as an attempt to flank them. The only thing worrisome were the archers, just as the swordsmen got within range of the cavaliers lances, arrows began to fly.

As one arrow mutely descended, Marth managed to, almost impossibly, catch the arrow on the blade of his thin rapier, most likely stopping it from piercing through a critical joint, and knock it away. In his next motion, Marth's rapier cut into the neck guard of one of the swordsmen.

"Gurgh…" The soldier of Gra gargled as his hand went up to clutch at his throat, he backed away as the blood began to spurt out. His allies covered his position as he came to a stop and kneeled down. He coughed, the blood that came out dripped out of the bottom of his helmet, he knew, of course, that he was finished. Gripping his sword, he stared at the continuing fight, one of the last things his eyes registered was the lance of one of the cavalier's piercing through a fellow Gra troop.

Two Gra soldiers were dead, the remaining swordsmen backed away, signaling the archers to increase the frequency of their attacks. The first arrow sank into the armor on Abel's chest, but failed to pierce into his skin. With his free hand, Abel grabbed the arrow and snapped it in two, tossing what he broke off on the ground, though leaving the arrowhead in his armor.

One archer released arrow after arrow with startling speed, with none hitting their mark, but were hitting close enough to make approach difficult. The archer was readying his next arrow before the last had even crossed half the breadth of the room. The two Gra swordsmen stood back, enjoying the show as they spun their swords threateningly, and waiting for the cavaliers to make a fatal error, at which point they could grab the prince.

The other archer, though still abnormally quick to release his arrows, was slower, and was taking time to aim. His arrows were the more accurate, but he, eventually, began to slow the release of his arrows. Taking another arrow, he aimed carefully, lining up his aim with the head of Abel.

The archer smirked, feeling that he had arrived at the opportune moment, the swordsmen would be able to move on once one of the cavaliers was gone. He began to loosen his grip on the rope…

…when he suddenly felt a sharp pain. Sharper then any he had felt before, right in his chest. He looked down to see a lance forged of silver skewered through him.

"Sir Jagen!" Abel yelled with relief. As if he felt the battle had been won. Jagen didn't immediately respond, leaving the silver lance in the archer for the moment, he took a regular lance of steel out and turned his sight to the second archer, who had just turned in realization that an Altean was so close to him. Without a wasted movement, the second archer was killed.

"Sire. Hold on." Jagen spoke, the paladin charging forward on his horse with his steel lance. Jagen, one of the best trainers and knights Altea had ever known, laid waste to the last two Gra soldiers.

"Are you safe, sire?"

"Yes, Jagen." Marth answered, sheathing his rapier. "Though, there's no telling what might have happened if you're arrival had been further delayed."

"Sire. Though I would ask you to inform me all that has happened, it is more prudent to leave as soon as possible, someone must have heard the sound of battle."

"I know, Jagen." Marth said, and then continued, his voice laced with regret and disappointment. "The castle isn't safe anymore, not after Gra's betrayal."

"Sire…" Jagen felt at a loss for words. Talk of comfort and concern far from his forte. He turned to the first archer he felled and calmly removed the silver lance from the corpse. "Surely we shall return someday, but today is a day we have no choice but to flee."

Marth sighed deeply. "We're supposed to make our way to the nearest harbor."

"Yes. Your sister informed me of what was to be done before she went to meet you. Prince Marth, let us make haste."

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><p>"What is this?" The Gra captain creased his nose as Gordin was thrown in front of him. "Must I be required to decide the fate of all of Altea's survivors?"<p>

"Begging your pardon, captain." The Gra knight spoke as he forced his hands on Gordin's back, keeping the Altean archer on his knees. "-but this is the system that King Jiol outlined."

The captain grunted. "Far from my place to question our King's command." He stepped forward as the Gra soldier he was speaking to worked to enact a more proper restraint on Gordin. In a few seconds some rope bound Gordin's arms together at the wrists. "Altea trains some pathetic fools. Loyal to the end, but fools all the same, it would seem. What to do with this one?"

The captain raised a hand up to his chin to stroke in contemplation, "I could mount your head on a pike, after a public execution of course. We do sorely need an example to be made as we prepare to leave the castle and sweep across the nation." The captain paused, waiting for a response, and found his nostrils involuntarily flaring at the archer's expression of defiance. "I wonder just how much, or how little, pain it would take to make you regret that look."

Gordin's expression didn't change, though he did shrink back somewhat as the threat was made.

"Hmm…" The captain examined Gordin further, then shook his head. "Imprison this one, I shall determine his fate later. The rest of the invasion takes precedence at this moment." The Gra soldier nearby grabbed Gordin by his waist and hoisted him up, then walked away.

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><p>"Sire, let us make haste." Jagen motioned at a bag fastened to the back of his horse. He opened the bag, and pulled out several heavy cloaks, "Allowing someone to recognize us would spell our doom, so we need some manner of disguise." He offered the first cloak to Marth, then extras to Abel and Frey. "We also can't attract undue attention, we'll have to move slowly, we'll bring our horses, of course, but we'll need to travel on foot."<p>

"What?" Frey was confused at Jagen's last words. "Sir Jagen, we need to flee with all haste. As long as we're within eye-shot of the castle, we-"

"No one is going to be observant as to what's going on outside the castle right now, Frey." Jagen spoke forcefully. "They're more interested in combing the castle, they won't be examining what's going in, out, or away from the castle for some time."

"Combing the castle…" Marth repeated. His thoughts drifted to his sister, "I hope she'll be with us soon."

"As do I, sire." Jagen said, "All we can do is continue on and hope."

Marth frowned, "Can't we wait a little while for her? She can't fight, if Gra has found her, then-"

"No, prince Marth." Jagen shook his head. "Our chances of failure increase with every moment we dawdle. Please, put the cloak on, sire."

Marth sighed, then lifted the cloak up, he began to put it on. He wasn't used to wearing something of any shade besides regal blue, but now was not the time to worry about color.

"Prince Marth!" A voice resounded just as Marth put the cloak on, he turned on his heel in the direction of his voice. A soldier was seated in a horse, he and his horse slowly staggered into view.

"Cain." Jagen's eyes widened with shock and recognition. "Weren't you with the legion King Cornelius called? What-"

"Jagen… not… not now…" Cain breathed hard, and Jagen got a closer look at the knight. His red armor was splattered with blood, some old, some fresh, most of it, Jagen suspected, was the knight's own blood. Large chunks of the knight's armor had been ripped off, revealing deep gashes in the flesh. Cain's face had numerous minor cuts on it, nothing that seemed critical, but enough blood that, combined with the blood across his armor, probably meant that Cain was feeling the effects of excessive blood loss. Lastly, Jagen could swear that he saw something poking out of the back of Cain's armor, as the knight moved past the paladin, Jagen realized that Cain had numerous arrows sunk into him, mostly in the back of his shoulders.

"Those… wounds." Marth seemed unsettled. Jagen was surprised, he had seen sturdily built and well-trained knights die to far lesser injuries. "Cain, we need to get those treated, and-"

"Prince… Marth…" Cain cut his lord off as he leaned forward, resting his head on the neck of his horse. "Your father… I… message… ungh…" Cain pressed his hands onto his horse's neck and pushed himself back to a semi-erect position. "Your father… gave me a message, you must… hear…"

"A message?" Marth felt a sudden feeling of relief. "If he has a message to deliver, then… he's alive, right?"

"Prince…" Cain muttered, before groaning from the pain. "If… if this should claim me," he said, speaking of his wounds, "I must at least… deliver…"

"Not now, Cain." Abel said, "Our higher priority is escaping."

Cain turned to his old friend and gritted his teeth, but he was too exhausted and in too much pain to grope for a counter-argument.

"We'll be fleeing on foot. Slower movement, Jagen believes, will attract less attention." Frey said, "Can you walk, Cain?"

"Yes…" Cain said, "My legs are… mostly injury free."

"…do we need you to help you off your horse?"

Cain struggled for a moment, attempting to get out by himself, but only earned himself a sharp rise in pain. Letting out a small moan of discomfort, he nodded to the question.

"Let's hurry, then." Frey said as he dismounted off his horse to get up close to Cain. "Our enemies have advantages enough without one of Altea's finest dying."

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><p>"Back from hunting, are ya?" An Altean youth smiles, he and his little harbor community too out of the way to have any indication as to what is going on in the rest of the nation. For the moment, life went on as normal for him, reclining on the grass and watching some clouds.<p>

This peace was fleeting, and the blissful ignorance would not last.

The girl he was talking to frowned a little. "Yeah, I'm back, but I didn't bag anything. There aren't any good stags to hunt, it's like they're hiding scared or something."

"Ah, guess they know what a shot you are, Norne." The boy got up to a sitting position with a smile. "Those deer are smarter then a knight, they realize that Norne The Merciless is out, they're gone."

"Norne The…" Norne cringed. "Don't give me a title, this is just a way to get some food on the side. I prefer meat over fruit."

"Aw, just take the compliment." The boy laid back down, "Seriously, you might be able to get somewhere in the military."

Norne rolled her eyes, "I'd love to meet the royalty, but I could do without all the stuck-up rules and knights. I like to actually express myself. Not lick boots."

"I'm sure being a knight isn't _really_ like that. There's probably some really fun parts to it, and-"

"Nah." Norne interrupted, shrugging her shoulders as she turned on her heel. "A little excitement couldn't hurt, but I suppose a boring life isn't all that bad." She stood there for a second, letting the air take her words, waiting for a response from the boy.

"Guess Altea's enemies will sleep a little easier tonight, knowing that you're not interested in military service." He rolled over on his side. Norne shrugged off his words and walked away. The grass outside the harbor proper was a good place to walk around in, though the walking tended to get old real fast. She stretched her arms as she walked through the fields. Maybe her friend had the right idea, a nice nap in the grass might feel good right about now. On the other hand, she might wake up with bugs crawling through her hair, that was enough incentive to keep her walking and awake.

She yawned. With word that Altea's military had left, she had considered some minor vigilante work, but had, in the end, decided against it. Not only was Altea normally unnaturally free from thugs and criminals, but she also wasn't very familiar with hunting someone who could think and plan an escape. Never mind the fact that she figured that the deer were probably better then a lot of the people in Altea in the whole 'thinking' and 'planning' thing. She yawned again. Life was boring, at least when the military was here she could eavesdrop on a few knightly conversations, those were interesting. Sometimes.

"Excuse me." Norne jumped at an unexpected voice behind her. Couldn't have been that boy. Too mature sounding. She turned around to see a man, obviously a knight.

"Um…" Norne examined him. The armor this man wore was a bit thick, clearly with more then a little sturdiness and defense in mind. Another look at the design of the armor told her that the man was an Altean knight. Judging by the way his armor bulged, she suspected he was probably very muscular underneath. "You're a knight? I thought that Altea's military was-"

"Please, ma'am. Not now." The knight interrupted her. His face, though gentle looking, was also dead-serious in its expression. "My name is Draug, and the future of Altea is at stake today. There's supposed to be a harbor nearby. Which direction is it?"

"Uh…" Her first reflex might have been to laugh at the idea that Altea's future 'was at stake', but another look at his face, which was becoming more gravely, squashed any lightly amused skepticism she might have had. Norne looked around for a moment, mentally retracing the steps she had taken today. She pointed off in the distance. "It's that-a way, Sir Draug."

"My thanks." He nodded before marching in the direction she pointed. "You should flee at once. Altea is no longer safe."

He began to walk past her, and a little spark of thought burned into existence in her mind. _So… a part of me wanted a little excitement, huh?_

"Sir Draug!" Norne called out impulsively, making the older man stop in his tracks. He turned back to her. "You, uh… need an extra archer?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you… volunteering?" He looked at a loss for words for a moment, then regained a cool face. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, ma'am, but I don't think you understand what you're agreeing to. If you come with me, you likely won't see Altea again for a long, long time. Provided we even succeed in getting a very… precious cargo, out of the nation."

"Right." Norne gave a slightly cheeky smile, as if everything she was about to do was all old news to her, and was used to danger. In reality, she probably hadn't been in true, critical, legitimate danger at any point in her life. "I've already got my bow in my hand, and my quiver on my back. I'm ready."

"Not yet." Draug said calmly. "You need to understand what you're going to help with, and exactly what's happening to Altea." He half-turned and motioned his head in the direction of the harbor. "Walk with me, there's much you need to hear."

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><p><strong>Little FYI. The captain from the last chapter, and the captain that Gordin is brought to in this chapter, are the same character, and the captain is the same captain from Prologue IV in Shadow Dragon.<strong>

**Please review.**


	3. Tragic News

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>"Gra?" Norne's eyes were wide with shock. "Are you serious?" Draug had told her, start to finish, all he knew in regards to what was going on in Altea at the moment, and she was finding it very difficult to swallow. "No way, even if they betrayed us, Altea would have still won, right?"<p>

"Had they of known about the betrayal beforehand, perhaps so, but the Gra force that they believed was going to reinforce their rear instead began slaughtering the back of the Altena army." Draug said, his voice calm despite the extent of the atrocity he was describing. "We don't know how many Alteans were dead before King Cornelius became aware of what was going on."

"But that… it's impossible… isn't it?" Norne wavered a little as she walked, looking like she was dizzy. "I mean, Gra's never really been that strong, has it? And… and I've heard stories about our king, how when enemies attack him, scores die with every swing of the sword he makes. His enemies trample over their allies trying to run away from him, if that were true, how could an army led by him, with soldiers trained by him, ever be defeated?"

"How the army was defeated is of little concern." Draug responded, his voice rising, he was upset and frustrated, though not with her. "The army was defeated, and we're unsure how many escaped. Maybe none of them did. The king's fate is also unknown. I can't imagine King Cornelius being among the slain, but we must be ready for that possibility."

Norne rolled the information over in her head, still finding it so impossible to believe. She raised a hand to her forehead, trying to suck it all in. The thought of the Altean army being defeated was a hard fact to wrap herself around. She had heard stories about the army's might, and had been witness to some impressive duels. Most duels being around here, public demonstrations of Altean prowess. If the army, comprised of Cornelius' elite, had even half the skill of those duelists…

"No matter what the fate of the king is," Draug continued, jolting Norne from her thoughts. "Right now our priority is getting the royal children out of the nation. Prince Marth and Princess Elice are the future of Altea. Our business in the harbor is a direct order from the princess herself. We are to secure a means to escape from the nation."

Norne paused to think. Her disposition seemed to brighten somewhat at the thought of meeting the royalty. "If we're going to a harbor, then they're escaping by boat, huh?"

"Yes." Draug answered, "Fleeing by land would be foolish. Altea is almost completely surrounded by nations that would choose to subjugate it, or outright destroy it. So we will flee by a ocean route. Talys is the only possible haven at this point."

"Talys?" Norne raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure another 'allied' nation is a good idea? After the business with Gra and all…"

"The king of Talys is an old friend of king Cornelius. With the future of Altea on such shaky ground, and with limited options, we have no choice but to hope that his friendship is genuine."

"But… if Talys sells us out as well-"

"We have irrefutable, indisputable proof that Gra betrayed us. None that Talys has also consented to Dolhr. Due to its remote location, we have reason to believe that Talys is not even aware of what has happened."

Norne frowned. "So with Gra coming down, and Grust coming to be Gra's reinforcements, our best chance is really in trusting someone who just _might_ of not betrayed us?"

"Altea is almost completely surrounded, Norne. We have no guarantees or assurances left, but this is the best, and only, way left to us." Draug said, then added "Though I have my own reservations about placing all our hope on a potential ally, and one who might not be able to offer much help. Princess Elice herself outlined this course of action, she has faith in the king of Talys."

Any further conversation was cut short at the sound of distant chatter. Norne looked up, not realizing just how close they were getting to the harbor. She knew she couldn't continue the conversation now, Draug would forbid any chance that word get out and instigate a possible panic. If the harbor in general knew what was happening, it might become nearly impossible to find and hire a ship.

It was fortunate that knights in the harbor weren't an oddity. None seemed particularly alarmed and uneasy about Draug's presence. In fact, they acted as if he was just one of the many people walking back and forth, hauling crates and bags, trade goods. Draug felt his stomach churn at the light-hearted discussion and the sound of laughter that surrounded the people, both young and old. That simple, peaceful ways of Alteans… doomed to end shortly.

"Right." Norne said, "Let's start looking for the dock master. Hopefully before our royal guys get down here. 'cause it really helps no one if we can't get a ship."

"If we can't get a ship, Norne, it could very well spell the end of Altea."

* * *

><p>Several figures walked past the Altean plains, wearing dirty, seemingly decades old cloaks. Most of the figures pulled a horse by the rein. Horses that seemed too well kept, too well trained, too… clean, for such obviously down on their luck masters.<p>

One cloaked figure stopped his movement, turning back to the castle of Altea, shrinking away in the distance. "This should be a safe distance." He lifted an arm up and pulled the hood back, revealed the aged face of Jagen. "We can chance a short rest."

The other cloaked figures exchanged glances with each other. Then one of them, with hands gone shaky with pain and exhaustion, removed his hood, revealing Cain. "That is… good." Cain's hands quivered, as did his legs, it seemed a wonder that he was standing at all.

He should have sat down in his condition, but he defiantly stayed on his feet. Something was driving him forward, adrenaline pushing him further. Though he was the breed of knight that had little value in his own life, he seemed not ready to die… far from ready to die. Though his voice strained, his body and mind kept going when the pain, by all means, should have shut both down.

"Cain." The only figure not by a horse pulled back his hood to reveal Marth. "Before we go, what… is my father's message?"

Cain twisted his lips, unsure of how to tell the news that he had. His eyes fell from Marth's, not able to look his liege in the face as he said this.

"My lord, the message… is your father's last… last words."

Marth paused. "Last… words?" At first believing that the last part of Cain's sentence was a fairy tale, a delusion of his mind. "Please say that you didn't really speak those words." He could feel the churning in his gut. That simple sentence burst open a dam of disbelief in his heart, which was quickly turning to misery and grief for the prince. His eyes began to close as he suddenly forgot to breath. His head dipped down as both of his hands went up to cover his face. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut as his feelings flooded out of his heart and into every part of his body. He seemed to waver, the despair overwhelming the boy.

"My… apologies, prince Marth." Cain had his head dipped down as well.

"Fath-" Marth began, he began to shake visibly. "Father, no, he… you can't be…" The knights simply stood back, the prince would not have long to let his feelings dictate his course of action. He suddenly snapped his head back up to Cain. "How did this happen? Even if Gra betrayed us, how could father ever be defeated?"

"Please calm down, prince." Cain said, slowly raising his head up to meet Marth's gaze. "Your father died to a cowardly strike to his back as he was preoccupied with the enemy soldiers before him." Cain's eyes narrowed into vicious slits. "King Jiol of Gra killed him with a thrust of the lance. As Gra, Grust, and Dolhr's attention shifted to the army, the king, fallen upon the ground, with life fading, gave me his final words, a message for you."

"Where I stumble, he must walk. Where I fall, he must stand. I have dropped the flag, he must carry it. He must be the soul and champion of not only Altea, but the whole of the continent. My son, born into greatness, must now be great." Cain said, using the late king's exact words.

"Greatness…" Marth said, his eyes downcast.

"With the message delivered, I see no further value in my life." Cain said adamantly. "I received these wounds from the Gra soldiers who noticed me as I left the field." He pressed his fingers on one such wound his arm, he winced slightly, but simply pressed onto it, as if pain no longer had any meaning to him. "I felt the arrows and the swords, but I couldn't allow myself to die."

"Cain, you did well." Frey came up to him, gently, with respect to his wounds, he put a hand on his shoulder. Cain turned to the somewhat older knight and stared sullenly. "Now, Cain, I know what your heart's desire is. But we can't pay Gra and Grust back, not in our current state, anyway. The princess outlined a way for us to flee."

"…you know how much I'd rather not be forced to run." Cain's words were rather petulant for the normally confident knight, "I failed my king, I slunk off like some self-serving coward, I play the comfy courier, and now I'm expected to run again as the Altean people suffer? I would rather stand and let Gra see what happens to traitors."

"You are not alone in that conviction." Marth said, his face creasing, he shook, his sole driving emotion no longer being anger, but grief. "Someday, Gra, Grust, Dolhr, and anyone who thinks they're safe in their shadows, I'll-"

"Sire!" Abel cut in. Marth turned to him in an instant, angered by the interruption. "My apologies sire, but please, we must keep moving." Abel shifted his gaze, focusing on the distance. "Gra is many things, but foolish is not one of them. It is only a matter of time before they realize you're no longer in the castle. Perhaps they've already realized it. Please, we must keep moving."

* * *

><p>The marine breeze did little to put Draug's nerves at ease. He knew full well that time was running out, and though he and Norne had made some progress in the harbor, a ship was not yet ready.<p>

He couldn't tell anyone why, specifically, the boat was necessary. Not when the honest explanation would have attracted so much unnecessary attention. Yet he was also clearly an Altean knight, and a knight looking so desperately for a ship had earned him some unwanted eyes already. After asking many people, and wasting several precious hours, for a desperate knight seemed easy to take advantage of, he finally found the man to talk to.

"Yes, yes." A man opposite Draug and Norne spoke with a clear sense of boredom in his voice. He sat at an indoors desk right by the pier. The room, apparently lacking any spare chairs, forced Draug and Norne to stand. The only light into the room was offered by the windows, which allowed full view of the harbor piers, and the room looked overall unkempt and filthy. The man watched Draug and Norne with obvious disdain, as if he had just been woken up to deal with something that was someone else's specialty. As the seconds passed, the disdain seemed to be replaced by a condescending gleam in his eyes. "Yes. I'm the dock master, but my services are far from from cheap, I'll have you know. Somehow I doubt you could pay my rates, however reasonable they are. How could a bunch of mercenaries have the money to even hire a dinghy, anyway?"

"We are _not_ mercenaries." Norne retorted, "He-" she pointed her thumb over her shoulder at Draug, "-is a knight of Altea. What do you say to that?"

"Norne!" Draug's tone of voice was harsh and stern, a warning to her to quiet down. He fixed his eyes on the man, and knew it was too late.

The man's eyes widened for a moment, then settled into a much more relaxed expression. "Knights gotta pay too." He flashed a smile of satisfaction, "You're such a nice girl, telling me that he's a knight and not a mercenary. I charge a… marginally… different rate for our proud military."

Norne's eyes narrowed into frustrated slits. The dock master got up from his seat, seemingly more interested in the two now. "What kind of ship is it you're looking for?"

"Something that can transport a small number of people, and…" Draug mentally mulled over some criteria the ship should have. Much, too much, hinged on the ship being satisfactory. "…and can take a beating. Can you provide that?"

The man smirked. "Can I provide it? Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I can provide it, but there's a little matter of economics that has to be sorted out _before_ I do anything."

"Let's see here…" The dock master pulled out a slip of paper and a quill pen, "Start with the size of ship you want… one that transports a small number of people and can 'take a beating', hmm… something reinforced with iron, perhaps? Steel is rather unnecessary, I think." He suddenly stopped and looked at Draug. "Anyone not a part of the crew I'll provide is considered a passenger, how many passengers will there be?"

"There should be no more then ten." Draug felt his stomach lurch at the dock master's face, which was growing increasingly more pleased and relaxed.

"Ten. Gotcha." He turned back to the paper, "Factor in… no more then ten, the crew needed to service the vessel, I charge the same for one-way and round trips, so…" He smiled, dipped the pen in ink, and jotted a number down, then, with a triumphant smile, handed the paper to Draug.

Draug took the paper in his hand and read the price for the ship. "Is this your idea of a joke?" He gritted his teeth as he returned his focus to the dock master. "Even with the going rates for military service, this price is simply ridiculous."

The dock master stared for a moment, then sighed. "Put the paper back on the table." Draug did as instructed. The dock master pulled the paper back to him. "Now, let's say that this price is what we'll have if there are exactly ten passengers." He placed another number to the side of the price for ship and crew. "I'll subtract this amount from the full price for every empty seat."

Draug picked the paper back up and examined the figure. Even if the passengers were just Draug and Norne, it would still be an absurdly high price. He handed the paper to Norne, who whistled at the amount of gold that was being requested for the service.

"So this is a reasonable rate?" Draug asked. Making no effort to hide his disbelief.

"It's my only offer, oh great knight." The dock master's smile didn't waver. "You want to go wherever it is you want, you pay." He took a pipe out, and nonchalantly began to smoke. "You really should be grateful. I normally factor the distance of the voyage in, but I didn't this time. I don't even know where you're trying to do. But if you don't show a little more appreciation, I will do a little… re-calculating."

Draug scowled and took the paper back from Norne. No matter how many taxes were applied, this was… four… no, more like five times more then the service should actually cost.

"Now do we have a deal?" The dock master took a puff from his pipe.

"We need it within the hour."

The dock master coughed out a billow of smoke. "What?"

"Within the hour." Norne repeated Draug's words. "Or is that too much for you?"

The dock master choked out a bit more smoke, then turned to Norne. He puffed his pipe again, then smiled. "I charge extra for… rush jobs." He breathed smoke right into Norne's face, who backed away, waving the smoke off with her hand. "And maybe, just maybe, I also charge extra for having to put up with little brats who don't show any respect." He turned back to Draug and extended his hand. "Give me the paper back, I've got something new to factor." He took the sheet back, with a chuckle he wrote down several new figures. Then a new price. Handing the paper back to Draug, he leaned back in his chair.

A reflexive growl sounded in the back of Draug's throat as he examined the new, even more ludicrous price. He could pay it with the money he was carrying with him, though he'd rather not be forced to. In any other situation, he might of looked to another harbor, but the circumstances were not so flexible. With a sigh he put the paper back on the desk. "We have a deal."

"I like to be paid up front." The dock master took the pipe out of his mouth, breathing out more smoke. "Wouldn't want you sailing off with my crew without paying. The crew can never be trusted to get the money out of a client."

Without speaking a word, Draug revealed a large sack that he was carrying. Norne's eyes widened in surprise at the sheer size of the bag. Draug dropped the bag onto the desk, it landed with a clinking sound that was undoubtedly pleasing to the dock master.

Draug untied the bag, and showed the contents of the bag to the man. "This is literally all I have with me, it should about cover your price."

The dock master pulled a fist full of gold out of the bag, then allowed it to fall out of his hand and onto the table. "Yes. This is quite satisfactory." He turned his attentions back to Draug and Norne. "In an hour. I guarantee it."

* * *

><p>A Gra mage scanned the contents of an Altean home. This house was apparently owned by the descendents of a Altean mage with no small place in the Khadein hierarchy. Yet that mage's children counted no mages amongst their ranks. The Gra mage scoffed at the filthy farm house. The family that dwelled in it was no longer here. They had tried to mount a meager resistance when the Gra force had ordered them to flee, the family and the Gra axe men had an… unfriendly chat. Now a weak scent of blood wafted through the house, oddly subtle for a recent kill.<p>

"Look at this." The mage spoke to himself, for no others were near. "The only items of power left has been reduced to mere trinkets." He walked up to a counter and took three Talismans off of a small rack, he rolled his eyes, presuming that the family thought of them as some form of good-luck charm then what they really were. On the side of the rack that held the Talismans was a book, the mage felt genuinely excited as he reached for it, imagining it to be some high-class tome. Perhaps Thoron, or Bolganone, he pulled it to himself and looked it over several times. He hissed at the realization that is was nothing more then a simple Fire tome. "Did these crop producing fools preserve nothing of the refined seed that birthed their pitiful lives?"

He shook his head and turned around. A more thorough search through the house might reveal an item worthy of a war mage, but the mage of Gra now seemed repulsed just to be in the building. He moved into what was the house's den and fireplace to find his soldiers enjoying themselves.

"It would seem that those who live by sword, and not tome, found much more value here." He spoke aloud, yet his voice failed to garner the attention of his troops. Those very troops were gleefully going through the family's money, and helping themselves to old weapons found in storage. "I had hopes for this place, but it seems I expected too much. Alteans have clearly grown complacent and foolish across the generations."

Again his words were lost on his soldiers. Nothing short of one of the room's chairs spontaneously bursting into flames was going to get their attention. He sighed and stalked out of the room.

Fools. That's exactly what he thought of them. Far from the first mage to hold a condescending sense of superiority over those not trained in the magical arts, he raised his head and left the house. Leaving it, and all of its tritely qualities, behind. He took a deep breath, disliking the paltry, dry farm air, then began to walk away and-

"Sir! Sir!" A Gra scout ran up to the mage, the mage turned as the scout came to a stop in front of him. "Sir. News from the top. It's been determined that the Altean prince is no longer in the castle. We suspect that he is attempting to flee the nation. Be on the lookout."

"The prince has fled the castle?" The mage seemed taken aback, but then smiled. "Good. Bringing him in would be just the thing I need to procure a tome worthy of someone of my quality."

The scout seemed somewhat unnerved by this response. "Sir, please do not confuse this as a simple promotion opportunity. Prince Marth slipped through our fingers at the castle. The captain is advising… high caution in dealing with him."

"Do not misjudge me, thank you. I am no fool." The mage reached into his robe, pulling out a Fire tome. The strongest tome a mage of his current rank was issued. "I do not entertain the notion that the prince would be simple prey. He did escape the castle, as you openly state. However…" The mage channeled power from the Fire tome, and summoned a flame to his hand. Were he not a mage, he might of panicked at the sight of his hand ablaze, but he remained calm and indifferent. He moved his fingers back and forth, letting the flames that enveloped them flick around. "I am a mage, and I suspect the prince has little experience with fighting my kind."

"I see." The scout took a step back from the heat of the flame, which didn't seem to bother the mage at all. "I must go, there are other Gra units you need to be told to be on the look-out." He bowed with the correct depth to a superior officer.

"Then you are dismissed." The mage waved his burning hand, then clenched it, snuffing the flame out. The scout rose from his bow and ran off. The Mage turned around and went back into the farm house, returning to the den where the soldiers were. Slamming the door as he closed it behind him, drawing the curious eyes of several of his soldiers.

"Men, your attention, please." He scanned through the room, quickly determining that he already had their attention. He closed his eyes in exasperation at the sight of money in their hands, then opened his eyes again. "Prince Marth has succeeded in fleeing Castle Altea. He is most likely attempting to flee the nation. I want everyone out of this house and on watch. Anything we could scavenge from the people of Altea would be trivial compared to the reward for capturing him."

* * *

><p>Marth and the royal knights continued their movement, slow on foot, with the horses right beside them. Marth was still struggling with what he had been told. Frequently his pace slowed, and he had to be tapped on the shoulder by one of his knights to remind him to keep moving. They were sympathetic to his feelings, but, pragmatically speaking, the time for mourning was later. Much later.<p>

The prince was still in utter shock. His father was dead, betrayed by the people his father, and Marth, had trusted. He still couldn't picture his father ever being killed by anyone from Gra, Grust, or Dolhr. Even if it was a cowardly strike, it just wasn't… he couldn't see his father dying so simply…

He rolled over the reality that he was now fatherless in his head several times. It still seemed so impossible. He turned his head back to the direction of Castle Altea. He desperately hoped his sister would be here soon, he had lost more then his fair share on this day.

"Hold." Jagen suddenly said. Holding up a hand to command a halt. He lowered his hand back down, tightening his grip on his horse's rein. "Gra is here."

Frey moved besides Jagen and peered ahead. "At least a dozen. Can we slip by them?"

Jagen closely examined the Gra soldiers. Each man patrolling an area rigorously. There seemed to be no obvious, advantageous blind spots in their routes that the Alteans could take advantage of. "We're grossly outnumbered… and we're running out of time." He looked up at the position of the sun, squinting to protect his eyes from the glare. "Draug should have a ship ready by now, if the Gra soldiers descend on the harbor he's at before we get there…" His voice trailed off as he continued to study the movements of the Gra patrol. There were no obvious blind spots, as he had already noticed, there was no chance to sneak past them. Slowly, Jagen reached for his silver lance. "It seems we've only one choice."

"Sir Jagen…?" Abel raised an eyebrow as Jagen brandished his lance.

"We can't sneak past. Nor can we go around. If we're to reach the harbor before Gra attempts to seize it, we must move straight forward. If we use our advantages we can take this group." Jagen swiftly climbed into the saddle of his horse. He turned to Marth. "Sire, this is the only way."

"I understand." Marth closed his eyes, thinking of something else this fighting could accomplish. "…and if we can defeat them, Elice can pass through this area with less trouble."

Jagen nodded. "Then let us begin, out chances of success are greater with the element of surprise." He turned to the other three knights, who were all getting up in the saddles of their steeds without a word. Even Cain, who was either in less pain now, or was simply ignoring the white-hot feelings that must have coursed through him as he moved his body. "We must ascertain that no Gra soldiers escape. If a runner identifies you, sire, then we'll be hounded by them until they succeed in capturing you."

"Wait, Jagen." Marth called out. The elderly knight, who was a few seconds away from charging, turned back to his liege. "If we want the element of surprise, we can come up with something better then simply charging them."

"What are suggesting, my lord?"

Marth looked around. "Something we can use to our advantage…" he continued to examine his surroundings. Something that could interfere with the patrol, leave them off-balance, unable to face four knights and a prince. Or perhaps just scare the patrol off entirely. His mind was racing as he thought of what might be done.

* * *

><p>Shoulders were tense and legs were restless as the Gra soldiers continued their patrol. Though their professionalism tempered their excitement, they were oddly… twitchy. The thought of the reward for capturing Marth was intoxicating. Even though Marth's presence here was no guarantee, they were still anxious for their chance to reap the benefits of his capture. Presenting the heads of any escorts he might have had, would surely garner another reward.<p>

The soldiers made a double-check of their equipment. Looking over their Gra-manufactured armor and experimentally swinging their weapons, they were indeed satisfied with what they had on hand.

They entertained no delusion that Marth would be easy to subdue. If he escaped the castle, he had likely done it by fighting his way out. As such, he had probably killed several Gra soldiers already. The prince knew how to fight. There was no doubt about that. Yet if Marth did come here, he would be defeated, and Gra's control of the land would become absolute.

Just then, a sound was heard. A thumping sound in the distance. Many of them stopped their patrol to look in the direction the sound had come from. Idly curious, they paid attention as the thumping changed to a galloping sound, and silhouettes appeared in the horizon. The soldiers squinted their eyes, trying to make out the peculiar shapes.

Horses. Scores of horses were running, and they were coming straight toward the Gra soldiers. Some horses had saddles on them, but no riders. Others seemed young, too young to be broken for riding. The horses were closing in on them fast. No formal order was given on how to react, but several of the soldiers suddenly called out a cry to run away.

With no thinking, no planning, and no official order given, the Gra soldiers simply made a blind charge away from the mares. The horses, spooked by some oddity, stampeded through the farm field the patrol was taking place in. The crops of the late farmer were destroyed by hooves and the armored boots of the Gra soldier. Some soldiers slipped on the dirt, falling onto the ground, and were given no chance to get away from the approaching horses.

Marth, and the Altean Knights, were watching the stampede from a distance.

"Ingenious idea on your part, sire." Abel complimented as the horses left the field. Altean farm horses were generally tame and harmless, but when properly frightened, they became something that would give the greatest army pause. "Scaring the horses into a stampede… I'd imagine that the entirety of the Gra patrol was trampled to death. No one to tell anyone what happened, and if they did, they wouldn't know you were anywhere near it."

"Thank you, Abel." Marth said, though his voice was low and depressed. "But even if that stampede has killed a hundred times as many Gra soldiers, it wouldn't have made up for my father…"

Abel found himself unable to say anything, and just nodded his agreement with the statement. The loss of the king was a loss to the entire nation, but Marth felt it worse then anyone else.

"Shall we go down, then. Sire?" Frey asked. Marth sighed deeply, possibly reminiscing about something, reflecting on some time with his father, then began to walk through the farm fields. His feet kicked up small piles of dirt unearthed by the stampede. His eyes darted to the Gra soldier corpses, Abel moved to one, and began to lift a sword up.

"Put it back down, Abel." Jagen commanded. Abel flinched and dropped the sword, turning to his superior knight, expecting an explanation. "If the weapons are pilfered, anyone who comes here will know that someone was here, and they might give chase. Let them appear to have been killed by a random, natural stampede."

"I understand, my apologies, Sir Jagen." Abel backed away from the corpse. He moved back to the unit of knights. "Let's get moving, that harbor isn't too far off now, and-"

That was as far as Abel got, a burst of flame suddenly appeared in front of the prince, catching everyone's attention. The dirt in front of Marth was ablaze, creating a wall of fire.

"Clever Alteans." A voice called out, Marth turned to see a scowling mage. "I would never have expected something like that. Had I not been indoors, I would have been just another casualty. A shame for you." The mage held a tome in one hand, and his other hand was alight.

"A mage." Marth said, his voice deathly low. He quickly brought his rapier out of its sheath.

"A stunning deduction." The mage smirked condescendingly as his eyes narrowed as the flame on his hand grew in both size and intensity. "Know that the armor your knights wear is like rotten wood against my power." With a quick motion forward with his arm, the flame fled from his hand, spreading across the field to strike at the knights, but Marth was spared from the blaze.

On command of their riders, the horses darted to the left and right, dodging the encroaching flames. They circled around the mage, but he seemed unimpressed, and simply re-energized his hand with fire once more, and pointed the hand up in the air. He generated a circular shield of flame around him, with himself as the nucleus. The knights backed away, and the shield disappeared, the flame sucked back into the mage's hand. "Let's see how loyal you are to your prince." He turned to Marth and unleashed a fireball.

"My Lord!" Jagen yelled, rushing to the area right in front of the prince. Jagen postured himself in defense, the flame struck the left arm, and ate its way through the armor, before the energy of the fire gave way. His armor had a large scorch mark on it, but had otherwise endured.

"Idiot." The mage criticized. "Do you truly intend to block my Fire? Your armor is nothing against the weakest tome."

Turning to the other knights, he began to charge more flame. "Had Altean's military been more focused on magic, and not your barbarous kind, you'd have an actual chance to defeat me."

"Attack!" Jagen called. "Close the distance!" Jagen examined his wound as Marth and the Altean knights surged upon the mage.

"Get away from me!" The mage jumped back, dodging what would have been a fatal blow from Cain. "Useless knights, I'll reduce you to charred metal and ash." He raised his hand up in the air, charging enough power that his entire arm became ablaze. He turned to the knights with a cruel grin. "Now you'll see…"

"Keeping an eye on that book, mage?" Abel asked, making the mage pause briefly. Then, out of the corner of his eye, the mage saw a sword approaching him, Marth's rapier. He spun to the side, dodging the prince's attack.

"Consider yourself lucky that it's more fortunate to me to keep you alive, I-" He suddenly paused as he felt energy leaving him. The sensation of power on his arm was gone, he positioned it in front of him… no flame. He attempted to charge more power, but didn't feel the rush. "What is this?" He could still feel the tome in his other hand, he tightened his fingers upon it, attempting to draw further power, but found that he strangely couldn't. He looked down at the tome in his hand…

And a bolt of horror shot through him.

The prince's attack, his rapier had sliced through the tome as if it had the durability of the rotten wood he had compared the knight's armor to. His hand trembled, knowing that he couldn't summon the power into him with the tome in its current state. His seeming stupor was broken when Frey charged forward, and pierced the mage's chest with the lance.

"No… no!" The mage screamed as the lance sunk in and was then violently pulled from his chest. His hand went to the wound in a desperate attempt to block the flow of blood. He wheezed as he turned back to his killer, breathing his last few panicked breaths as he backed away. "This… isn't… happening!" His body twitched a few times, then he fell over backwards. The twitching continued, and, though not yet dead, and indeed, he seemed to be trying to get back up, it was clear that the battle was over.

"Mages…" Jagen eyed the body, which was just a few seconds away from death. "They have great power, but can do little if they can't stay away from the enemy, or protect their tomes. He doomed himself by thinking that his magic made him superior." Jagen seemed somehow melancholy about the mage's perception. A general attitude he had seen in far too many wielders of magic. Then he shook his head of the thought, "No mind. We are not far from our destination now."

"Yes." Marth answered, but his mind seeming to be elsewhere. His eyes drifted to the ground, then around him, focusing on something not here in the present. Jagen, one of Marth's preeminent instructors of the sword, was attuned to some of Marth's visual cues.

"Is something wrong, sire?"

"No. Nothing's wrong… it's just…" He turned back to the direction of the castle. "I can't stop thinking about it. If we've been stopped by fights with Gra soldiers, and my sister hasn't, then she should have caught up to us by now."

"Prince Marth…" Jagen turned back in the direction of Castle Altea. Now, for the first time, he suspected that something might of happened to the princess. "Sire, we have no choice to continue on now, and-" Then Jagen sees something. A shadow, a figure, approaching from the direction of the castle. At first he presumes it to be an illusion of the mind, but the figure continued to approach. The other knights, and Marth, also noticed this figure, and turned to determine its identity. Weapons at the ready, Marth stood, hope for who the figure could be mixed with fear that it might not be who he wanted to see. The figure came close enough for Marth to recognize him.

"Malledus!" Marth said in surprise as the elderly tactician came to a stop. Though the aged man's body sometimes hindered him, he still had much energy, and had clearly run after Marth and the knights.

"Prince Marth." Malledus gasped for a moment, out of breath from running. "I am glad you are safe, when I left the castle, I saw Gra soldiers everywhere, I feared you had been… captured."

Marth should have been relieved that Malledus was safe, but something about what Malledus just said unnerved him. "Malledus, you were in the castle?"

"Until… recently, sire. Gra's attack came quickly, it took much time to realize what was going on."

"You had to have left after us… so, do you know where my sister is? I know you, Malledus, you wouldn't have left without seeing if I or my sister were also safe. Has she left yet?"

"Ah…" Malledus' eyes shut tight. His entire face seemed to contract. Slowly he took in a deep breath, then let it out. Opening his eyes he focused on Marth. "The princess, Elice, elected to stay at the castle. She choose to remain, even as Gra was-augh!"

Malledus cried out as Marth suddenly grabbed the older man by the shoulder's. "You left my sister behind? When Gra was swarming through the halls?" Marth's fingers dug into Malledus' shoulders, bringing no small amount of discomfort to the elder. "Why? Why would you-"

"Sire!" Jagen called in a reprimanding tone. Marth froze, then relaxed his grip. Cain and Frey moved forward, Marth allowed them to pull him back.

"The princess… ordered me to leave her." Malledus said, bringing both of his hands to his shoulders, wincing at the area where Marth's hands had been. He couldn't blame the prince for that reaction. "She wanted to be there as Gra descended upon the throne room."

"But… why?"

"To delay them." Malledus continued, "Gra would pause when they captured her, they would waste time that you could use to escape, my lord. Elice…" He paused, then with a deep sigh, he continued. "King Cornelius is possibly dead, and-"

"He is dead." Marth said. Malledus backed up slightly from the words, his hand going to the mouth that opened when he gasped. Marth pointed at Cain, "I've been… told exactly what happened."

Malledus looked at Cain, whose wounds seemed more then life-ending. He sighed. "A lose to Altea, if not the whole of the continent… but this would have only reaffirmed the princess' belief that this was the proper course of action. With the king dead, you are the only worthy wielder of the Falchion, and in turn, you are our only hope to defeat Medeus. The princess saw it clearly, you are the single hope of Altea… or perhaps, the sole light of hope for the entire continent."

"If I can even get out of the nation today." Marth muttered.

"The hope you represent is but a dying ember today, yes…" Malledus admitted. Marth, in his current state, couldn't single-handedly face down a single unit of Dolhr soldiers, let alone the Shadow Dragon. "Which is why you must escape, and temper your strength. In time, you will be strong enough to oppose Dolhr. But for now, retreat is our only choice." He turned to the distance. "Escape."

Marth seemed frozen in place. First his father was certainly dead, his sister… who knows what would have happened to her. And…

"My life is more then just a prince now." He looked at Malledus. "Isn't it?"

"I wish the decision didn't have to be made for you, sire. But you might very well carry the hopes of the entire world. Though the reality must pain you, we might have to… let others die to ensure your survival."

Marth let out a ragged breath. He brought his hand to his rapier, solemnly gripping the weapon. The idea of forcing someone to die just to keep himself alive was…

"I'll sort it out later." Marth said. "Let's… let's keep going."

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><p><strong>Please Review.<strong>


	4. Last Obstacle

**Note: Prologue IV is being separated into two chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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><p>"So, basically, we're the bosses around here?" Norne asked. She was surrounded by a large amount of sailors, the crew of the procured ship, most of them moving around and preparing for the long ship voyage. One of them stopped and nodded at her.<p>

"Till we make landfall, you and the big knight are our employers. But don't you go getting the wrong idea." He crossed his arms. Appearing as serious as an undoubtedly normally jolly man could. "Once we cast off, _we_ call the shots, not you. Landlubbers aren't fit to be directin' how the crew's manning the ship."

"Oh, of course." Norne smiled. "I've never actually been on a boat before, wouldn't know the first thing to do."

"Well then." The sailor replied, "Just know that the 'first thing to do' is to stay out of our way. Though, if nothing goes wrong, there won't be much you could get in the way of."

"Good to know." Norne said, "So, how long until it's all ready?"

The sailor shrugged. "Just a few more crates worth of supplies left. Then we wait until the big knight gives the go-ahead, which probably won't happen until those buddies of his drop by." He looked around for a few seconds, tapping a finger on his bicep. "Where is the big knight, anyway?"

"He said he was going to see if the people he readied the ship for are getting near. Probably won't see him until it's just about go time."

"Of course." The sailor replied, his casual tone easily revealed that he didn't know exactly what the circumstances were. He would… whenever the prince and anyone else with him came. "Just hope he comes back soon, hate to have to resist temptation to splurge on some of those supplies a bit early."

"Splurge on…?" Norne raised an eyebrow. She turned to look at some sailors bringing one of the last crates aboard. "What're in those crates?"

"Nothing for a little kid to know." The sailor said, a mischievous, yet simultaneously condescending glint to his eye. Norne gave a little expression of annoyance, but then shrugged her shoulders, seemingly uninterested. The sailor smiled, "You just give the word for when the big knight comes back."

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><p>Malledus looked far into the distance. He squinted his aged eyes and peered across the landscape. Most of what he could see was a blur at this distance, but he could make out enough to see their destination. "I can see the harbor from here. Safety from Gra is just an hour or so away." He relaxed himself. The last few hours had been harrowing, not for him, but for many others. The last trial that awaited was a fort ahead of them.<p>

In times of peace, that fort was used in a manner comparable to a checkpoint. Just a little area where people would have their belongings examined before they were allowed to reach the harbor. Something to lessen the chances of smugglers escaping with any ill-gotten gains via a water route. By now, he would assume, Gra had already seized it.

"Prince Marth." He said, "Freedom is not far off, perhaps just one more battle, and we will…" He turned his head as he spoke, his voice trialed off as he realized that Marth wasn't in ear-shot. Rather, Marth was several feet away, sitting down, surrounded by the four Altean knights. His head was bowed down into his hands, as if he had chosen just this moment to feel all the pain of the separation from his family. The tormenting reality must have seemed like some beast gnawing at him, devouring hope and optimism, leaving misery and emptiness behind. Malledus moved up to the prince and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Prince…"

Marth shrugged the hand off, breathing out a shaky breath, heavy with a sense of mourning. Malledus placed his hand on the prince, this time more firmly. With a slow, weak sigh, Marth raised his head to determine the owner of the hand…

"Oh, Malledus…" Marth began, his eyes were briefly on Malledus' face before shifting onto the ground, looked remarkably tired. Malledus was surprised that the stress of recent events was so… visible, on Marth's face.

"Sire. We have no time to grieve right now." Malledus warned. "I know your heart is filled with regret and sorrow, but Gra will be neither interested or sympathetic."

I…know." Marth answered, rising to his feet. His arms dangled on the side, seemingly having no willpower moving them at all. He sighed deeply, then with a voice that was almost monotone, he began to speak. "Jagen, we're moving now."

The senior knight nodded, making a few small gestures at Abel, Cain, and Frey. Everyone on their steed, they followed Marth and Malledus. The prince and the tactician continued their conversation.

"In roughly an hour, perhaps more, we should be safely on a ship headed for Talys." Malledus summarized.

Marth resisted the urge to let his lips curl in repulse. Safety meant nothing to him if he had to leave his sister and mother behind to achieve it. He was alone, without family. And he knew that no one could fill this hole in his soul. "Talys…" Marth repeated. "An island nation, right? I've been there once before."

"Yes, prince. I'm surprised you remember that." Malledus said, honest in his surprise yet pleased that Marth was familiar with the name of the nation. "You and Elice were mere children when your father and mother took you to visit King Mostyn of Talys. King Cornelius and King Mostyn were close friends."

"Another 'friend' like Gra, perhaps." Cain interjected from behind Malledus. "I think Altea should learn its lesson about 'friends'."

Malledus continued to walk as he turned back to Cain. The red-armored knight seemed to be moving easier, not being hindered by his wounds to a particularly excessive degree. He was covered in scabs, nature's bandage. "In hindsight, I should have noted that King Cornelius and Jiol of Gra never truly saw eye to eye. But King Cornelius and Mostyn most certainly did. The king of Talys we can trust. I assure you."

Cain went motionless and rigid in the saddle of his horse, but then nodded, slowly. Either from reluctance, or a movement hampering wound on his neck that was not yet healing itself.

"Yet before we worry about whether he will accept us with good faith, let us concentrate with something more pressing." Everyone looked at him with an expression of confusion, he pointed to the fort in the distance. "That is the last obstacle between ourselves and whatever ship Draug has prepared for us. By now, Gra has likely already commandeered it."

"Is there a way around?" Jagen asked. "We risk a great deal to attack an enemy-controlled structure. Even one as small as this."

"I'm afraid there is no other way." Malledus responded. "The fort is constructed over a natural land bridge. If we go around it, we'd have to swim." He turned to the knights. "And you can't do that in your armor. At least not silently enough to not draw attention. Furthermore, if we tried to find another route across the water, we could be traveling alongside the river bed for days before we find an area shallow enough to cross safely and without making noise." He waited for a few seconds, the knights looked at him, then exchanged glances with each other, Malledus heard reluctant murmurs of agreement from the knights.

"At least it's not a very big fort." Marth muttered. "It's far from the place one holds in a siege. There couldn't be many soldiers in there right now. We should be able to win this."

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><p>Gordin had been completely restrained. His quiver and bow taken away, his mouth gagged, and now he had been roped to a pillar inside a fort. A very makeshift form of imprisonment, as the fort had no cell to hold him in. He tried to move his arms, but found that against the rope, he could barely get his fingers to twitch. Tied so securely, all he could really do comfortably was breath.<p>

It was clear that Gra saw Gordin as no danger whatsoever, and did not think that him escaping and relaying any information was a possibility. The Gra captain and a foot soldier blatantly discussed something right beside him.

"Captain. Suspicious characters to our south. Stragglers of the Altean army, near as I can tell."

"Bah." The Captain spat. "Is this what I've been reduced to? Exterminating the little bits and pieces…" The captain's face twisted into an expression of frustration, disappointment, and most predominately, boredom. Saddled on his horse with a javelin strapped to his back, he rubbed a finger against the facial hair on his chin, then crossed his arms. "How many are there?"

"I'd say about six. Looks like a small unit, and two of them don't even appear to be knights at all." The soldier raised a hand and scratched at his helm for a second. "Actually, one of them is dressed pretty regally."

"Regally?" The captain blinked at the word. "Do you mean to say that it's some sort of escort you've spotted?"

"Er… well, it's possible, sir." The soldier answered. "The fancy dressed one is armed too, and the knights seemed to form some kind of circle around him."

"Then it's an escort." The captain said bluntly. Then a thought struck him. "Describe this… regally dressed person."

"Um…" The soldier stroked his finger across the part of the helm that protected his chin. "Let's see… really blue clothes, a cape, a hair band in his hair, and-"

"Soldier!" The captain suddenly growled. The foot soldier flinched and took a step back. The captain's eyes bored deep into the man. "Do you have _any_ idea who you are describing to me?"

"N-no sir." The soldier stammered. "I… I… uh…"

"You incompetent idiot. The soldiers should already be rallied, they-" he paused, then took a breath in, composing himself. Closing his eyes for a moment, then opening them back up, he refocused himself on the soldier. "That is none other then Prince Marth you spotted."

Gordin, listening in on the conversation, felt his eyes widen with shock. Marth was nearby… if the foot soldier's recollection was to be trusted. He turned his head as much as he could, trying to listen to the conversation more intently.

The foot soldier was frozen in place. "The prince? The one who could net you enough money to buy half of the continent if you capture him?"

"The very same." The captain assured. His previous expression of irritation and tedium replaced by one of cautious excitement. "Rally the soldiers, see to it that every post is manned, if he tries to force his way through the fort, we _must_ stop him."

"Yes, sir." The soldier proudly answered. "The prince's capture will solidify Gra's union with Dolhr, and-" The rest of the sentence were ripped from his throat as he saw the captain narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth. "Um, did I misspeak… sir?"

"Soldier." The captain's voice was deathly low. "If the prince gets past us, the only union we should be worried about is the one between our heads and our shoulders." The captain raised a hand and moved two fingers across his throat. "Capture. Him. Is that clear?"

The soldier swallowed loud enough to be heard. "Y-yes sir! All stations will be manned, and on the lookout." The captain waved a hand, and the soldier ran off to relay orders.

Now by himself, the captain turned to Gordin, still tied securely. Contemplating what use he could get from the captured Altean archer. Gordin was already looking in his direction, his eyes trained hard on the captain's face, wearing the same defiant expression he had worn earlier when he was first brought to the captain. The captain noticed, and gave a cruel smirk. If he thought that Gordin had been listening in, he have no obvious indication. "Fortune seems to favor you today, Altean. I had almost decided to make you a public example of what will happen to anyone who resists, but you're about to be given an alternative fate. Rather then bleeding to death in some town square, you're about to be very useful in subduing your precious prince."

Gordin continued to glare. The captain smiled, "You'll be out of those ropes in a moment." An advantageous situation could be arranged with a hostage, it didn't take much brainpower to realize that. If the prince was as inexperienced in true warfare as reports indicated, then he would undoubtedly hesitate when faced with an ally in the situation the captain was about to put Gordin in. That would offer the captain a strong, critical advantage, an advantage that would enable him to capture the prince.

So wrapped up in his thoughts about how the archer would aid him unwillingly, that he didn't notice a Gra scout was in the room. After several repeated calls for his attention, the captain swung around.

"Greetings… sir." The scout said with no small amount of exasperation. "I bear a message from King Jiol himself."

The king. Getting a message from Jiol could be either the signal to worry or a sign that things were going your way. Either way, he put up a façade of indifference and nodded his approval. "Speak."

The scout nodded and pulled out a scroll. Holding it at arm's length, he read slowly but forcefully. "His esteemed majesty, the King of Gra, Jiol, has decided to personally play a part in the hunt for the prince of Altea."

The captain grimaced. If the king found the prince, it was assured that no one but Jiol would bask in the reward. Not a monetary reward, no, Jiol had money enough, rather, he'd be given the most luxurious position imaginable. He'd be Dolhr's right hand, above the rulers of both Grust and Khadein. Both nations that, militaristically speaking, offered far more then Gra did. Only the Manaketes of Dolhr would be above and beyond Jiol if he could personally claim to have captured the one worthy wielder of Falchion left in the world.

"If, prior to the king's arrival, the prince is captured, the standing reward is unchanged. No less and no more then the amount of ten million standard units of gold."

The sensation, like the mouth involuntarily watering, hit the captain. A part of his mind, in the back, tingled at the thought of the money, more then enough to live the rest of his life in luxury, even if he never made or earned more money at any point in his life. Yet the front of his mind remained professionally stoic and unflinching. The scout rolled the scroll back up.

"That is all."

"Go back to the king." The captain said coldly. The scout cocked his head in confusion. The captain continued, "The prince is outside this fort. Tell him the prince is here, and be sure to tell him that the captain who is handling the land's subjugation is the one who will deliver the prince into our king's hands."

The scout studied the captain for a moment. For a second, he was considering calling a superior officer a complete madman for claiming that the prince was, conveniently, right outside this very fort. Yet after that second, the scout decided that he would relay those words to the king. Better to let the captain be revealed as a teller of falsehoods then risk being beheaded for not telling the king exactly where the runaway prince was. When he reached Jiol he would make a point to identify that it was the captain's exact words, and that he wasn't to blame if they were false. Without a word, without even as much as a respectful salute for the captain, the scout left the room, moving towards the rear entrance to the fort.

"It seems I must do this before our oh-so-glorious king arrives." The captain mused. How he would be spending the rest of his life, it would seem, was going to depend upon the outcome of the next few hours.

* * *

><p>Two axe-wielding Gra soldiers were present at the entrance to the fort. Orders from the captain, Altean knights, and the prince, were coming this way. On guard duty, they waited for the inevitable attack. It came quickly.<p>

Nothing subtle, nothing intricate. The Gra soldiers were simply rushed by the Alteans. A simple lightning charge, most likely with the intention of striking critical blows to Gra before the Altean's movement and charge could be analyzed. Whatever the case, the two Gra soldiers were ready for the Alteans. Steadying themselves and brandishing their axes, they met the charge of the knights. With heavier weapons, they easily kept the lighter lances away, even the dense, silver lance the senior knight openly wielded.

After several tense minutes without anyone receiving an injury, the prince appeared behind the knights. The Gra soldiers recognized him, and for a sliver of a moment, their attention was not on the knights, but solely and wholly on the prince. That sliver was all Frey needed to strike a blow to one soldier's armored chest. The strike tore through the armor, and allowed blood to briefly spurt out, the soldier backed up, using his axe to knock away Frey's attempted follow-up strike. With one hand, the soldier clutched at his cut open chest, taking a few deep breaths as his ally was forced to fend off all four knights and the prince at once.

"Get back up here!" The other Gra soldier yelled, clearly being overwhelmed. Before nary a second had passed from speaking the words, Abel managed to sink a spear into the axe man's shoulder.

The soldier grimaced in pain, and swung his axe wildly around as the unbridled anguish set in. His axe nearly sank into the neck of Jagen's horse, but the older knight's lance deflected the heavy blade. Prince Marth ran forward, ducking under another wild axe swing, and fatally ripped his rapier through the man's gut.

That soldier fell down. The other one charged forward, Cain reached out and grabbed Marth by the shoulder, pulling him back, away from the deadly axe swings. The soldier swung one massive swing across his field of vision with the intention of making the knights back off. Any thought of the reward for the prince that he might have had was now gone from his mind, all that mattered to him at this point was living to see another day.

He would not get his wish. His swing, intended to make the knights back up, was blocked by Frey's lance, the axe bounced back, and Abel went in for the final strike. The soldier made one last yelp, a purely fearful, instinctive reaction, as the lance pierced his chest, and ended any hope for survival. Abel pulled the lance back out and the soldier collapsed to the ground.

"That took longer the necessary." Malledus mused from behind everyone else. "We should hurry, if they didn't know we were here before, they definitely know we're here now."

Marth nodded, not wanting to waste time with discussion. He pointed toward the entrance. Abel and Cain moved forward without needing to be explicitly told, and opened the gate. All six of them slipped in, expecting another fight before today was done.

The inside of the fort was well lit with torches along the wall, but beyond the torches the fort was rather bare and spacious. The only sound was their feet clicking on the ground meshing with crackling flames. Beyond that, there seemed to be nothing that was generating sound. Malledus remembered back when this was used as a checkpoint, the fort was always filled with at least a few Alteans discussing things amongst themselves. More then just a checkpoint, it was something of a rest station as well. Yet no Altean was there today, save Marth and his vassals.

Beyond the Alteans, every other individual that was here was on the other side of the room.

"Gra soldiers." Malledus noted. Pointing to the other side of the room. Two lance-wielding Gra soldiers stood at attention, between them was a man saddled on a horse. No, that wasn't quite right… there were two men on the horse.

"So Altea's crown prince has come." One of the men on the horse, sitting more in the back, called out. "Welcome to my little… stronghold. This is where you take your last steps amongst the free and comfortable, prince Marth."

"You sound so sure of yourself." Jagen retorted. "This won't be any different then any of the other small skirmishes against Gra troops we've had."

The Gra cavalier who had spoken seemed somewhat offended by being dismissed as not much different from the other troops. Then he smiled. "Oh? Confident based on your performance against a wandering unit of soldiers or two? Perhaps you don't quite realize who I am. Though my name would garner no reaction from you, know that I am the very captain of Gra who has led the subjugation of Altea since your precious castle fell."

Marth twitched at those words. He held his rapier in his hand, which was beginning to shake with the rage. Malledus saw the visual cue of anger, and laid a hand on the prince's shoulder, a quiet, nurturing, but stern warning to not partake in any unnecessary rash action.

"Everything that Altea is suffering from right now is your fault!" Marth practically screamed. "Death of military soldiers might have been at someone else's call, but every act of violence against the common folk, pointless brutality… it all comes down to you!"

"So it seems." The Gra captain answered. "But I can't really be bothered by that. I just give orders. My hands are clean."

"How dare you-" Cain literally spat on the ground. "I'll make you regret being so indifferent to the pain of the Alteans." He brandished his lance, his face twisting into an expression that rivaled Marth's look of disgust.

"Ah, yes. I suppose you would want to avenge the number of Altean citizens I've already ordered put down." The captain's smile grew wider. "I wonder if you'd be willing to strike down a fellow Altean to reach me?" He brought a hand up and placed it firmly on the head of the man in front of him on the saddle. The man in front was weaponless, bound in rope that restrained his arms and legs, and he was gagged, preventing any coherent speech. "This one was seized right out of Castle Altea. One of your archers. I had planned to kill him in broad daylight before his fellow Alteans, but then you came, and I decided… He could be useful."

"You…!" Frey growled. "Using a meat-shield, how was Gra ever allied with Altea?"

"Gra wants to be strong, advance its position in the world. To seize power, moral logic and civility must become things of the past. Surely you're open to bending rules, Alteans. After all, don't you tell yourselves that Alteans never run from your problems? Yet you and your prince are blatantly attempting to flee the nation."

"I'll kill you." Frey hissed. "Just for using someone else like that."

"Try all you like. But be careful, otherwise this loyal little archer might be the one feeling your steel plunging into his chest to eviscerate his heart." The captain laughed as the Altean knights suddenly charged. The captain's lance wielding soldiers charged forward to meet them. The clash of iron and steel was violent, but brief. The Gra soldiers employed tactics that made them seem… fresh, half-baked, only recently introduced to true battle, they were quickly being overwhelmed, until the captain himself charged.

"Captain!" One Gra soldier yelled in surprise as his commanding officer deflected a blow that would have killed the common soldier.

"Don't get the wrong idea." The captain lectured, "I merely don't want to invite a five-on-one scenario, even with a hostage to aid me." The captain took his javelin in hand and targeted Frey. Frey blocked, deflected, and avoided every blow, but could not counter, the captain kept maneuvering Gordin into the exact area Frey's attacks would need to pass through to strike the captain.

"What's wrong?" The captain mocked. "Isn't the safety of your prince worth sacrificing the life of some anonymous archer?" He laughed, even as one of his two soldiers fell to the lance of Abel several meters away.

Gordin, being used as a meat-shield, tried to struggle, find some way to inconvenience the captain, but he was bound too securely. The captain placed a hand firmly on Gordin's head to prevent any attempt to flail.

"Surround him!" Malledus yelled. "He can't use the archer as a shield from all directions."

"Be silent!" The captain rebuked Malledus sharply, then turned to Marth, who was approaching. "Ah, dearest Altean prince, will you sacrifice a loyal archer to strike me?" Marth made no vocal response, keeping his distance, not risking accidentally striking the archer. The surviving foot soldier returned to the side of the captain, he made his own thrusts with lethal intention, but his lack of skill was obvious. After several moments, Jagen managed to knock the lance from the foot soldier's hand.

"Ah!" The disarmed soldier gasped, backing up to the side of the captain. "Sir, do you have a spare, I-"

"Shut up!" The captain ordered, maintaining his focus entirely on Marth and the knights.

"S-sir!" The soldier called out as Cain and Frey began to press an advance on him. "Get away from… please sir, help me!"

The captain turned to the soldier. "Worry about yourself." Scoffing, the captain refocused himself on Marth, completely unconcerned as the sound of a anguished cry came from the lesser soldier's direction.

"S…sir…" the soldier moaned as Cain pulled his lance back from the killing blow.

"He…" Marth looked at the Gra soldier as he collapsed to the ground. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the soldier, even if he had likely taken some part in the brutality perpetrated against the Alteans. "He asked for help, and you just… you just…"

"What? I only did what any commanding officer would do in my position." The captain said. "Camaraderie? Loyalty? Selfless sacrifice for my troops? This is war, not some game you can walk away from. Once he lost his weapon, he was a complete and utter liability. I had no further use for him."

"How dare you…" Marth snarled and ran forward, completely disgusted at how casually the Gra captain treated the death of his own soldier, Marth twisted around a javelin thrust and swung the rapier at the captain. The captain pulled back, attempting to push his hostage into harm's way.

He was sure Marth struck the archer, but he saw no look of horror on Marth's face, nor hear a muffled scream from his hostage. He had reflexively released his hold on the archer's head, believing that he might lose a finger if he continued to manually hold the Altean in place. For a second, he wasn't sure what happened, or how he should react.

Gordin almost felt his heart stop as the rapier swung by him. The blade moved away, and for a moment he was slightly… spaced out. He sat there, paused as the stupor feeling left him, and then wondered why he felt no pain. He was sure his chest had been ripped open, but didn't hear the sound of his armor being torn apart, or feel the painful sensation of flesh being ripped open. Cautiously, he looked down to see that his chest was intact, without any wound, not even a scratch to the armor or the rope.

He blinked once… then realized the captain's firm hand wasn't on his head, holding him in place. Reflexively, he did the first thing he thought he could do to take advantage of this. Without warning, he swung back, cracking his head against the captain's chin.

"Augh!" The captain suddenly cried, raising a hand to sooth the chin. Gordin continued to struggle, eventually, in his struggle, he leaned far enough to one side that he fell off the captain's steed. Abel charged forward on his horse, leaned over and scooped the archer up, bearing him away from the fight.

"Gah…" the captain turned his attention back to Marth and the three knight still around him. Surrounded, and no little shield that they would be overwhelmingly hesitant to attack. What was going to happen next was obvious.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to go." He said, then growing silent as they converged, seemingly having lost all hope once he was outnumbered and his hostage could no longer be used. He made no attempt to resist as Frey and Cain's lances pierced his gut in two different areas. A low, anguished moan of pain came from him, the lances were pulled back out, and he toppled from his horse.

Raising his eyes, he carefully observed his killers. Jagen carefully pointed his lance at the man. The tip mere inches from his throat.

"Do you wish to make some peace before you go?"

The captain's eyes were not on Jagen right now, but on the lance. He leaned his head back, moving a hand onto his gut, feeling the blood oozing out, a deep red that he had long been familiar with. He blinked in recognition of Jagen's statement, sucking in air for what would have been his words.

"What you just managed to accomplish will… amount to nothing." The captain said, struggling to not let the pain render any of his words inaudible. He gritted his teeth, "Altea has been conquered, it's finished, it's a lost cause at this point. Nothing you do can change that. My… satisfaction that my defeat… does not improve your nation's situation… I shall take it to the afterlife… as a souvenir… urk!" his body convulsed from the pain for a moment. The blood loss was starting to make him feel light-headed, and he was having trouble collecting his thoughts that he wanted to convey. His vision was blurring, the prince, the older man with the prince, and the knights were starting to become vague, fuzzy masses of color. He breathed hard, even if Jagen did not drop that lance on him, he would still die. He balled up his hands into fists, his eyes slowly closing.

Jagen withdrew his lance, seeing no reason to skewer someone only a minute or two away from death.

"Abel." Marth called, turning to the corner of the room, he saw Abel on his horse, the archer right behind him in the saddle, looking very tired. "Bring him over here, Abel." The knight obliged, trotting his horse over, he helped the bound archer onto the ground.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Marth said, reaching out and pulling the archer's gag down. "Are you okay? Um…" he waited for the archer to identify himself.

The first think the archer did was take in a huge gulp of air as he focused himself on the prince. "Gordin, sire. My name is Gordin. I got captured a few hours ago when the castle fell, the rest of my unit is… dead now." His voice turned solemn on that last point. "I never thought that I'd find you like this. I'm sorry you had to make the extra effort to not let me come to harm."

"Don't worry about that." Marth said, offering a sympathetic gleam in his eye as he cut the ropes on Gordin's arms. "You should come with us. We're only an hour away from safety."

"My… thanks, sire." Gordin enjoyed full motion with his arms again. "If we get into another fight, I'm afraid that I won't be able to help you. They… took my quiver and my bow, I can't fight, unless you have a spare."

"We don't." Marth said. "But it shouldn't be a problem, we shouldn't get into another fight. The harbor we'll be escaping from isn't very far away."

"Sire." Frey spoke up as he looked out the window. "We might need to… make haste, or abandon the harbor altogether." He attracted the quizzical glances of everyone else. He took a step away from the window and pointed a finger to the land right outside the entrance to the fort they had come from.

* * *

><p>The army was on the move.<p>

The soldiers of both Gra and Grust walked side by side. The armor of the most elite troops of both nations clinked and clanked as they marched. Spears and swords of the highest quality were wrapped firmly in their fingers, metal forged of the finest material protected them from head to toe.

Most of the soldiers had battle experience the likes of which soldiers twice their age could only dream of. Any weapon, any situation, any condition, they were honed to survive and win under any and all possible circumstances.

At the head of the knights was King Jiol of Gra. The very king who had sold Altea out, and doomed the nation that boasted the legacy of Anri to a cruel and painful occupation. He was not remorseful or aghast over his actions, rather, he was looking forward to committing one last act of treachery against Altea, an act that would seal his place in Dolhr's Empire. He would capture the prince of Altea, for if this failed, everything he had done today would have been for nothing. Dolhr would not be forgiving or understanding if prince Marth slipped through his fingers. That was the Empire's only desire, in regards to the sacking of Altea, the Empire wanted the sole surviving heir to be slowly tortured to death for all to see.

"Soldiers!" Jiol suddenly yelled. Not one soldier jumped or was surprised by his sudden address, but listened to him with chilling stoicism, competence, and practicality. "According to the scout who came to us, the prince is in that fort. Bring him to me, alive! Any royal knights with him you can deal with as you see fit, but the prince must be taken alive."

Jiol stood silently as his soldiers passed ahead of him to carry out his order. Silently, efficiently, they moved in the direction of the fort.

* * *

><p>"No…" Jagen mouthed at the sight of the combined Gra-Grust military. "There is no chance to… we can't fight a force that huge."<p>

"Oh no…" Gordin bemoaned. "I-I-I heard those Gra soldiers talking." Gordin stammered, seemingly suddenly panicked. With an effort, he stopped his stammering and composed himself. He could deliver information better while calm. "Gra's main force is coming right here. That, captain…" he pointed to the now deceased man sprawled out on the floor. "He was talking to a scout, the scout was saying that King Jiol of Gra himself was coming to look for you, prince Marth. I… I should have mentioned it sooner."

Marth gritted his teeth as he looked out the window. Angry already at the simple presence of Jiol, and growing even angrier as Jiol himself did not do anything, he simply stood there as his soldiers moved forward to do his bidding for him.

Malledus bit his lip as his mind raced. "We can't resist something like this. We-" he brought a hand to his head, he was already sweating from the sudden stress and tension that the sight of Jiol and the Gra-Grust force had generated. There was no chance, no hope, not with something like this chasing after them. If only they were… if only they weren't here.

Then Malledus' eyes widened in realization. With that realization came a kernel of renewed hope, and a somberness for what escaping from the Gra-Grust force would require.

"Sire!" Malledus called out to the prince. "They're after you. You know that full well. The only way we can escape is if they leave, but they won't leave as long as they know you're here."

"What are you suggesting?" Marth asked. "Are you saying that I should sacrifice myself?"

"No! No, sire. Your life is too precious for that." Malledus said, "What we need is a decoy. Someone who can pose as you. At the very least, look enough like you to deceive the enemy from a distance." He turned to the knights, Cain, Abel, Frey, Jagen, and most recently, Gordin. "One of you… I'm sorry, but one of you has to make the sacrifice. If we can get one of you to pass as the Prince, they'll follow you, and leave us be. I'm… sorry to ask this of you, your chances of survival are slim, but please, will anyone volunteer?"

A few more seconds, and Malledus realized that there wasn't any point in asking. All five of them volunteered with no regret in their voice or any doubt or fear in their eyes.

"We need only one." Malledus noted. He looked over the knights… time was running out. The decision of who it would be had to be made _fast_. He scanned the knights over frantically… "Frey!" he called out. "Frey, your hair color is… closest to Marth's hair. We don't have time to dress you like the prince. We need to obscure as much of you as we can, make you look like the prince from a distance. And we have to be sure they only see you from behind, the moment they realize that you have… facial hair, is the moment they'll realize that you aren't the prince."

"Wait." Marth pushed himself back into the conversation. "If we do this, how will Frey make his way back to us?"

"Prince Marth…" Malledus stumbled for how to convey this. "He has little chance to make it back, we'll need to cast off on our ship as soon as possible, it's almost impossible that he could catch up in time. If he does, Gra and Grust will likely have followed him."

"But, that's…"

"We don't have time to come up with a better option, my lord." Malledus said in a raising voice. "Please, prince Marth, his sacrifice will have no meaning if you allow yourself to be captured. Too much relies on you escaping successfully. Please, someone must… make such a sacrifice."

"I…" Marth began, the color draining from his face, before his expression suddenly darkened. "First Elice and now… why does everyone have to keep facing death in the face for me?" His tone of voice revealed a deep seated pain and guilt. Having a life deemed 'precious' was doing little more then adding to an emotional sense of hopeless forlorn misery.

"I'm truly sorry my lord, but you know… you can't die today." Malledus nodded. "You will have time to sort out these feelings later. For now, we must do what we must." He turned to Frey. "Put on a cloak, but leave the hood off. We'll let them see the back of your head, but none of your armor. We can't let them see the armor that belongs to a knight and not a prince."

Frey nodded. In a few moments, he had donned a cloak that obscured everything but his head. Riding atop a horse, he was ready to do the task outlined for him.

"May Anri's unflinching will be yours." Malledus said. He nodded toward Frey, who nodded back.

"Frey…" Cain and Abel said in unison, their voices laced so completely with regret, and a feeling that Frey shouldn't be the one sacrificing himself. Abel continued to speak. "Sparring won't be the same without all three of us. I promise, you won't be forgotten."

"Gra will rue this day." Cain said. "You may not live to know of it, but… we will hold you in our memories, and make Gra and Grust both suffer for what they're about to do to you."

Jagen said nothing, but his hands balled into fists at the situation. Surely he felt that someone so much younger then him shouldn't be the one to do this. Willingly risking his own life, a life that could have had an illustrious future if he didn't. Even if he survived, he might never be in fighting condition ever again. He shook his head at the waste

"Thank you, my friends." Frey said. No doubt in his voice, and that tinge of regret that he wouldn't aid the prince in the future… that feeling was safely tucked away where no one could spot it. "I must go now." Frey directed his horse to the entrance that was still open. He wasted a precious second to look back at everyone, another second to notice how everyone seemed to be torn by what he had willingly accepted, and then he wordlessly charged out.

* * *

><p><strong>Honestly, the 'trap' that the captain sets in the game makes absolutely no sense. I understand that it's like that to introduce the player to the concept of recruiting enemies, but still... unless killing Gordin was supposed to give Marth some kind of psychological trauma, I don't see the logic.<strong>

**I'd be more understanding if it was less 'trap' and more 'Let's trick Marth into killing one of his own soldier's for a cheap laugh.'**

**Please review.**


	5. Setting Sail

**After some thought, I have decided that this will be a novelization of Shadow Dragon in its entirety.**

**Now then, this chapter concludes the Prologue.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>Frey, his armor hidden under a cloak, charged out of the fort and across the plains. His mind and body totally committed to the task at hand, the understanding that the successful accomplishment of that task would result in his death did not stay his movement. Though the understanding that an effectively assured death was only a few hours away was making his gut churn. Pushing the feeling down as best as he could, he grabbed the collar of his cloak and covered the lower half of his face with it, obscuring his facial hair. Guiding his horse along, he rode past the Gra-Grust force, close enough for them to see him, not so close as to appear to be trying to be seen, not letting anyone see his face, only allowing them to see him from behind.<p>

The front line of the soldiers from the nations of Gra and Grust paused.

"The prince!" A Gra soldier pointed a finger at 'prince Marth'.

"He's by himself?" These puzzled words were presented by a Grust soldier. "The scout said that he had an escort with him."

"Probably just misinformation." Another Grust soldier said. "Wouldn't surprise me."

Frey ducked in the nearby woods and brought his horse to a halt, waiting as the soldiers voiced their confusion and debated their ideas about who he might have been. Tensely, he patted his horse on the neck, waiting for the soldiers to begin moving. He half-obscured himself with a tree, leaving enough of him visible to allow himself to be spotted, but enough hidden to appear to be trying to hide. He could only hope that his remaining stationary wouldn't give them a potential clue as to what was really going on.

A few more seconds passed, which he knew was providing vital time to allow prince Marth to get away, and then Frey heard a new voice.

"What are you _idiots_ waiting for?" The voice belonged to Jiol, who had seemingly grown intolerant with their talking and discussing. "Is that not the prince right over there?" He jerked a finger at the forest Frey was 'hiding' in.

"Sire. Honored king of an ally nation." A Grust soldier addressed him. "The report said that the Altean prince was being escorted by knights, why would the prince be by himself?"

"Why would he be by himself?" Jiol asked aloud, his tone of voice made it seem as if the answer was simplicity itself. "Simple. Take a look at the fort." He turned to the structure, at the entrance were two deceased Gra axe men. "He tried to force his way through the fort, and lost his knights in the battle. He retreated, leaving his knights to die." It made perfect sense to Jiol. The prince and his knights had to have been defeated, there could be no other reason for Marth or any of the Alteans to come back out the fort from the entrance. The Alteans had been overwhelmed by the Gra soldiers, and the prince, being the young inexperienced fourteen year old that he was, had most likely panicked and fled when he realized that he had been defeated. Jiol could not imagine even the royal knights of Altea pushing past the Gra captain.

"But…" A Gra soldier peered at the man on horseback in the distance. "Isn't it always possible it's an Altean knight who abandoned his prince?"

"No, idiot." Jion shook his head in exasperation. "You clearly underestimate the single-minded, obtuse knights of Altea. They would fight to the death and beyond for their short-sighted leaders. That could only be the prince. Subdue him and bring him to me, Dolhr will be more then compensate each of you for your troubles."

Frey focused his ears, and heard a sound, almost like rumbling. Turning his head just slightly, he saw, from the corner of his eye, the Gra-Grust force charging straight towards the forest. Quickly bringing his eyes to the fore, he and his horse charged off.

* * *

><p>At first they were mere distant dots on the horizon, they could have been interpreted as soldiers belonging to any army at this distance. Stragglers of Altea, or a small Gra unit that had, for whatever reason, broken off from the pack. When they came closer, the identity of the dots grew clearer, and the shape of the prince and the Altean knights brightened Draug's eyes.<p>

"Finally." Draug heaved with relief. Over time, he had developed a feeling of dread and worry in his gut, suspecting that something might have happened to the prince and his fellow knights, but at long last he saw them. A reprieving smile formed on him, an expression of the mouth he didn't think he would make in the current situation, one that quickly folded back to a serious expression. Without hesitation, he moved to meet them, trudging along with the full weight of his armor. "Prince Marth!"

He was still distant when he called out, but his call seemed to be heard clearly.

"Draug?" Marth came to a stop as Draug came up to him. "Draug, what are you… aren't you supposed to be securing a ship?"

"Already taken care of, sire." Draug answered. "The ship is ready, with a crew to man it. They're simply waiting for the command to cast off."

"Well done." Malledus complimented. "However, we have little time to discuss the ship itself. Gra's and Grust's combined main forces are only a few short miles away."

"I understand." He turned around and began to march with the others. As they moved, he looked at the knights that were with Marth, trying to identify everyone. "A shame that so few have come with you. I-" he paused, looking over the knights a second time, mentally identifying all of them. "Wait, wasn't Frey supposed to come with you?"

Marth's pace slowed for a moment. He shook his head, his heart heavy with what was likely happening even as Draug spoke.

"Sire? Is something wrong?" Draug raised an eyebrow… then a realization struck him. "Frey was killed on the way here, wasn't he?"

"No." Marth corrected. "He's not dead. He's… alive."

"Then where is he?"

"Behind us." Malledus said. Then he shook his head, "But he won't catch up. He's working on leading Gra and Grust away from prince Marth. We have to leave… without him."

Draug's head pulled back as the statement sunk in. With his mouth hanging open he continued his march with his head slightly bowed down. A long silence set in, Draug closed his eyes, he looked oddly weary for a moment, as if he were decades older then he actually was, and then he nodded. "Anri's strength and courage guide him. He deserves a better end then on a traitor's knife."

"It should have been me." Gordin muttered. "I was pathetic enough to get myself caught when the castle fell, and then I was used as a hostage. It would have been better if someone as useless and helpless as myself was the bait for them. I-" The archer's voice was rising, and his hands clenching into fists as he continued to move.

"Gordin." Jagen swung his head to the archer, then began to talk with a calm voice. "Frey's sacrifice will mean nothing if we cannot appreciate what he did for us. We must take advantage of what he did, not squander the time he gave us by bemoaning that it was him and not you."

"I-"

"I would have rather that I had been the one who sacrificed himself, Gordin, rather then Frey. I am the first to acknowledge that sentiment, but the decision was made for Frey to be the decoy, and he has already begun that task. He-"

"Jagen." Malledus interrupted. He looked at the elderly knight for a moment, "We haven't the luxury to talk about this right now." He turned to Gordin. "You aren't useless, Gordin. You're an Altean knight, just like Frey was. And the fact that you volunteered yourself without hesitation to be the decoy, even if you weren't chosen, is all I needed to see to understand your value."

A silence hung between the group of soon-to-be exiles, then Gordin bowed his head and sighed deeply. "I only meant to say that I wish Frey didn't have to suffer at… _their_ hands. He deserved better then that."

"He did." Cain interrupted. "Gra and Grust will pay for this. We-" his words were cut off by a sudden marine breeze tossing his hair. He looked forward to see that they were at the harbor already.

"Here already." Draug noted. "Let's move to the pier immediately. They're waiting for us."

* * *

><p>Frey continued his movement through the woods. Using his arm to swat branches away, he kept moving. He could hear the enemy approaching him from behind, and knew that they were gaining on him despite their cumbersome armor. They were good at their assigned duties, he had to give them that, even if they were shameless blackhearts. Frey continued his attempts to outpace them, until eventually he came to the base of a cliff. He brought his horse to a stop, he might have attempted to turn sharply to the left or right, but Gra and Grust had already surrounded him before he could do anything to let the chase continue.<p>

They were almost like a ring around him, he was locked in. The soldiers were packed too densely for an attempt to break through their lines to be a feasible option. Several more seconds passed, Frey raised his head to look at the top of the cliff. It would be impossible to climb… he narrowed his eyes in frustration, then heard a boastful voice.

"Well, well, well…" Jiol's arrogant, assured voice spoke up. "What have we hear? A runaway little prince?" He sauntered through the line of soldiers, looking straight at his cornered target. Superciliously, he raised his lance and pointed it directly toward the 'prince'. "Tell me, where is Anri's legacy now?"

With a smirk, Frey answered. "Far away from here, traitor." With an almost cocky movement of his hand, he grabbed the shoulder of his cloak, and without pause, ripped the fabric off of him. A ripple of gasps went through the soldiers, followed by murmurs and small discussion about Frey's armor. Armor of a royal knight, not a prince.

"We fooled you, Jiol." Frey turned around, revealing a face that couldn't possibly have belonged to the prince of Altea. Even as outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outmatched as he was, he still smiled. "The prince, our hope, is now on the final leg of his escape from Altea. However will you explain your failure to capture him to your new masters in Dolhr?"

"You… you…" Jiol breathed, his face warping with an expression of the fiercest hatred and humiliation. His next words were directed at his soldiers. "Make this derisory Altean worm see the price of mocking me."

At once the soldiers surged to obey Jiol's command. Frey dismounted from his horse. With a strike of his hand on the side of it, he sent the horse away. He brought his lance out, taking one moment to not be focused on them but on the blue sky above. "I am honored to die for you, sire. Live, and grow strong. Strong enough to right the wrongs they have sown. Make what I'm doing right now… count." He lowered his gaze and readied his lance, he let the soldiers come at him.

The ring converged on him, steel and silver seemed to come at him from all directions. He gritted his teeth and raised his lance in defense. Both the Gra and Grust forces were still here… and every second they spent on him was a blessing. He blocked, deflected, and repelled nearly every blow that came at him. Nearly. His lance alone couldn't possibly stop the sheer amount of attacks coming at him, and his armor quickly revealed the scratches of blows that passed his defense, yet failed to penetrate his armor.

"Fight, you idiots!" Jiol called out. "He's just one man." The soldiers pressed their charge on Frey, he held them back for several more seconds, until one soldier thrust with his lance, lightly grazing Frey's neck. Nothing serious, it didn't get through his neck guard, but it was enough to disorient him long enough for a strike to come upon the arm that was holding his lance. He grimaced from the blow that seemed to hit a tendon, and felt his lance fall from his grip. Permitted only a tenth of a second to react to this development, Frey found himself weaponless as the soldiers came on him again.

Weaponless translated into helpless, and the soldiers weapons tore into him, Frey's armor groaned and splintered under the attacks as the lances and swords began to bite through his flesh. Frey knew it… the end had come.

"Soldiers!" Jiol suddenly called out as Frey collapsed to his knees. The soldiers relented and turned attentively to Jiol, having no need to keep their guard up against the wounded Altean, "Half of you, come with me. The prince is still out there." He waited a moment, and a number of Gra and Grust soldiers came up to him. He addressed what soldiers remained around Frey. "The rest of you can handle this." He began to turn around, but looked over his shoulder to make one final statement. "And please, make it _hurt_." Several soldiers returned to Frey. In a few moments Jiol was already out of sight, leaving Frey alone with the soldiers.

"So that's it… isn't it?" Frey coughed out, feeling the wet, hot blood building in his mouth from one of the recent blows. "That's it… for _you._" He allowed himself a smile, one that seemed bitter and smug at the same time. "Who knows what Dolhr will do to those who failed to capture the prince? You had better take all your fear of punishment and failure, turn it into hatred and bloodlust, and unleash it on me. And do take your time. Because it might be the last thing you ever do as safe, comfortable men."

They did exactly what Frey suggested. In minutes the bones in all four limbs were snapped, one of his arms was bent back further at the elbow then the arm should bend. They tossed him to the ground, removed his armor and took turns kicking him in the ribs, several of which cracked under the abuse. They beat him hard with fists and feet, he felt his jawbone dislocate and his nose break, he suspected that his skull might be fractured as well. He was set up along the cliff wall, and the heavily armored knights, armored like Draug, took their time charging at him, tackling him, crushing him between their armor and the cliff base. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, he was swollen from the blows, his face and shoulders saturated with their spit.

He was breathing hard, which seemed to be the only movement that he still had the strength for. His eyes had grown weak and weary, he didn't even have the strength to taunt Gra and Grust for their failure. He began to slowly close his eyes, the last thing he saw was the boots of a Gra soldier approaching him…

* * *

><p>"Set the sails! We're casting off!" Draug suddenly commanded as he and the others boarded the ship. The crew, rather then immediately jump to their duties, paused and glanced at him with an expression of confusion and perhaps slight agitation over the sudden command.<p>

"Now!" He yelled at them. "This is more important then you could possibly know."

A shudder went through them from the fierceness of Draug's voice, and they immediately went to fulfill his command. Within moments the sails were set and they were departing the pier.

"Wow, wasn't expecting you to yell about it." Norne said, she was up near the helm of the ship. In a moment she jumped over the rail and landed on the main deck. "I guess they're chasing us right now?"

Draug exasperatingly shook his head. Malledus raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?" The tactician took a step forward, examining the young girl. "A mercenary?"

"A… volunteer." Norne corrected.

"Oh, yes." Draug said, turning to his fellow knights. "This is Norne. She helped me reach the harbor, she wishes to aid Altea."

"Yep." Norne added enthusiastically. "I'm an archer, straight out of a little provincial town. Ready to serve."

Malledus continued to look her over, seeming unconvinced. "How much training do you have with the bow?"

"Lots." Norne replied rather smugly. "I hunted a lot before all this happened."

The tactician blinked at the statement, then shook his head. "Moving on…" he turned to a crew member. "Can we move to the areas below deck? Most of us are… tired, and need some time."

"No problem with going down there now." The crewman replied. "Just so you know, once we're in open waters, several of the crew will be down there as well. Don't get too lonely by yourselves."

Malledus nodded his thanks for the information, then turned to Marth. "Sire, let us go down, maybe a little… rest and food, will make you feel better."

Marth sighed, then moved below deck with a bowed head. He was quickly followed by most of his knights. Gordin tried to follow, but was stopped by a grip on his shoulder. He turned to see Norne as the owner of the hand.

"Um…" Gordin suddenly felt exceptionally uncomfortable as Norne released his shoulder and began to pace around him. "Can I… do something for you?"

"Aren't you a knight?" Norne asked, scanning him. "You don't seem to have a weapon. Oh, are some kind of covert knight?"

"No." Gordin said, the word came out quickly enough that it might of drawn suspicion. "I… I'm an archer, but Gra stole my bow when they captured me."

Oh. Ohhhh, you're an archer. I like that."

Gordin found himself starting to lean back as Norne got right up in his face. "Y-yes, Norne. I'm an archer, just like you." He suddenly wanted to slip into the cabin and disappear among the other knights, a desire that only heightened when he realized that his face was heating up. "Um… do you want something f-from me?"

"Nah." Norne said, pulling back. "Just curious as to how different your archery might be." She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, actually, hunting animals probably isn't that all that different from shooting people, really. Heck, I might be the better here."

"I…" Gordin briefly paused at her statement, "I don't think so, Norne." He desperately hoped that those words didn't sound arrogant or haughty, but he honestly couldn't see animal hunting producing a better archer then formal accuracy training. "Hunting stags couldn't be anything like trying to strike an enemy soldier with an arrow."

"Right." Norne said with a cocky expression. "Somehow, I doubt that you've killed enough people to really be able to say that for sure."

I… I didn't say I had killed any amount of people." Gordin said, "I'm just saying that killing an animal is, well, easier then a soldier."

"Really?" Norne resisted the urge to smirk. "Always seemed to me like deer were a lot smarter then some people."

"That's… um, not quite the point." Gordin felt like Norne's assuredness was making him lose control of the situation, even if he was quite certain he was in the right. "When hunting, have the deer ever charged at you, intent on killing you?"

"Well… no." Norne admitted. "They run when they think something dangerous is around, ya know." She scratched the back of her head, then her eyes suddenly widened. "Hey, that doesn't mean that you're training is better then my self-teaching."

"I-I never said that." Gordin said, "I just-"

"Okay then." Norne smiled, succeeding on confusing Gordin. "When we're on land again, we'll find… something, that can let us see who's better. I-"

"What are you two doing?" A harsh, older voice cut in. Gordin, who knew the voice far too well, turned around to address the speaker with the speed of a cracking wipe.

"S-Sir Jagen." he stammered at the sight of the older knight, sans his armored steed at the moment.

"I truly hope my ears are going." Jagen said with a threateningly low voice that made both archers shrink away from him, Jagen's face revealed his agitation. "For I could swear, that in Altea's darkest hour, with our enemies having their way with the nation, with the princess Elice and the queen Liza unaccounted for, with a loyal knight sacrificing himself to ensure our escape, with us having nowhere near the numbers necessary to fight our enemies, with all that has happened today, I am hearing you two argue over who the better archer is!" He bore aged, critical eyes on their faces, waiting for a response. After a second, Gordin walked forward with his head bowed.

"L…Leave Norne out of this, Sir Jagen." He moved squarely in between Jagen and Norne." I… I started the argument."

_No you didn't._ Norne thought. _I started it… why is he trying to cover for me?_ She paused in confusion for a second, then realized that if she didn't do anything, Gordin would probably be punished. She took a step forward and put a hand on Gordin's shoulder, he looked back at her, their eyes met for a moment before she turned to Jagen. "Sir Jagen, he… he's lying. I started it, I didn't mean to get him in trouble, I-"

Jagen raised a hand to command silence. "I admire the willingness you both have in your attempts to try and keep the other from taking blows. However, I had not intended to-" He would have continued, but a sudden booming sound caught his attention, he looked up to see dark clouds in front of the ship. "A storm…" he lowered himself back to the two archers. "Get below deck before any rain comes, and if you two talk to each other again, see to it that it's a conversation that appreciates the gravity of our situation."

* * *

><p>Marth and the Altean knights were seated around a table covered in food. A far cry from a royal banquet, but probably a much fancier selection of food then most Alteans would ever enjoy. Even so, very little food here was going to be eaten. Marth didn't seem to want food, his stomach was focused on… other things. He sat with a cup of warm water in his hands, but made no effort to drink. Instead, he merely stared at it, as if his reflection in the clean liquid could give him some form of guidance or comfort.<p>

Everyone else seemed to share the indifference to the food. Even Norne, who, in any other circumstance, would have dove at the food with all the grace of swine, found her appetite disappear.

There was no talk or chatter, everyone simply stood or sat. The loud pitter-patter of rain revealed the downpour that was hitting the ship now. The paid crew was likely hard at work keeping the ship on course. Despite what that one crewman had said earlier, there likely would not be many crew members below deck right now.

"Sire, you should eat." Malledus said. "You should keep your strength up."

Marth only dipped his head lower, bringing his eye closer to the water.

"Sire, please…"

Marth took one very small sip from his water. He let the liquid go in slowly, then rose from his chair and left the room, returning to the deck.

"Sire, wait, it's raining!" Malledus protested, but his words either weren't heard or were ignored. Marth went above deck, right into the downpour. He sighed, "I'll go get him, everyone stay here unless I call for you." Malledus followed Marth up the steps. The knights stayed where they were.

Cain sat at the table, not eating. Rather, he took the cooking knife and slowly, bitterly, stabbed a slice of beef over and over again. His hand was curled around the knife handle so tight, it would have been a struggle to pry it away from his grasp. Abel sat next to him, tapping his fingers on the table. Abel turned his gaze to an empty chair, and immediately he began to think of Frey. He could almost see his fellow knight occupying the chair, and with him there, a few more smiles could have been seen around the table. Draug was also with them, sitting quietly with his eyes closed. He hadn't witnessed tragedies first hand like they had, but he still felt it in his own way. His face offered a soundless song of mourning for the nation, and for the recently deceased.

Jagen stood in the corner with his arms crossed. Though normally jaded and professionally stoic, he, too, was feeling the losses of this day. Which, until now, only Marth had probably been truly feeling. Despite being successful in getting the prince out of the nation, a bitter sense of defeat and failure seemed to ring in his head.

Gordin found himself staring out a window. He could only make out the edge of Altea from where he stood. His mind seemed to reflect back to more peaceful days in the nation, before it all began. He half-closed his eyes, looking as if he was very tired. His memories should have been warm, but the understanding that it would be a long time before he could return to Altea somehow made his recollection… cold.

Then his eyes shot open in a sudden realization.

"Something wrong?"

He looked over his shoulder to see Norne walking up to him. From her expression, he imagined that she had a general idea of what he had been thinking of.

"I… think you know, Norne."

"No, no, Gordin. That look on your face goes way, way beyond homesickness. What's wrong?"

He sighed, then turned back to the window. He carefully thought about what he would say, even though it was a rather simple fact.

"I… I complete forgot about it when in all the chaos, but, I… my… younger brother is still back there." He clenched his eyes shut, and for a moment he looked as though he was going to cry. "I can't believe I left him behind, I'm… a complete failure as a brother and a knight."

He might have really begun to cry, but felt a soft hand land on his shoulder. He looked back to see Norne again. She smiled softly, he quickly realized the smile was meant as a comfort.

"Gordin, I'm sure you're not a failure at either thing. I mean, sure, you don't have a bow or any arrows right now, but you are here, part of Marth's, ah, Private Altean Guard. And your little brother, well, I'm sure he understands what you had to do. Trust me, when we someday come back, he'll greet you with a big, _big_ smile, I'll bet."

I… I hope so, Norne."

"No, no! Not like that." Norne suddenly said with a little more bite. Gordin regarded her with a look of confusion. "Gordin, don't say 'I hope so', say 'I know so'."

"I… uh, know so?"

Norne closed her eyes for a second, rubbing her hand on her temple, then opened her eyes back up, seemingly somewhat dismayed and amused at the same time. "Well, a bit more confidence couldn't have hurt, but it's a start. Now then…" she leaned in a bit and began to whisper, apparently not wanting anyone else to listen in. It was just a way to let the conversation have less chance of being overheard, but the movement seemed to still caused Gordin to grow flustered and his face to heat up. "You, uh, going to accept that challenge?" she whispered.

He made a fretful look to the left, then focused on her again. "Challenge?"

"You know, what I said on the deck. See who's better. We make some targets and have an accuracy contest. We can plainly see that some of us really need to get our minds off of… current events."

"I, uh…" He already knew the answer he would give to the question. He found himself wondering why he was unable to stay calm right now. "Sure. We can have an archery contest. S-so…"

"Great!" Norne said quietly as she pulled back, she was clearly looking forward to it. She made a look over her shoulder, just in case someone was listening in, then turned back to Gordin. "I'll be ready." She smiled, backed a step away, sat down on top of a nearby barrel and crossed her legs. "Oh, uh…" she addressed him again,

Gordin's face turned sheepish. "Y-yes? What… is it?"

She traced her eyes across the walls. "So, does that make us, you know, friends, now?" Nervously, cautiously, her eyes returned to Gordin. Her face covered in an expression of anxious hope. "I mean, you don't let yourself take the blows of someone you don't like, right?

He blushed. He probably looked far more nervous then she did right now. "S-sure. Yes. We're, uh… friends." The words changed Norne's expression to relief. She scooted to the edge of the barrel she was sitting on, and leaned to the side to look out the window with him.

"What a sour day to start a friendship on." She mused out loud. Gordin found himself nodding in agreement.

* * *

><p>"Let's see here…" Back at the harbor, the dock master strolled by the pier, calculating what he could do with the money the knight had given him. "That was <em>quite<em> the deal I made, business has been so slow, now I can start spending again." His mind raced and danced with the possibilities of what he could do. What the knight had ordered was essentially a small warship, just no cannons. The sort of stuff on that ship didn't come cheap, and the knight had paid the full-price right up front. He expected to be haggled more then that, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Making a deal like that, a deal that gave him _this_ much money, always put him in a good mood. The soft breeze of the harbor made his good mood even better, like the breeze was, in its own way, congratulating him. His mood improved even further as he noticed several ships sailing in and docking. He smiled in satisfaction, these ships carried valuable… imported goods. He didn't bother with the details of just what they were, only that they fetched a very, _very_ good price. His smile grew wider, nothing could tamper his good mood. Absolutely noth-

"You!" A voice, low and threateningly, called out from behind him. He snapped around to see a legion of Gra and Grust soldiers standing attentively. The commander, who seemed to have been the owner of the voice, pointed at the dock master.

"Um…" the dock master paused, feeling more then a little worried. "S-something I can do for you, sir?" He had dealt with armored soldiers before, but he had never experienced a group this size coming to him. His sense of worry grew as they all advanced a step, and he audibly gulped.

"Did you allow some Altean soldiers leave on a ship?" The apparent commander of the soldiers asked.

"Er…, well, I _suppose_ an Altean knight might have request an armored ship earlier today." He admitted in a roundabout manner. Then he was suddenly rushed by the soldiers, they swiftly seized him and pinned him to the ground. The other people in the harbor, who were already drawn to the scene by the presence of the soldiers, began to murmur at the sight of what was happening to the dock master. "Agh… w-what do you want… from me?" he managed to speak as his head was pressed into the ground. "Ugh… you… you want a ship? I can give you th-the discount, to… end all discounts!"

The commander walked up to the dock master. "Do you realize who you're talking to? I am Jiol, the king of Gra!"

The dock master gasped, then made a second look at the man's ornate armor. It couldn't be a lie or a bluff. "W-what do you want? I… I…"

"This Altean soldier, did anyone else besides him board the ship you provided for him?"

"I… I think so. He said, there would be more coming."

Jiol's body language implicated his sudden inferno of rage. "Do you realize who you offered sanctuary to?" He growled through gritted teeth. "The prince of your nation escaped on that boat!"

The murmuring of that crowd increased in pitch and volume. Their conversations were meaningless to Jiol.

"You could never understand what you've cost me… the humiliating blow _you_ have allowed me to have to endure!" the wrathful tone of his voice increased in its raw anger. He turned to a soldier. "Kill him!"

"No, no!" The dock master struggled as one soldier walked up to the pinned man and revealed an axe. "Wait, please! I… I can-"

"Hold." Jiol commanded the axe man. He relaxed his expression slightly and turned back to the dock master. "Do you know where the prince is sailing to?"

"N-no." the dock master fearfully stammered. "T-they were allowed to sail off w-without telling me the destination." He shook with fear as Jiol's face returned to its formal wrathful expression.

"If you had been able to answer the question, I would have spared your life." Jiol snorted. He nodded at the axe man, who lifted the axe high in the air.

No… _no_! The dock master screamed in terror as the axe descended in what seemed to be slow-motion and normal speed at the same time. The axe cut quickly, and the dock master's head was severed from his body. It rolled to Jiol's feet as gasps cut through the crowd, the head's eyes were clenched tightly shut, as if the disembodied head could still feel all the terror. The death of the man who had effectively allowed for the prince's escape did little to quell Jiol's anger and fear. The prince had slipped through his fingers, and he had fallen short of accomplishing the single goal that Altea had been invaded for. He did not look forward to giving Dolhr his report.

His rage and dread mixed together, and he impulsively kicked the dock master's head away from him. It landed in the water and bobbed for a moment, then began to sink. The soldiers who had seized the dock master were still holding the body, without needing to be told they chucked it into the water with the head. Breathing hard, Jiol turned around to behold the citizens of the harbor. The Alteans who were there to see him lose his quarry. His fury reached a new level of intensity.

"Kill them all!"

* * *

><p>"Prince! Prince Marth, please. Come back inside!" Malledus called out over the sound of the water pouring down and flowing across the deck. Marth was at the rail of the ship, completely indifferent to how soaking wet he already was. His eyes were locked on Altea in the distance, now just a vague line of land. His hands clutched on the rail, gripping it with enough strength that a unit of trained knights might not have been able to pry him away from the rail. The rain… Marth pondered the storm for the tiniest fraction of a fraction of a second. It seemed as if whatever deities above him were crying for Altea, the rain, their tears. It was barely beginning to approach dusk, but the storm made it seem as if night had already come.<p>

He mumbled something beneath his breath.

"Sire?" Malledus inquired, "Sire, what did you say?" he wasn't sure if Marth could hear him over the storm.

"I said that I was a lowly craven." Marth responded. "How can I claim to be a heir to _anything_ when I sulk off like a coward as my nation is being sacked? Above us, Anri must be sickened."

"Sire!" Malledus found his elderly voice had much difficulty being heard in his own ears. "We had no other option then to do this, but… in time, we will surely return. And-"

"Malledus." Marth said, his words almost inaudible, but they still registered on the tactician's ears. "Speak again, with no uncertainty or doubt in your words." He took in a deep breath of air, "Assuredly, Malledus. Not 'surely'. I will return, I… Gra, Grust, Khadein, Dolhr, I will make them _all_ pay."

"Sire…"

"But for today… if just for today…" Marth's voice began to break, he closed his eyes and tilted his head up. "Today, I… I just want to-"

Malledus didn't realize it, but Marth was hiding his tears in the rain. For this moment, he was weeping for the nation and the family he had been torn from so suddenly in just one day.

"-cry." Marth finished his sentence.

* * *

><p>"I hope your new quarters are… to your liking."<p>

Elice found herself chained to a wall. Though she had initially believed she'd be killed in the throne room, Gharnef seemed to have other ideas. What those ideas were, however, remained unknown to her.

This torch-lit room, which she surmised was not in Altea at all, looked to be 'home' for her from now on. This was a point in time where one could not have reproached her to fear for her safety and worry only about herself. After all, she was a member of the ruling family of a nation that was quickly falling to its enemies. But…

But her thoughts were not on herself, not for the tiniest amount of a second were they on herself. She thought of her brother, hoping that he had safely escaped by now. Whether he had succeeded or failed, she'd likely no sooner or later. If Marth had… not managed to escape, her keeper, Gharnef, would likely gleefully present her brother's head to her. Crush her hopes to defeat Dolhr and eradicate the warmth in her soul. If Marth successfully escaped, she assumed that Gharnef would grow enraged at the mere mention of Marth. He would bitterly hurt her in an attempt to shut her up when she mentioned her brother.

Beyond Marth, the only other person she thought about was a… certain Altean mage, who hadn't been in the nation at the time all this happened.

_Merric…_

The wooden door creaked open, and, predictably, Gharnef walked in. He held a small plate of cooked meat. Whatever purpose Elice was being kept alive for, it must have been important, despite her lack of mobility, the way she was treated was surprisingly gentle. A rather pampered treatment for a prisoner, but it didn't change her disposition toward the Pontifex.

"Gharnef." Elice said coldly. "What of-"

"-your brother." He finished for her. Elice's stomach lurched at how… relaxed he seemed. "Oh, spare me any emotional outbursts, princess. He's still alive."

"Hah." Elice gave a smug smile. "Then it seems you failed in your goal of keeping him from escaping."

Gharnef smiled. "It is of no consequence. Where your brother goes is of no concern of mine."

His response covered Elice's heart with a slight sense of dread, but then it quickly dissolved. "The only person left who can wield the Falchion and stand up to your masters escapes and it's a minor inconvenience? A likely story, Pontifex." She had paused a moment at the words 'only person left'. She had since grown painfully aware of what had befallen her father.

"Oh?" Gharnef's smile didn't waver. "The Falchion is… far away from him. Safely out of Altea's grasp. Why should I fear a single man when he hasn't the weapon necessary to become such a thorn in Dolhr's side?"

Elice's brief moment of smugness faded, her eyes became downcast. Gharnef made a small gesture and the chains binding Elice broke off of her. Reluctantly, she grabbed her plate and stepped away from the Pontifex.

"Don't like your conditions, do you? Trust me. You will learn, to like it."

"My brother will save me, and bring an end to you and all your allies." said adamantly as she took a slow bite of the meat.

"Doubtful." Gharnef answered. "He's no threat… to us."

* * *

><p><strong>Take note, though this chapter completes FE11's prologue, we won't immediately jump to 'Marth vs. Pirates' next chapter. Other stuff to deal with first.<strong>

**In the last chapter, Frey is told "May Anri's unflinching will be with you", in this chapter, Draug says "Anri's strength and courage guide him." I just find it appropriate for the Altean characters to say things like that. It's all derived from Malledus saying "Anri save us!" or something along the lines of that in Prologue IV.**

**Please review.**


	6. Sanctuary

**Now that this is a novelization of FE11, there are some things I should note.**

**-Any canon pairing (such as Astram/Midia) will be in here. There will be other relationships of my own design as well.**

**-FE11's reclassing feature will not be present here. The character defined as an archer will stay an archer for the entire story.**

**-I will try to take FE3/FE12's plot into account when I can, but understand that I haven't played those games, and only have general plot summeries to go off of. I'd rather be able to play 12 myself, and until a 13 is announced, I'm holding onto hope for a localization of 12.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing save any and all OCs.**

* * *

><p>Dolhr Keep was easily the most disconcerting and unsettling place Jiol had ever found himself in. The dark stone, covered with ancient hieroglyphics, seemed to stress that the builders were not human. Or at least, the building hadn't been built at the behest of humans. Who had built the structure, exactly? The dragonkin? Or human servants? He didn't know. The building seemed to be lit by some kind of blue light that came through the stained glass windows. Passages snaked in every which way, it was only due to a guide, a human whom Jiol didn't know the name of, that he did not find himself wandering lost through this fortress.<p>

However, for all the uncomfortable elements of the building itself, it wasn't what was truly making Jiol's skin crawl. It was more the fact that he would have to say, to the face of none other then Medeus the Shadow Dragon, that he had failed in his assigned task.

He was already putting his excuse together. Altean trickery combined with the incompetence of his soldiers led to the failing. The failing was never due to any lack of ability or perception on his part. He would, of course, leave out the fact that it had been him who had been so certain that the distraction was the real prince.

The keep was a cold, unfeeling structure. Suited to be the dwelling of the merciless master that Jiol was about to appear before. Yet despite the penetrating chill that seemed to be present at every area of the keep, Jiol found that he was hot. Sweating. He was terrified, terrified to give the news he was going to give to Medeus.

He found himself in front of the door that led to Medeus' room. Without realizing it, the anxiousness had him pacing through the room after his guide left. He was… mildly surprised that it was at the base of the keep. He had come here with the supposition that Medeus would seat himself on the highest tower. The closer to the sky he sat, the better, Jiol thought, Medeus could shout a challenge to the human-loving gods.

The door in front of him suddenly opened, and a single cloaked figure stepped through the doorway. A Manakete, a dragon who had a human form, with his true draconic power and form sealed inside a gem called a 'Dragonstone'. Most Manakete's kept their Dragonstone on their person at all time, this Manakete seemed to have it sewn on the robe's neck. The Manakete's body was obscured by a robe and his face hidden by a hood. The inability to see his face seemed to send a shiver down Jiol's spine.

"Jiol." The Manakete beckoned, not using Jiol's title of 'king'. "I am Xemcel. I trust you have good… news, for the Emperor."

There was a tone to Xemcel's words that made Jiol uneasy. He nodded at the Manakete's words as cordially as possible. This was far from the time where he could make an appropriate response to someone not addressing him with his proper title. "I will deliver what I came to deliver, Master Xemcel." He forced his voice not to tremble.

"Well then…" Xemcel took a step to the side. Despite the difficulty in seeing his face, Jiol suspected that he was smiling. "Deliver."

Without speaking another word, Jiol stepped through the doorway, and he suddenly grew even more uneasy. This torch-lit place seemed to be more comparable to a shrine then a throne room. All across the room he could see humans, the Manakete worshipping humans that lived in Dolhr, bowing down and praising the return of Medeus. The only people standing, besides Jiol, were robed individuals near the packs of subservient humans, he knew full-well that the robed men were Manaketes. The Manaketes, though standing, had their heads bowed in recognition of their leader's return.

He should have been able to see Medeus somewhere in this room, but only half the room seemed to be lit up. The half across from Jiol was pitch black. He knew there was something back there, but couldn't make out what it was.

Jiol walked forward to the center of the room. His feet were clicking on stone throughout most of the room, but now he realized that he was walking on metal. Taking a look down, he noticed he was now standing upon some kind of black insignia embedded in the floor. Looking back up, he noticed a wooden chair near him, he quickly moved to investigate. A few steps was all it took to reach it, and he found someone sitting in it, albeit, hunched over and motionless. After a few seconds, he realized that it was a deceased Gra soldier.

"He lost his will to live…" a voice came from behind Jiol. The king of Gra looked over his shoulder to see Xemcel approaching him from behind. "…and chose to kill himself rather then face Manakete justice."

"Jiol." A new voice called out. Suddenly all the Manaketes in the room, including Xemcel, knelt down, mimicking the pose of the humans. The humans in the room, in turn, bowed even lower, a vicious punishment awaited anyone who held himself at the same height of one of the Manaketes. In only two seconds after the new voice spoke, Jiol was the only person in the room still standing.

"Jiol." The voice repeated. "Did you really plan to walk in here to tell me you failed to deliver _his_ descendent to me?"

Suddenly, the unlit torches on the pitch black side of the room lit up. The pair of torches closest to Jiol lit up first, then the pair after that, then the pair after that, until finally all the unlit torches were ablaze. He could plainly see what lay across the room. A gilded, golden throne, its design otherworldly and intricate, upon it sat a man. No, not a man, another Manakete, and Jiol knew exactly who it was.

"E-Emperor… Medeus." Jiol reflexively knelt down in submissive respect. He couldn't understand how Medeus had already gotten word that he had failed.

"Be silent. Jiol." Medeus responded. "That soldier beside you-" he nodded his head toward the deceased Gra soldier in the wooden chair. '-was one of the ones who were with you in Altea. He, and the other Gra and Grustian soldiers returned before you to reveal that they fell for a decoy knight. They were appropriately punished for their foolishness." Medeus closed his eyes, "Morzas."

One of the Manaketes in the room stood up and turned to Jiol. This Manakete, Morzas, regarded Jiol with disdain, then began to talk, "That human in the chair is simply the single one who managed to kill himself before we could seize him. The others…" he smiled, the curl of his lips was very discomforting to Jiol, but Morzas seemed to be amused and sanctimonious, "…were rather slowly and methodically chopped into tiny bits."

Jiol flinched.

"This, of course, was after they were skinned, and their skin hung up on tree branches. Rest assured, they were alive when their skin was peeled off."

The sweat broke out on Jiol's head again as a bile began to build up in his stomach. This new stress was not born from the punishment that was delivered to the soldiers of Gra and Grust. His panic was coming from the fact that the same punishment would be given to him.

"That is enough, Morzas."

"As you wish, Emperor." Morzas responded, bowing back down in Medeus' direction.

"You, Jiol." Medeus said with a chilling tone. "You have failed me. You allowed Altea's prince to escape. You cost me the chance to rid the world of Anri's seed once and for all. For that, you will suffer in ways that will make the punishment of those soldiers seem trite in comparison."

Medeus motioned with his hand, and the humans in the room rose up and moved to seize Jiol.

"Wait! M-Master Medeus, wait!" Jiol tried to back away from the humans approaching him, but found himself quickly locked in the center of a ring of them. "I… I have something else you'd want to do away with forever!"

Medeus' expression changed. The humans noticed it and paused, unsure as to how to respond. Jiol pushed himself out of the ring and knelt down in front of Medeus' throne. He took a sword out, Medeus reflexively snarled, and his fellow Manaketes also seemed appalled at the sight of the blade.

"This… is Falchion, Emperor Medeus." Jiol said, trying his hardest to keep composure and control in his voice. He tossed the sword on the ground, not risking the chance that someone would think that he thought to wield it. Jiol… _did_ have a loose ancestral link with Anri. Being a descendent of Anri's brother, he might have been a worthy wielder, he might not have been, he didn't care if he was or wasn't, he just wanted to live past today. "I wrested it from the grip of that fool, Cornelius, when I killed him. The one weapon that could pose a threat to you… I offer it to you, to do with as you see fit."

A long pause set in. Finally, Medeus brought a hand up and rubbed the fingers through the facial hair of his human form. "Well, despite some setbacks, it would seem that you have proven your value to us. You killed one of Anri's descendents and stole Falchion from them." He nodded with satisfaction, perhaps satisfaction enough to spare Jiol's life. "Khozen."

One of the Manaketes rose in recognition of Medeus calling his name. "Your bidding?"

"Falchion can not be destroyed… it's made from the tooth of that fool, Naga." Medeus grimaced at the mere name. The very Divine Dragon who, along with his clan, committed treason against all Dragonkin by aiding the humans. "Take it out of Dolhr. Take it to a place where no one could pry it from our grasp."

"Yes, Emperor Medeus." Khozen bowed his head in recognition, he walked up to the blade. He picked the blade up off the ground, wrapping his sleeved arm around it, not daring to let the holy blade touch his skin. "I shall see to it that this is taken… to a place that Anri's descendent could never reach." Khozen stalked out of the room.

"Jiol." Medeus spoke after Khozen left. The king of Gra still had his eyes on Medeus. "Altea is a minor concern now. We now turn to face nations that can't be taken by surprise."

Jiol nodded, slowly. "Gra's army will… gladly assist in tearing apart Archanea, Macedon, and Aurelis."

Medeus smiled grimly.

* * *

><p>The upper circles of Macedon were in turmoil.<p>

The nation was far from oblivious to what was going on in Altea. How Gra and Grust were in the process of laying it to waste, and how it was being done at the behest of Dolhr. The nation of Dolhr was directly north of Macedon, and it wasn't much of a stretch to think that the Manaketes would turn their sights upon them next. Talk of ways to appease Dolhr were now commonplace amongst the nobility.

The Whitewings would have been quick to call the nobility cowards for thinking of how to sate Dolhr. For the nobility's desire to placate the Manaketes was born out of concern for their own safety, not from a wish to keep the people of Macedon safe.

Right now, Palla of the Whitewings was moving through Macedon's royal castle, heading for the throne room. She had been summoned by her commander, Macedon's princess Minerva.

The summoning letter had been quick and simple.

_Palla, come to the throne room. Bring your sisters as well, something critical is about to unfold._

Quickly, Palla had rounded up Catria and Est, and all three of them were at the door of the throne room. There were several Macedonian soldiers by the door, having a heated argument amongst themselves. Palla cleared her throat and identified herself in front of them.

"Palla of the Whitewinged Order." She firmly stated with a professional tone. "By a summon from princess Minerva, I require that I and my sisters be let in the throne room."

The soldiers seemed to scowl, perhaps frustrated that their argument was interrupted, or perhaps at disdain for the Whitewings themselves. The Whitewings, loyal to princess Minerva, weren't popular amongst Macedon's military, which were almost all supporters of prince Michalis. Still, they parted to make way for the Whitewings. Palla went in the throne room. Predictably, princess Minerva was already here. She did a quick check of everyone else.

Merach, who acted as princess Minerva's bodyguard, stood near the princess. He had his arms folded behind his back, patiently waiting.

Prince Michalis, princess Minerva's older brother. He was standing in front of the throne. To his right was Orridyon, who, despite the age gap, shared many ideals and beliefs with the prodigy of a prince.

Then there was princess Maria, the youngest of the three Macedonian royal children. She was on her knees and… crying? She was crying over a body in the middle of the room.

"What happened here?" Est said from behind Palla. Palla swung around to give Est a reprimanding look for speaking without being called upon.

"Forgive her." Palla turned back to the people already in the throne room. One way or another, everyone in here well outranked the Whitewings. She could sense that something terrible had just happened, and Est's, and Catria's for that matter, lack of understanding of how to speak in a courtly setting like this wouldn't help anything.

Minerva's face was oddly weary and sullen right now. She shook her head and continued to stare at the body everyone else was looking at.

"Whitewing Palla." Michalis addressed. "Gaze upon the corpse, and realize what has been stolen from us on this day."

Slightly confused, Palla took a step forward at the dead body that seemed to be leaving everyone rather uneasy. She looked over it for a minute, then suddenly gasped.

"Macedon's king is dead." Orridyon said without any clear emotion. "Felled by a coward's knife." The elderly knight pointed at the corpse's chest, which had a dagger imbedded in it. "Assassins. I don't know how they got past the patrols, but the king is dead." Orridyon's face creased with anger. The soldiers who handled the patrols had been trained by him. He would take his frustrations out on them soon. "This act of deceit and the slaughter of our king can only be answered with the heads of his killer and that person's masters."

"I agree." Minerva said. "Whoever did this can't be allowed to go free." The princess turned to her little sister, who had been sobbing ever since she entered and realized what had happened. "Est, can you get her out of here?"

Est obeyed. She moved to Maria and grabbed her by the shoulder. Slowly, she walked the young princess out of the room.

"But… who actually did it?" Merach queried. "The assassin was already gone by the time we knew the king was dead. Looking for the assassin now… anyone on the entire continent could be the assassin."

"Not so." Orridyon said. "The weapon that was used to kill the king provides us a most vital clue."

Merach approached the corpse and knelt down to get a good look at the knife. An ornate gold hilt with multiple jewels imbedded in it. "I don't think I've ever seen a knife like this. Shouldn't an assassin use weapons that draw less attention?"

"Normally that would be correct." Michalis said. "However, I would suspect that this assassin wanted to leave a message. It lays in the dagger."

"What kind of message?" Catria asked, walking up and kneeling to get a closer look at the knife. "I don't see any writing, or-"

"Not a literal written message, Catria." Michalis corrected. "The design of the dagger." He turned to his sister, "Minerva, do you recognize that dagger design?"

"Of course." Minerva said, albeit with some reluctance, starting to see where this was going. "It's the sort of ornamental blade that only someone connected to the royal family of Archanea would possess."

"Which means Archanea is behind this putrid act of cowardly assassination." Michalis said. "It also means that we must raise arms against that 'holy' kingdom immediately."

"But…" Catria was confused now. "The king respected Archanea, and though we had no formal treaty, Macedon and Archanea were on generally good terms. You should seek more then just a knife design before you make a rash decision of war."

"What, was, _that_?" Orridyon bellowed. "Did you just imply that prince Michalis is jumping to the wrong conclusion?"

Catria turned to the older knight with a defensive, defiant expression. "Just because he's a revolutionary leader doesn't mean all his decisions are good. He can-"

"Catria, you speak too freely." Palla warned with a stern voice. "Our input is not necessary. The commander can speak… more appropriately, then we can."

"Michalis." Minerva said coldly, ignoring Palla and Catria for the moment. "Regardless of who was behind this assassination, we must not do anything that will tip the balance of power in Dolhr's favor. The Manaketes have advantages enough without us raising arms against one of the continent's most powerful nations."

"See? She understands that we shouldn't-"

"Catria." Minerva said slowly. A warning to stop talking. "Palla, I want you, Catria, and Merach to dismiss yourselves for the day. Leave the room."

A moment passed, then Palla gripped Catria by the shoulder and began to pull her back. Merach followed after the two.

"Go with them." Michalis commanded Orridyon. "This is an affair for the royal children now."

* * *

><p>Outside the throne room, the soldiers standing guard had dispersed. Palla and Catria stood silently. Merach and Orridyon were also there. Merach seemed rather uncomfortable with recent events, Orridyon, however, looked as if something was soothing him.<p>

"I can't believe this." Catria muttered. She crossed her arms and leaned back onto the wall. A scowl was across her face.

"I can't believe what you were trying to say about the prince." Palla responded. "We control ourselves in the court, Catria. Our input has never been necessary."

"Prince Michalis is acting like he's the king, Palla. Saying that we'll march on Archanea, and-"

"He would be." Merach interrupted. Catria turned to him. "The king is dead, Catria. The throne goes to the oldest child. Though a formal coronation would be weeks off at best, Michalis is already the absolute authority in Macedon."

"It's a coup." Catria responded, a struggle to remain civil. "He just swooped in after his father died."

"It's legitimate." Merach answered. "He didn't give himself the throne, the process of succession did."

Orridyon seemed to be swelling with pride. "There's no need to worry about Macedon's direction. The nobility, the military, and the common folk all agree that Michalis would make a fine king. Much finer then his father. A tragedy though this is, it will be just what Macedon needs to enter a golden age. We've been trailing behind effectively every other nation in the world for far too long."

"I should have expected such an answer from prince Michalis' yes-man." Merach snorted.

"Much as you worship the princess, Merach." Orridyon responded. "The military has always loved prince Michalis. From the upper enclaves, down to the rank and file. What better leader then he to lead us to victory?"

"Boldly spoken." Catria spoke up. "Do you truly think that dominance over Archanea, or any of the other nations will do Macedon any good? Trying to just make yourself better then everyone else is the thought process of a childish bully. If that's the way the prince thinks, then he would be no king of mine."

Orridyon's nostrils suddenly flared. "I will not have you flipping your tongue for the purpose of maligning the future king!" He seethed for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest. "Or do you think faith in the prince is foolishly placed faith?"

Catria regarded the older man with contempt. Unable to see why he wasn't seeing things from her own point of view.

"Enough." Palla interrupted the argument. Both Catria and Orridyon glared at Palla for her interjection. "What's going on in the throne room will decide Macedon's direction. Not anything we say." She took in a deep breath. "No matter what, I serve the commander, and she will choose peace, just like I would."

"Bah." Orridyon spat. "Peace? Our finest soldiers wither and fade away, never accomplishing anything in their lives when we're in the stranglehold of 'peace'. We need to take what we want and need now, with someone as capable as prince-no, _king_ Michalis as our head." He shook his head, then stormed off.

The prince will get his way… if he surrounds himself with people like that." Merach shook his head.

"This is a disaster." Catria felt her skin crawling in her revulsion. "The commander… the commander has to convince the prince that we shouldn't fight Archanea. Dolhr will just attack us when we're busy elsewhere."

"Oh. I'm sure princess Minerva will hold a firm stance against attacking Archanea." Merach said. "And whatever the outcome, I will choose the path that princess Minerva chooses."

Catria raised an eyebrow for a second at Merach putting both faith and trust in Minerva unconditionally. Then she remembered that Merach was Minerva's bodyguard. He had been Minerva's bodyguard since before… well, since before Catria and her sisters even enlisted. He had been the commander's caretaker long ago, before his role evolved into the bodyguard position he had now. He was, literally, the only person in Macedon's military besides the Whitewings that would side with Minerva before Michalis. His loyalty to the princess was just as, actually, probably even _more_ firm then the Whitewings. Catria nodded her agreement to Merach's support of Minerva. "I just hope princess Minerva can convince prince Michalis that Macedon shouldn't go to war. It would only reduce our nation to ash."

* * *

><p>"You can't be serious, Michalis." Minerva was growing angry. "Michalis, brother… if we mobilize Macedon's military for anything, it should be against Dolhr, and in defense of Altea. The Alteans are probably going through-"<p>

"Since when have the burdens the people of other nations face been Macedon's concern?" Michalis said as he stood by the throne. He wouldn't arrogantly seat himself in it the day his father was killed. "We, as a nation, have never rushed to anyone's aid in past crises. Why would the well-being of Altea suddenly be such a concern."

"Because-" Minerva trailed off, trying to formulate a reason. All she knew is that she couldn't bring herself to just sit back and watch Altea suffer because they were back-stabbed by what the nation had previously considered a loyal ally. "Because… this is Medeus we're talking about, Michalis."

She was trying to get the facts together as she spoke, working through it as she tried to convey her point. "Medeus… I never believed the old legend in the past, but think about it, Michalis. It was Altea, Archanea, Grust, and Macedon combined, and the story goes that Medeus was defeated at a point that all hope seemed lost. If you plan to focus on Dolhr _after_ Archanea, you'll only invite Macedon's ruin."

"True…" Michalis admitted. "It took our ancestor Iote, along with Ordwin of Grust, and Anri of Altea to defeat Medeus and Dolhr all those years ago. Challenging that nation with just Macedon's force would be an act equivalent to suicide. Especially with Gra, Grust, and Khadein in its service."

"Then… we must aid Archanea, and Aurelis if they would ready themselves for war. We can sort out who was responsible for killing father later. We can… we can lead the nations that can still fight. Fulfill Iote's legacy, we both know you're capable of something like that, Michalis. Being the beacon of hope for the world would… more then advance Macedon's position." She found herself relaxing hopefully. Michalis had listened and given heed to her last point, perhaps he would do the same here.

"We must do what is best for Macedon." Michalis said. "We can't work to save the world, then turn around and see our own nation in ashes."

Considerable unease stirred in Minerva. "What is the best for Macedon then, Michalis?"

"We will do what will secure Macedon a place in the world." He answered, "No matter what that is."

"And that is?"

"I won't dishonor our father's… memory…" he seemed to be thinking about something else as he voiced the sentence. He turned his head to his father's corpse, gazing upon it with an expression of disdain, or perhaps contempt. Whatever it was, it wasn't the face of someone who would choose to honor his father. "I won't ally with his killers. I refuse to aid Archanea. Instead…"

There was a long pause. In that pause, something occurred to Minerva. She remembered that Michalis had _always_ been repulsed by Archanea's dominant position. He had wanted Macedon to have Archanea's position and power. An ambition that father had always been forced to suppress whenever Michalis suggested it. She realized just how… convenient it was that the assassin who killed father ended up being from Archanea. It presented Michalis with the perfect opportunity.

"Minerva, are you paying attention to me?"

Minerva flinched at the voice. "A… moment of thinking, Michalis." She wouldn't let him know that for just a moment she had suspected that Michalis, might have been aware of this assassination ahead of time. "If we won't aid Archanea, then what?"

"Simple." Michalis answered. "Macedon's only course is to-"

* * *

><p>Almost immediately after his answer, Minerva stormed out of the throne room. She stormed through the hallways and eventually went into her room, slamming the door behind her. There was a fresh change of clothes on her bed, probably left by Merach. She ignored them, instead she went to the distant wall of her room and slammed her fist on it, hard enough to leave a crack. She seethed, breathing hard through gritted teeth. Then she heard a knock at the door, she turned around with the speed of a cracking whip. "Who is it?" Her anger and frustration evident.<p>

"P-Palla, commander." Came the answer. Palla's voice sounding rather frightened and worried right now. "I-I'm here with Est. Should we leave?"

Minerva took a deep breath in, giving herself some composure, then set herself down on her bed. "Come in."

The door opened. Palla and Est came in. Minerva brought one hand up to her temple and began to rub it hard.

"Commander?"

Minerva sighed and straightened up. "It's nothing. Is there something I should know?"

"Oh, no, commander." Est said. "We were just… wondering what prince Michalis said to you."

"If it's not prying into any personal matters." Palla added.

The princess scowled, staying silent for several minutes.

"I understand. You'd rather not discuss it. We'll-"

"Michalis…" Minerva said, her voice lacking any warmth at the mention of her older brother. "…has decided that the nation's best interests lie in an alliance with Dolhr."

Palla and Est both looked at each other with an expression if disbelief, which quickly shifted to faces of shock and horror.

"But…" Est said, completely confused, "How is it a good idea to ally with people who want to kill humanity off? Trying to keep ourselves from getting involved with this incident at all would be better for Macedon."

"I know that." Minerva spoke. Palla could sense restrained rage in the commander's voice. "Michalis says that the alliance is temporary until we have the power to face Dolhr directly. I don't see Dolhr letting any of their subordinate nations even get close to having that kind of power."

"I don't get it." Palla murmured. "You could always trust prince Michalis to make effective, if pragmatic and sometimes, cold decisions. Why is he suddenly so intent on doing something that is so obviously a mistake?" She waited for a response, looking at Minerva's troubled expression. She wondered if she had misspoke in openly admitting, even in a private setting, her disapproval of Michalis' intentions.

"I don't know." Minerva said. "But I won't let him send Macedon to ruin. Before he does that, I swear I'll…" her voice trailed off as she turned her head. Over to the wall. To the axe hanging on it.

Hauteclere.

She shook her head. She wasn't sure if she had the courage, or the heart, to do that. She turned her mind to other things.

"Where is Maria?"

"In her room." Est said. "I don't think she's going to want to come back out anytime soon."

"She's too young to deal with something like this." Minerva said. No matter Minerva's disagreement with Michalis over his vision for Macedon, she couldn't force Maria watch one of her older siblings kill the other over it. The little girl idolized both of her older siblings. She could not… force her to lose one of her siblings, one way or the other, immediately after losing her father.

* * *

><p>Landfall. Finally. Marth had grown sick of the boat ride. Though at first it had allowed him to try and understand everything that had been happening lately. Things had been happening so fast, he could barely grasp the magnitude of them. Yet the blessing of being able to have some time to think had grown thin quickly.<p>

It wouldn't have been so bad if he could have spent some time training. Perhaps at least release some tension. Yet with the crew always moving around, there didn't really seem to be anywhere on the ship with the necessary space for training with his knights.

He could have only asked Jagen or Draug for training at present time. Cain and Abel, who were used to training with Frey, would have found the notion too painful right now.

At last they were in Talys. He, Jagen, and Malledus were to go see the king immediately. Everyone else was to stay with the ship until it could be determined what area King Mostyn of Talys would give them. If the king wouldn't give them anything, then they'd have to come up with something else.

One member of the ship crew yawned as the morning sun began to rise. "Finally here… nice for the days to be dry after that storm hit almost the moment after we left."

"It's good to have solid ground beneath me again." Draug said. He turned to the crewman. "Tell the rest of your crew that you're entitled to a reward. And you know what it is I'm talking about."

"Oh yeah." the crewman replied cheerily. "A couple gallons of grog will be done the throats in a second." He went off, practically skipping.

"Grog?" Norne raised an eyebrow. "That's what they had to resist the temptation to 'splurge' on?" She thought about it for a second. "Ugh…" She shook her head. "Anyway. Draug, do we really have to wait?"

"Until they come back, we wait." Draug answered, "You're free to pace around, but you must stay in an area where I can see you."

Norne sighed, then shook it off. "Hopefully that'll be soon. I… ah, have training with Gordin to do."

"I'm glad that training is the first thing you choose to do." Draug said, genuinely pleased. Oblivious to the fact that it was less training and more of a contest that Norne had arranged. "But there isn't a need to rush at the moment. If all goes well, we'll probably be here a long time."

"Okay, how long till we know where we'll be staying?"

Draug shrugged. "I'd say an hour, with any luck."

* * *

><p>Talys was a small, modest kingdom. The king's throne wasn't even forged of gold like most thrones would be. Rather, it was formed of bronze, and lined with silver. King Mostyn sat on the throne as prince Marth came in, followed by Malledus and Jagen. At the moment, he wasn't aware of who any of them were.<p>

As a precaution, due to not knowing who they were, Marth and Jagen were required to leave their weapons outside, in the hands of the king's vassals. Malledus was striped of anything that looked even remotely like a magic tome. In reality, he carried nothing of the sort, but many of his books, to the inexperienced, could look like a tome. Talys was not a nation well-versed in the magical arts, and would take no chances.

There was only one guard in the room, and he was actually a mercenary. An older man covered in scars, though he didn't seem to be even half Jagen's age. He looked like he might have been able to snap a sword of silver with just his index finger.

Beyond the king and the guard, there was also a girl near the king. It was his daughter, the princess. Her name was Caeda. Normally Mostyn wouldn't have his daughter near when people he didn't immediately recognize were having an audience with him, but, as strange as some people might consider it, he had a good feeling about these guests. Besides, with the guard in the room, there was little he believed these visitors could do.

"Greetings, travelers." Mostyn said, starting the conversation. "I can see by the look on your faces that you have been through trying names lately. I won't ask you to explain what it is you've been through. Rather, I will ask you who you are, and what you believe I can do for you."

"King Mostyn." Jagen came up. He wasn't surprised that Mostyn didn't recognize any of them, it had been… years. "We are people of Altea, seeking refuge. I myself am a royal knight of Altea. Certain… circumstances, have forced us to flee our home nation."

"I see." Mostyn leaned forward. "You certainly do look like a knight. Hmm. If it is not too much to ask, can you offer proof of your status as a knight of Altea?"

"Yes, sire." Jagen took out an emblem from his bag. "This, sire, was given to me when I was a squire. I was to always wear it on my armor. When I was finally knighted, I was no longer obligated to place it on my armor, but I was required to keep it, as a reminder of my lessons. As you know, King Mostyn, no two emblems are the same among the Altean knights. Do you recognize mine?" Jagen walked up to the king and placed the emblem into Mostyn's hands. The king peered into the blue emblem for a second, then smiled.

"Jagen, my old friend. Cornelius always considered you his finest knight." he looked at Jagen's face. "Ah, the passing of years are cruel, it seems. You haven't aged well. No mind. Your identity is all the proof I need to see your integrity. You are welcome in the land of Talys." He smiled, then turned to the guard, "No need to remain on edge, Ogma. These are true sons of the land of Altea."

The guard, Ogma, nodded, relaxing himself slightly. He crossed his arms and leaned back onto the wall.

"You…" Mostyn turned his attention to another of the trio. "Ha! If neither my eyes or my memory have departed me, you are Malledus, correct?"

"Yes, sire." Malledus smiled and nodded. "I'm afraid that we must come to you under the gravest of circumstances. Altea was… we were betrayed by our old ally, Gra. They tried to give us into Dolhr's hands. It was only by luck, sacrifice-" he somberly thought of Frey on that point. "-and the tenacity Anri imparted on us that we escaped."

"Gra?" Mostyn seemed taken back, but at the same time, not truly surprised. "I see. Truth be told, the one time I met king Jiol of Gra, well… he didn't seem like a man of honor or righteousness."

Mostyn shook his head, then turned to the third figure in the back. "Um… excuse me, Malledus, Jagen. Who is that?"

"Oh, yes." Malledus said, "We would have stayed and fought to the last for Altea, but we had to escape, to get this one out of the nation. You might remember him. The child from that Altea-Talys-Gra celebreation years ago?"

"Child…?" Mostyn raised an eyebrow. "Child… child…" He raised a hand and stroked his bearded face. Then realization dawned on him. "Oh, oh! Prince Marth! My goodness, you're a giant! Last we met, you were barely level with my hip when I was sitting down."

Marth looked at the king in recognition, but couldn't bring himself to smile.

"Prince Marth, where is your sister? She was smuggled out with you, yes?" He waited for a response, but Marth, along with his two vassals, grimaced. The expression on Marth's face told its own tale. "You have been through a most trying ordeal, clearly." Mostyn said, deciding against further pressing the question as to exactly what had become of Elice today. "Rest assured, Gra and Dolhr will not find you here. Talys survives by out thinking its enemies, no matter how many times they come and how thoroughly they search, we will keep you hidden from their hands."

Marth nodded. "Thank… you… king."

Mostyn's eyes gleamed sympathetically at the boy. "I'm afraid that offering you sanctuary and a roof over your head is all we can do, prince. Talys is a small nation, our military is comprised of good-natured mercenaries. They can handle Talys' problems, but fighting the armies of Gra or Grust is out of the question for them."

Ogma seemed slightly offended by that statement, but Caeda looked amused.

"Sire?" Malledus said in a confused tone. "Has word already reached you as to what is going on? I believe I've yet to tell you that Grust, and Khadein for that matter, also side with Dolhr."

"Now, now, Malledus. No need to get suspicious. I admit to having been ignorant of Khadein's involvement in this, but I was aware of what Grust was doing thanks to a letter from an old friend."

"Old friend?" Jagen asked.

"Yes." Mostyn answered. "His name is Lorenz, he's a general in Grust's army. He sent me a letter, it's message was quite short. It read 'Grust has gone mad. It and its king have chosen to grovel at Dolhr's feet. Do not associate with the nation until the situation improves.'"

"I see." Jagen said. "I suppose its good to know that some of those enlisted in enemy nations can see the insanity of what is going on."

Mostyn shook his head. "From the looks of it, Grust isn't the only nation that's gone mad. In the years to come, the entire continent will be a burning pile of ash under a Dolhr banner."

"King Mostyn." Jagen interrupted. "If it's not too much to ask, can you outline the location of the sanctuary you'll be giving us now? Not to appear presumptuous or demanding, but we told what other Alteans that came with us that we'd be returning soon. After what's been happening, they're tired… and bitter. It would serve no one for them to suspect treachery."

"Of course." Mostyn said, taking no offense at being asked to hurry up with telling them what he would be giving them. "Ogma…"

Ogma went up to the king and handed him a small map. Mostyn rose from his throne and gave the map to Jagen. "I can supply an old, but very sturdy fort for you. It's roughly a full day's walk from the castle, or just a few hours if you're on horseback. I can see to it that it is properly furnished to your specifications and preferences."

"Thank you. You do much for us." Malledus said.

Jagen spoke up. "I'd like to examine the fort before we make any final decisions as to what to put in it. I should say that more then half of what we ask for will probably be training equipment."

"I suspected as much." Mostyn looked like he was about to have a good-hearted laugh. "Anything else for right now?"

"No. That should be good." Jagen said, folding the map up and putting it away. "We should get going. Thank you again, sire."

"I'd do more for those associated with an old friend as true as Cornelius was." Mostyn smiled as the three began to walk out. "Oh, Jagen, Malledus?"

The knight and the tactician turned back to the king.

"Oh, you two go on ahead. I'd like to have some private words with prince Marth. I'll send him straight to the fort when I'm done."

The two men nodded, trusting Mostyn would treat the prince well, and left.

"Prince Marth." Mostyn said. Marth came up to him.

"Is there… something you want to know?"

Mostyn sighed, then turned to his left and right. "Ogma, Caeda. This will be a private moment. Please…" They both took a look at the king and left down separate passages on opposite sides of the room. He turned back to Marth. "Prince Marth, you are possessed by a deep rage, I can see it in your eyes."

Marth seemed taken aback for a moment, then nodded. "I… how could I ever forgive them? They… they all deserve to die."

"But you must be aware that there's no way to bring any sort of justice upon them today." Mostyn said calmly. Marth sulked a moment, then nodded. "The time you spend here, please spend it on training. The day you face those who have taken everything from you, save your life, is far off. And if that day never comes, I will happily shelter you for the rest of your life."

"Thank you, sire." Marth said. "However, I have no intention of staying here until my dying day. I have my responsibilities, to Altea, and to my legacy. I will leave, someday, to save Altea from Dolhr, along with the world. Like Anri did."

Mostyn pondered Marth's words for a moment, he suspected that what was driving Marth was not obligation or legacy, but a thirst for revenge, nevertheless, he smiled at the prince's determination. "I confess that I had hoped you would take me up on my offer to stay here and live in peace until you died. Yet your words tell me that you are truly Cornelius' son. There are many questions I would ask you, but those can wait until tomorrow. You should head over to the fort now. Caeda will take you."

"Your daughter?" Marth was mildly confused. "All due respect, but I don't think I need an escort. And, I couldn't say that I deserve having a member of your family be my escort."

"Ah, you misunderstand my meaning, prince Marth." Mostyn smiled. "My daughter rides one of those rare creatures we call a Pegasus. A horse can't compare to a Pegasus' speed, you'll be at the fort in record time. Caeda can keep you company until they arrive."

"I, well…" Marth groped for a response. "Yes, king. I'll see your daughter. And she would be, um…"

"In the stables." Mostyn answered. "She loves tending to her Pegasus, she loves taking it out for rides even more. She'd no doubt be delighted to deliver you to the fort. After all, you met all those years ago."

"I… I don't remember a girl at that old celebration those years ago."

"Ha, probably just forgot about it, prince. She was talking about you for days and days after that day. Nearly drove me insane." He nodded. "Please, she'd be happy to see you again."

"Um… yes, sire." Marth said. Mostyn gestured to the door to the stables. Marth went in the direction Mostyn specified.

After Marth went through the door, Mostyn found himself alone in his throne room. He leaned back and chuckled. "Ah, she really did nearly drive me insane you know, Marth. I'd wake up and she'd say 'Marth, Marth, Marth', It'd be evening and all I'd hear was 'Marth, Marth, Marth'." He threw his head back and laughed. Back then, he thought Caeda would be happy to meet another girl around her age, but Caeda ended up being completely uninterested in Elice. No, Marth had her undivided attention.

* * *

><p>"Um…" Marth found himself in the stables. Most of it seemed empty, he didn't know if that was unusual or not. He had never been in a stable for housing a Pegasus before. "Um… princess Caeda?"<p>

"Over here!" Came a female voice. Marth turned to see a girl patting a Pegasus on the head. She turned to him with a smile. He blinked, he hadn't got a good look at her in the throne room, but now that he was looking at her…

Her face seemed to have both a gentleness and a fragility to it. Almost like a flower. She walked over to him with a graceful, but not arrogant, step, with the locks of her hair falling down in the windless room. He found it hard to believe that he had met this girl when both he and she were children. "Marth, what would bring you here?"

She didn't use his title at all. It should have been a very disrespectful thing to say, but Marth didn't seem to take any particular offense. He shook his head, regaining his train of thought and keeping himself from being any more bowled over by her then he already was. "Your… father said you would take me to the fort he was giving me."

"Oh. Of course." She said, "The distance should no trouble at all on a Pegasus. Though I should warn you, Pegasus, as a rule, aren't always too graceful to having men on them."

"Yes. I know." Marth reflected back to his childhood in Altea. Elice would read him all sorts of stories. History books, novels, explanations on magic. Sometimes it was exciting, other times his sister read him _the_ most monotonous things. He did recall her reading to him about Pegasus before, reclusive creatures found only in the Macedonian region. They only allowed women to master them, no one was actually sure as to why the creatures shunned men as riders, but they did. A well trained Pegasus could have a man ride on it, but usually only as a passenger behind the creature's accepted master. Only the best trained Pegasus, at the behest of a heart-felt request by the master, would allow a male to be the sole occupant in the saddle. There were absolutely, absolutely no records of a Pegasus that had a male master.

If a man wanted to soar with practicality and consistency, he would have to train a Wyvern, also found exclusively in Macedon. Those creatures accepted both men and women as masters, but they had much more volatile temperaments compared to the Pegasus, and were notoriously difficult to train.

Due to only being found in Macedon, it must have been quite costly for Caeda to have a Pegasus of her own.

"I have to be the passenger, right?"

"Yes." Caeda said. "Unless you want to be bucked off mid-flight." She got up in the saddle. She gave another smile, which somehow seemed teasing.

Marth approached the Pegasus, but the beast didn't seem to take kindly to him and reared back in protest.

"No, no!" Caeda scolded, the Pegasus obeyed its master's words in just seconds. "You let Marth get on you. It's just for today."

The Pegasus snorted its disapproval, but this time did not resist when Marth approached it and climbed on.

"All right." Caeda said. "Grab on." Marth's arms went around her waist. He couldn't see it, but she seemed a little flustered at his arms tightening around her. "Just hold on tight." She cautioned. "He loves fast starts." She gave a pat on the head of her Pegasus' head, the door leading to the outside was already open. The Pegasus started with a simple trot outside. The door outside actually led to a balcony, which would make sense for a Pegasus stable. Without warning, the Pegasus darted up in the air with enough speed to catch Marth off-guard, making his grip around Caeda's waist even stronger for a moment, offering more then just a little discomfort to the princess.

He loosened his grip as the Pegasus' speed became more slower, stable, and consistent. He didn't turn his head to look at the sky's wonders, not did he look down and worry about falling. He kept his eyes straight forward, in the fort's direction. He had something else on his mind.

In surprisingly little time they landed at the fort. Marth quickly dismounted.

"Thank you." He said, then began to pace off.

"Hey." Caeda called after him. He stopped and turned around. "Marth, did you forget about me? You haven't seemed to recognize me at all."

"You mean… at that celebration that was held here?"

"Yes!" Caeda was pleased with the answer. "You do remember me! I was worried you had-"

"King Mostyn says I first met you there." Marth noted. "But… I don't remember you at all."

Caeda covered her face with a palm, and began to shake her head in exasperation.

"Um… I'm sorry?"

"Never mind, Marth." She dismounted off her Pegasus.

"I… really am sorry."

"It's not a big deal, Marth. It probably wasn't as meaningful to me as it was to you." She sighed. "Before that day, I had never met anyone close to my age. Let alone a boy close to my age, I was-" She tried, and failed, to stifle a giggle. "-very curious about you." She blushed, and Marth looked as if he had just been put in an extremely uncomfortable position. "Anyway, I suppose I'll stay until your knights get here."

"Your father did say you would keep me company…"

"Oh? Nice to know I have his permission." She said slightly cheekily. "So, Marth… let's find something to talk about. I can't talk to someone I'm not completely familiar with very often." She shrugged.

Marth seemed to draw a blank as to what to talk about. He looked to the left with an awkward expression.

"Let's see here…" Caeda mused. "Um… Marth, if it won't be too much trouble, can you tell me all that happened in Altea?"

His eyes widened in shock as his mouth hung open. He seemed unsure of how to respond.

"Oh, I-I shouldn't have asked that." Caeda found herself in a thorny situation. "I'm sorry. Let's talk about… um…"

"It's… not a problem." Marth said. He took a deep sigh.

In a few moments, Marth began to explain everything. From the last day of comfortable living he had, to the realization of Gra's betrayal, to learning of his father's death. Learning of his sister's choice to stay behind, Frey's sacrifice, he explained more or less all he knew. Caeda stood patiently, taking it all in.

"That must have been very hard." Caeda said, her face quite serious. "You know for a fact your father is dead, and your sister and mother… don't have good chances at all."

"They don't." Marth said, then began to sulk to the side. "I just… feel like such a useless coward."

"I haven't experienced anything like that first hand, so I can't say I understand exactly what it must be like for you." She made her voice as soothing as she could possibly make it. "I do know that if someone killed my father, the killer… would suffer for a long time before I would let him die."

Marth nodded. He sat down on the ground. The floor of a dusty fort was a rather unbecoming place for a prince to sit, but he didn't really care. His head nodded down.

Caeda noticed it, and made the effort to comfort him. "Marth, try to smile. I mean, you're alive, right? You at least have _something_ to be thankful for. And if you're alive, that means you can take it back someday. I-"

"I don't need anyone's sympathy right now." Marth said in a sharp, threatening voice. Caeda instinctively shrank away at the words that came from his angered face. "The only thing I need right now is strength, so I can take it all back the day I return. Any words of comfort that you offer should be left unsaid. I don't need them or anything else from you that's supposed to soothe me. At this point, I-"

"Marth, please calm down." Caeda said as softly as she could while backing away from him. "I… I didn't mean to upset you, just…" she trailed off, then bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

Marth paused for a moment, then sighed, relaxing the anger on his face, but keeping it festering deep within. "I'm sorry for that. I am… I'm just frustrated by what's happened, what is happening right now, and what _will_ happen every day that I stay here and not make the effort to return. Yet it doesn't help anything to take it out on you."

"I understand." Caeda said, "But maybe you do need a little space today. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? I thought-"

"The distance is pretty short when you're on a Pegasus. So, you know, I'll probably be visiting you _all the time _when you're at Talys."

Marth stared at her for a moment, then made a face that almost made it seem as though he had a sudden headache.

* * *

><p>Mostyn was still sitting on his throne. For this moment, nothing in particular was happening at the castle. No task or matter that required his attention. For now he simply reclined on his throne, and thought about Talys' newest arrivals. He supposed that Dolhr would put a price on Marth's head sooner or later. In time, he might be forced to defend Marth from a Talys man who thought he could get rich in a day. He shook his head of the thought. He liked to think that the people of Talys were above such shallowness. For now, he could simply focus on keeping Marth safe until the time came for him to leave. Marth would likely spend most of his time training… he made a mental note to send Ogma over to Marth in a few days. Maybe as early as tomorrow. A mercenary like Ogma could likely offer a few critical pointers and pieces of advice that a knight couldn't. Marth needed to become a one man army to accomplish the things he desired to accomplish.<p>

"Father, I'm back." Caeda said, coming from the direction of the stables.

"Ah, Caeda." Mostyn leaned back as his daughter came into plain sight in front of him. "So, what do you make of the prince?"

"I notice that he apparently forgot about me."

"I assumed so." Mostyn smiled. "I doubted he remembered the girl who had the audacity to walk up to him and _not_ address him by his proper title all those years ago."

"That was an honest and unintentional mistake, father." Caeda found herself frowning.

"War and political crisis start for lesser reasons."

"I know that." Caeda said.

"…you, did remember to address him as a prince this time, right?"

"Er…" Caeda looked to the side. "Of course I did."

Mostyn sighed, seeing the obvious cover-up she was trying to pull.

"He was rather angry, too. When I tried to make him feel better about his circumstances, well…"

"That doesn't surprise me." Mostyn leaned back in his chair. "After going through something like what the prince went through, words of comfort aren't always going to be welcome or appreciated."

A silence set in. For a long moment the two seemed absorbed in their sympathy for the prince who had been ripped from nearly all the consistency and normality he knew. Caeda wrapped her left hand around her right wrist, starting to feel uncomfortable from constantly standing up.

"I plan to visit him tomorrow."

"What?" Mostyn's eyes widened in surprise. "I had planned to send Ogma there in the near future, but what business could you possibly have with the prince?"

"To help him, of course."

"Help him?" Mostyn pondered her words for a moment. "Do you mean train with him? I doubt you could offer him anything that Jagen and Ogma can't."

"Well, training is partially the reason, but I really think Marth needs someone who can talk to him as an equal."

"Hmm." Mostyn contemplated for a moment. "You might be right. Your position is equal to his. His vassals would be good at listening to him, but perhaps he needs someone who would really talk to him." He nodded his approval to a visit. "However, I do not give consent to any attempt to help him train. Ogma and his knights can handle that on their own."

"Father…"

"No. You will not protest this decision, Caeda." He shook his head to silence her. "No training with him. _Your_ training will continue to be handled by Ogma."

She glared for a moment.

"Caeda, restate my command."

"Do not train with Marth, only train with Ogma." She said with dripping disappointment.

"Yes." Mostyn relaxed. "You aren't fit to assist in the training of a man with the ambition to take on the army he aspires to oppose."

"Of course… father." Caeda said. She broke off from the discussion, heading for the stables.

Her Pegasus seemed depressed. It clearly hadn't liked its male passenger earlier. His head was bowed down and his wings were drooped. It turned at Caeda's approach, but didn't seem to brighten up at all.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Caeda apologized. "It'll be a long, long time before it happens again. I promise." she began to pet the Pegasus' mane. "We'll be seeing him tomorrow, but he won't be riding you anytime soon." The Pegasus didn't seem to perk up at all, continuing to hold his head low. To a Pegasus, that must have been the definition of an emotionally traumatizing experience. They were intelligent creatures, and it was really better to tell them about this ahead of time, rather then simply drop it on them like that.

Caeda had frustrations and disappointments of her own right now. Considering Marth's circumstances, she wanted to do more then offer token support. The idea of being just some sort of emotional crutch made her feel… paralyzed. She'd bring a wooden training lance to the fort tomorrow, even if she couldn't help him train. Maybe she could do something… maybe Marth would ask her to help him train? Her father couldn't be upset with her if she just accepted a request from a prince in an honestly pitiable situation, right?

She took time to think. Something she was quite good at. Then a realization dawned on her. Her father forbade training, he had said nothing about _sparring_.

It was a loophole, and she knew it. She knew her father would see that she was trying to weasel around his direct command. What she was doing had to be kept a secret. The discrepancy between training and sparring wouldn't impress her father at all. She was already building a formula in her head to keep it a secret from him. She might have to keep her father's disapproval secret from Marth as well, if he ended up looking like he would tell Mostyn want's going on. She sighed deeply, it would be to her benefit for Marth to willingly keep it a secret. It wouldn't be easy to play both her father and Marth.

She patted her Pegasus on the head. "Guess I'll figure it out tomorrow…"

* * *

><p>"Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Gharnef found a Manakete gracing Khadein with his presence.<p>

"Be silent, human." The Manakete said with barbed tone as he walked in. "I am Master Khozen."

"Well then, _Master_ Khozen, what is your business with me? I have many things to see to. Khadein does little without my direct hand."

"The Emperor bids me to give you something for safe keeping." The Manakete reached into his robes and pulled out a sword. "The one true threat to our righteous Empire."

Khozen put the sword on a nearby table. Gharnef glanced at it, then returned his gaze to Khozen.

"That's Falchion, is it not?"

"Indeed it is." Khozen said. "That disgusting blade can not be destroyed due to the… materials used to build it. Which is why we give it to you. See to it that the runaway prince cannot get his hands on it, should he ever return."

Gharnef looked at the sword again, then smiled grimly.

"Don't get any ideas, Pontifex." Khozen warned. "Though you may already have great power, and now are in possession of the one thing that could give the Emperor pause, you know that your precious magic could not even scratch Emperor Medeus."

Gharnef turned back to Khozen, his smile gone. He seemed more puzzled now, and shocked. Like a man who thought he had been so clever, only to be so simply outwitted.

"Don't look so surprised." Khozen said in a mocking tone. "It's our business to know the ambitions and desires of every human scum in our service. We have nothing to fear from you. Protected though you might be."

Khozen was speaking of Imhullu. A spell Gharnef always had on his person. It was a forbidden spell that shielded its wielder from all harm. Making them effectively invulnerable, but the spell demanded a price. Though the tome made its wielder invincible, it exacted a toll on its master. Though Gharnef was effectively untouchable, for the rest of his days he would life a half-life, a cursed life. The curses physical effects were already apparent, his contracting, darkening skin, he looked like an aged demon already. In time, other effects of the curse would no doubt become apparent. The spell wasn't intended to be in held by anyone for years and years on end.

"Perhaps you underestimate me." Gharnef warned. He moved to the table and hid Falchion under his robes. "Oh, how I will enjoy showing this to the princess."

"Elice?" Khozen asked, then scowled. "See to it that she never has undue contact with anyone. The last thing we need is for her to… produce, an heir to Falchion."

"Of course." Gharnef smiled. "No one is allowed to go to her chambers without my express permission."

Khozen nodded. "Crush her hopes for the future, steal the warmth in her heart, deprive her of joy, then Elice, overcome by the rage and grief we impart on her, will willingly use "it" to complete our master's return."

"Yes, Master Khozen. I know what the plan for her is." Gharnef said with a rather irritated tone. "Only a woman of royal blood can do it… and the fact that she's a descendent of Anri would be a delicious piece of irony. I will continue to orchestrate her emotional suffering."

"Very good." Khozen said. "I shall return to Dolhr now." He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. "And I say again, Gharnef. Your magic is no match for the Emperor."

* * *

><p>Jiol could finally relax, back in the castle of Gra. He was seated on his gold throne, far away from Manaketes from Dolhr. The Manaketes and their human worshipers, who all seemed to be longing for any chance to strike and kill Jiol. He was back home, firmly secure on his throne. The relief flooded through him, once again surrounded by people who served his every whim.<p>

He knew his actions would be difficult to stomach by many. Even some of his new allies in Grust might have some issues with what he did. Yet he felt no regret or guilt. Gra now curried favor directly from Emperor Medeus himself, which made his position all the more comfortable. Grust and Khadein could subjugate lands till the end of time, but they wouldn't ever manage to please Dolhr in a way that would match Jiol's slaying of Cornelius and handing the Falchion to the Manaketes.

At the same time, Jiol sought to further advance his position. If he wanted to keep such a cushy position, Gra would have to outperform the other nations beneath Dolhr. That was a struggle he wasn't looking forward to.

"Gra's days are numbered, and I know you know it." A voice from behind Jiol spoke. Jiol was startled, having believed that he was by himself. He turned as an elderly man walked into his view. It was Gra's prime minister. Albertus.

"So long as Gra is in Dolhr's good graces-"

"Which won't last long." Albertus cut Jiol off. "Dolhr will always demand something. The slaying of King Cornelius and handing them Falchion will only keep you in their good graces for a few months, at absolute best."

"That is why we must continue to appease Medeus. Our priority is conquering lands that do not acknowledge Dolhr as master, and finding the Altean prince."

"Find him? I hope you do not entertain any notions that he will be easily found. In all likelihood, with nothing to go off of, he could be a grandfather before anyone finds him. So, great king, what will you do when your favor with Dolhr dries up, with the runaway prince nowhere in sight?"

"I don't think I like your tone, Albertus." Jiol said in a threatening manner. "Are you saying that your king's choice did not forward Gra's position in the world?"

"Power, recognition, influence." Albertus narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. "Things we would have had in time. Had we worked as an _ally_ to Altea and not a _pawn_ to Dolhr, we could have put the rest of this world to shame. Cornelius was a fine leader, if Gra was in danger, he would have drained Altea's resources dry to aid us, but the moment aiding Altea became inconvenient to you, you abandoned your allies of old."

Jiol growled. "If you were anyone besides my prime minister, I would have gutted you on the spot for that. You still have your use, and command much respect among Gra. You will continue to say the things in public that I want you to say. You wouldn't betray me if it meant betraying the nation, and you will go along with what the king decides."

"Was betrayal truly what the king decided?" Albertus queried. "You know that I never approved of you giving your ear to… that man."

It was true. A man of dark power named Gharnef had been frequenting the castle of Gra the days before Jiol decided to betray Altea. Albertus was privy to all the discussions Jiol shared with that Sorcerer. Jiol was resistant at first, but after a few meetings, Jiol was going along with every suggestion and piece of advice that Gharnef offered. Advice and suggestions that always, _always_ flew in the face of Albertus' own advice.

Gharnef played on Jiol's greatest fear, his need to preserve himself. Which, Albertus knew, was just a more pleasant way to say that Jiol was a coward. When Medeus rose, the king grew terrified, despite publicly appearing to be unshakably firm and offering full support to Altea. It took only a matter of time before Jiol was effectively on his knees, pleading for a way to be in good favor with the returning Shadow Dragon.

"This nation doesn't act based on what you approve or disprove of."

"Unfortunately, yes. You're correct." Albertus admitted. "Ever since Gharnef came, my words have been unheard, and unwelcome. My continued position, my continued _life_, is only because, as you say, I command much respect in Gra."

"If you want your voice to be heard, your advice had better be about aiding me in seeking Dolhr's favor. _That_ is what is best for this nation." Jiol rose, moving to leave the room. Albertus sensed that the discussion was over.

He sighed deeply, then looked up, out the window of the throne room.

_Cornelius, if you can here me, I beg you to hold nothing against Gra as a nation. I won't pretend that what we've done was understandable, but please…_ his thoughts trailed off. He had only met the king of Altea a scant few times, but his reputation preceded him. Albertus felt pained for the fate of such an honorable king, especially when his own king fell so short of the word 'honorable'. When he thought of Jiol, words such as 'corrupt', 'coward', and 'fool' came to mind. He had not disliked Jiol in the past, but when crisis came, Jiol's true character revealed itself. It was frustrating for the prime minister…

He closed his eyes, his face still directed at the sky out the window. He asked what deities that were above him to give him guidance.

And patience. Considerable patience.

* * *

><p><strong>Albertus is an OC. Every other not immediately recognizable name, like Orridyon or Xemcel, are chapter bosses from Shadow Dragon. Except for Khozen, who is a mobile unit in chapter 11, and a generic unnamed unit is the one on the Seize tile of that chapter.<strong>

**I'll make specific note or Merach. He makes note that he's been ordered by Minerva to stand guard when you fight him in chapter 6. I use that as a reason to write him as a Minerva loyalist, rather then a Michalis follower.**

**Please review.**


	7. Training

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs. Everything else goes to its respective owners.**

* * *

><p>The Macedonian throne room never felt quite so cold and impersonal.<p>

Though far from the place where people would warmly trade stories and offer smiles, the room now seemed to have a newfound ominous air to it. Like it was haunted by a demon whispering secrets and advice in your ear, now it felt like a place where no good thing could possibly happen.

Michalis found himself seated in the throne. Just yesterday, he had revealed to both of his younger sisters, along with several very high-ranking members of Macedon's military, that the king had been killed by an assassin. He looked down at the center of the room, his father's body was still there. It would have to be moved out sometime today, the investigation had already gotten all the information it could possibly attain from the remains.

Just after the power was given to him, he had sent a messenger, most likely dehydrated from sweating so much, to Dolhr to explain Macedon's decision to become Dolhr's subordinate nation. He doubted they would refuse. Within the week, Macedon would be part of Dolhr's extended Empire.

Michalis stood up, leaving the throne to approach his father's body. His nose wrinkled slightly, the deceased body was beginning to give off a rotten stench. He kneeled down and pulled the Archanean blade out of his father's chest with a heavy sigh. With his index finger he wiped one side clean of blood, then the other. He moved to the side of the room with a regally ornate cabinet on it, he took a small, unremarkable box out of it. He opened the box and put the dagger back in it.

_Back_ in it.

He sighed again.

_I may never be entirely comfortable with what I did, but this is necessary to attain Macedon's place in the world._

Archanea's royal family were the only ones who had knives of this particular design, and never simply gave them to another person. It had been hard to procure that knife. It was even harder to plunge it into his own father's chest, no matter his disdain for his father's ruling style.

There had been no assassins. Only him.

He did not feel guilt. He was absolute in his belief that what he did would only aid Macedon. If the truth was ever ascertained, people would hate him, yes, but those same people would look back in retrospect years from now, and understand that he had the welfare of Macedon at heart.

Yet while there was no guilt, there was regret. His relationship with his father had grown increasingly cold through the years, but he didn't hate him, nor did he want him dead. It was a shame that he simply couldn't wrap his mind around what needed to be done. His father was too willing to be content with what they already had, a nation whose only true merit was that it was the only location where Pegasus and Wyverns flew. Michalis knew that Macedon needed, he understood it far more clearly then his father had.

"M-Michalis?"

Michalis spun around, there in the doorway to the throne room was his youngest sister.

"Maria, you shouldn't be here. Not now."

Maria's eyes were red, doubtless from a river of tears. In all the years Michalis had been with Maria, he had never seen her look so miserable, she had yet to understand the pain of losing family. The little girl ran up to him, reflexively he knelt down to offer the embrace of comfort that she was looking for.

"Michalis… what's going to happen now?" She pushed her face into his shoulder. Michalis' face darkened, the sense of sorrow that Maria had was like a nail being hammered through his heart. This little girl could have been spared from this emotional turmoil if he had simply chosen to not do what he did. Yet what he had done could not be undone…

"Do not worry, Maria." Michalis said, he brought a hand up and firmly placed it on the back of Maria's head, holding her securely close. "Father is dead, but we will recover from this. As the new ruler of Macedon, I shall see to it that we continue as we should."

"M-Minerva…" Maria pulled herself back. "Sister says that you're making the worst decision of your life. That you made the greatest error in judgment that you've ever made."

Michalis' face revealed frustration for a moment, but then relaxed. "Minerva understands battle and warfare, she… does not understand long-term planning. What I'm doing may seem insane now, but someday, it will make sense."

"What is it that you are doing?"

He sighed. "Temporarily, Macedon will be in an alliance with Dolhr."

Maria's expression changed to one of disbelief. "B-but… you have a good reason for it, right?"

"Of course I do, Maria." Michalis was relieved that Maria did not back away from him in horror or disgust, a reaction he had both expected and dreaded to see from her. "Dolhr, with its… allies, Grust, Gra, and Khadein, is too powerful to face directly right now. We have to work under their nose, Macedon will strike when we're in the best position to end their control over the world."

"Oh…" Maria turned over the information in her young mind. "So, we'll back-stab back-stabbers. I… I knew Minerva had to have had you wrong." She hugged his arm, any disbelief or shattered faith she might have had just beginning to build in her heart for her brother disappeared. She pulled back with a small, weary smile on her face.

At that moment, her brother had her deepest respect.

Michalis patted her on the head tenderly, then stood back up. "Return to your room, Maria. I… have many busy days ahead of me."

* * *

><p>Maria walked through the royal castle of Macedon with a steady step. Though her meeting with Michalis had given her a new sense of contentment at the moment, the reality that father was dead was still too recent and too vivid for her to walk with a light-hearted bounce.<p>

In time, she was back in her room. She went to her bed and flipped her pillow over, placing the tear-soaked side on the bottom and the dry side on the top, then got on the bed. She made a private, mental vow to help her brother in any way she could.

A knock came to the door just as Maria started to settle in.

"Who is it?"

"Minerva."

"Oh, come in, sister." Maria said. The door opened slowly, Minerva walked in with a puzzled expression.

"You sound… rather at peace. I'm happy you're reacting well, but… did something put you in a good mood?"

"I just had a talk with Michalis, Minerva." Maria sat up on the side of the bed, something close to a smile but not really a smile was on her face. "I think you were wrong when you told me he was making a mistake."

_Oh no._ Minerva's skin itself crawled. _What… what did he feed her?_

"Maria, what did he tell you?" Minerva, with considerable difficulty, had her tone sound like she was innocently curious, not wrathfully dead-set on hearing what Michalis said.

"Macedon will be Dolhr's servant for a time, but when they're least expecting it, we'll take Dolhr down."

"I see." Minerva sat herself down on the bed beside Maria. The bed sagged under her weight, it was obvious that the small bed wasn't designed to have an adult sitting on it, and most certainly not lying down on it. "Maria…" she tried to sound as calm and in control of herself as possible, but in truth, she was somewhat scared as to how Maria would react to her next words. "Dolhr won't let Macedon get into a position like that. The Manaketes aren't that stupid. I tell you again, Michalis is making a mistake."

Maria looked at Minerva with an offended expression. Minerva felt like she had been kicked in the gut. Maria, who was devoted and loyal to both of her older siblings, always seemed to get emotional when Minerva and Michalis disagreed about something.

"Can't you just talk with him, then? I bet he could prove you wrong."

"I already _tried_ to talk with him." Minerva found it difficult to not add bite to her words. "He won't listen, he's insistent that his way is right."

"Well… he usually is." Maria said.

Minerva's eyes widened in shock at the statement, but reluctantly saw what Maria was saying. In the past, whenever Minerva or Michalis had an argument, inevitably Michalis would be in the right. Yet Minerva, she _knew_ he was wrong this time. Her reasoning was emotional, not factual, but she knew. Her one reason, which was more mystical and absolute then any rational and compelling argument to the contrary.

With a sigh, Minerva rose from the bed and began to move toward the door. Dealing with Michalis, whatever the outcome, would be much simpler if she didn't have to worry about Maria. She would not let her little sister get caught in the cross-fire.

* * *

><p>Michalis stared out the window behind the throne. He seemed a little more at peace, since Maria hadn't been skeptical about how his plan would work out. Minerva, Merach, and the Whitewings, he knew, would make a point to be a thorn in his side.<p>

"Prince." A voice came from behind. Michalis turned to see Orridyon walking into the throne room. "Forgive my insolence at just inviting myself into the throne room, but we have a… refugee."

"Here?"

"No, sire. At the castle town. Whoever he is, he apparently fled from Khadein. The town guards suspected he might be a spy and tried to seize him for questioning but, well, its strange. He just waved his hand, and the guards suddenly said that he was harmless."

"Magic." Michalis noted. "I heard that magic that effects another's mind is strenuous to invoke, interesting that he can do it with a simple movement of the hand." Michalis settled himself in the throne, stroking his chin in thought. "Orridyon, can you arrange a meeting with this man?"

"I… yes, prince." Orridyon said. "He'll meet with you, or die."

"No, Orridyon." Michalis responded. Orridyon made his confusion clear with the expression on his face. "I doubt that sending armed soldiers, or making threats, is going to impress him. Simple give him notice that I am going to visit him."

"You-" Orridyon was suddenly at a loss for words. For a moment, Orridyon tilted his head down and stared at the floor with his mouth hanging open. He regained his composure quickly, raising his head back to the prince. He nodded. "I will send a letter to him immediately. No threats or anything intimidating, just a notice that the ruler of Macedon will be paying him a visit, along with the royal knig-"

"Just me." Michalis said. Orridyon was shocked again, but did not argue, simply bowing deeply. Michalis nodded at the gesture. "You may leave now. I wish to be speaking with him by this time tomorrow."

* * *

><p>"Come at me, prince!" Jagen yelled.<p>

It was afternoon at Talys, Marth and his knights were all inside the fort. The only people missing were Gordin and Norne, who were elsewhere.

Today, the first where they woke up on Talys soil, also marked the beginning of true training for Marth. In past years, Marth's training had been for two reasons, self-defense, and courtly duels. Now he was training for warfare, and he had every intent on excelling at it.

Jagen was his training partner right now. The elderly knight was clearly holding back a great deal of his skill, but he was also clearly not coddling the prince. Off his horse and on his feet, Jagen's wooden lance met Marth's wooden sword, the weapons connected, over and over again. As blow met blow, Jagen commented on Marth frequently, either chiding a flaw in the prince's style, or complimenting Marth's intelligence and tactics.

The elderly knight was not a man who was slow at delivering criticism, but he could give out praise as needed as well.

"Prince, you are striking too hard!" Jagen observed. "Your swordplay isn't supposed to have that kind of force behind it. Strike with more tactics and finesse."

Marth paused for a moment, then charged at Jagen again. His strokes came slightly differently then last time, a bit more subtle… more likely to disconcert an enemy. This was good, exactly what Jagen was encouraging the prince to do.

A short distance away from Jagen and the prince, the other knights engaged in their own training. Cain and Abel rushed with their training weapons, and Draug was ready to meet their assault. The focus of the training was Cain and Abel's ability to charge an enemy, and Draug's ability to stand firm and hold the line.

Draug was doing a remarkably good job, resisting and negating most of their attacks. His armor was too heavy for him to nimbly dodge attacks, instead there were times he had to put faith in his armor to withstand the blow.

Parry and deflect the attacks that could be a threat, and let the lesser attacks be negated by his armor. Of course, the wooden training weapons had no chance to actually get through his armor, but increasing his mastery of parrying and deflecting now would help him when the day came that he would fight wielders of iron, steel, and silver again.

Malledus was acting as something of an overseer. Though Marth and the knights hardly needed one. It seemed rather impossible that one of them would lose their composure and come at their training opponent with completely unnecessary force. So instead of actively watching them, Malledus seemed more content to read a scroll in his hand, only looking up at the training knights periodically.

Outside of the fort, Gordin and Norne were just finishing up a short training session of their own. The archery contest Norne had suggested had just ended. All of the practice targets that were set up on the tree trunks had multiple arrows sunk into them. Some arrows were marked as the arrows of an official Altean knight, others had no recognizable marking on them. More arrows were to the left and right of the targets, shots that missed.

"I can't believe it." Norne said. Her quiver was drained, and the outcome of the little contest was over. She had lost. That, by itself, wasn't too bad. It was just how _badly_ she had lost that irked her.

"W-well, maybe we can try again?" Gordin offered. "I mean, we should, we have to be training anyway. Let's collect the arrows that missed and continue."

"All right." Norne said with a sigh. Annoyed by the fact that, based on the parts of the target rings the arrows sunk in at, Gordin's performance had been just slightly less then twice as good as hers. Whether her own performance was good or bad didn't seem to be the issue, how she stacked up against Gordin seemed to be her only concern right now. Yet despite her loss, she wasn't ready to admit that Gordin's official training might of offered him more then her own self-teaching.

Not that she was a sore loser. Nope. No way. Not a chance. She just wanted proof that it wasn't a fluke. She followed Gordin to pick up the arrows that didn't hit a target. The heads of some of them seemed to have been damaged a little, but still good enough for training.

"Hey, Norne." Gordin said. She turned to him. Gordin found it difficult to speak right to her face without feeling nervous. "Do, do you know how to make your own arrows?"

"Nah." She shrugged. "I'd just buy a new bundle from the store. Never thought much about actually making them myself."

"Well… I suppose actual battle is still a long time away, but you might need to, um… improvise and make your own in a battle."

"You know how to make your own?"

"Of-of course." Gordin nervously said. "One of the first things we covered in the castle after we learned to shoot. And… if you're going to be an archer around here, you'll have to learn how to do it."

"Teach me, then." Norne said, taking a step toward him.

"W-well, hold on… one thing at a, time…" Gordin began to examine the arrows they were recovering. He quickly realized that he wasn't fit to actually be teaching another archer much of anything. He lacked the confidence he needed to be a teacher or trainer. For right now, Norne didn't seem to notice that obvious fact. He had the feeling that the girl would find his personality very annoying in the near future.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, dusk was coming on Talys, and the Altean's training for the day was at last over. They were all seated around a wooden table in the fort, enjoying a meal the king had supplied. Nothing fancy, it was just farm food.<p>

To the… annoyance of Malledus and the knights, it turned out that Norne, who had no real association with Altea's military or nobility, also knew nothing of decorum or decency when it came to eating. From loudly eating with her mouth open, to reaching across the table to grab things she wanted, she would have been ill-fit to eat in any noble setting.

Some of the knights seemed to lose their appetite watching her display. Gordin, Cain, and Jagen seemed to be the only ones still eating. Gordin, perhaps out of modesty or meekness, was the only one seemingly not troubled by Norne's eating habits at all.

Marth wasn't at the table. Instead he was in a room several floors up with Caeda, who had come earlier. Marth had been quick to snap at her yesterday, and he'd probably do it again today if she said anything about what he'd been through. Still, he seemed a little calmer, though sadder, then he had been last time. She made no effort or attempt to bring up Altea, or his sister. Marth certainly didn't need daily reminders from her. Instead, she turned the conversation to other things, like Talys, or her father, or the old celebration where they had met years ago. Caeda wondered if the conversation was making Marth remember bits and pieces about that day, so long ago.

Now, she decided to focus on why she had come.

"Um…" she realized she hadn't planned out the wording to the question ahead of time. "Marth, are you done training for today?"

"I wish I wasn't." Marth said, seeming to brood. "I should be training more, but Jagen said that there's only so much I should do in a day."

"That's too bad." Caeda said. She was privately happy that Marth felt that he hadn't done enough today. Maybe he would take her up on her offer. "Hey, Marth, would you like to spar with _me_?"

He seemed to jolt into movement at the question, and stared at her with a look of pure shock.

"What?"

"Spar with me." She repeated with a shrug. "I mean, you want to keep training for today, right? Maybe a nice spar would be nice."

She didn't even mention her father or her father's disapproval of this. Throughout the conversation, Caeda came to realize that if Marth knew of Mostyn's disapproval, he'd say something like 'I can't go behind the back of the man who's sheltering me and asking nothing in return.' no matter how much she'd plead that he just not let her father know.

He paused, speechless for several seconds, before his mouth began to obey him again. "You know how to fight?"

"Why, yes." Caeda said, with a tone of offense that was clearly fake. She revealed a wooden lance, "There are some… trouble I have while fighting, maybe you could help me, and maybe it'll help you too."

Marth regarded her curiously. "What exactly is it that you have trouble with?"

"Oh, well… I'm good at fighting on the saddle of my Pegasus, but I really need to practice my on-foot fighting. You know, if I ever get knocked off my Pegasus." She felt soothed that her reason as to why they should train was not a lie. She really did need to work on this.

"I see." Marth said. He recalled that Jagen, about half a year back, had said something about saddled troops before. Said that they knew how to fight when on whatever beast they rode, but some didn't seem to really understand how to move on their own feet off the saddle.

"So, you'll help me, right?"

Marth was silent for a moment, but then nodded.

"Thank you." Caeda gripped her lance, "Right now, right?"

"I think I should have Jagen in here for this." Marth said. "He could probably offer some advice-"

"No, Marth." Caeda swiftly blurted out, desperately not wanting any of his knights to know about this. "I, uh… my training is normally with Ogma, I'd like to practice with other people, but he'd get offended if he learned about it, so I'd prefer this to be kept a secret."

"Well, um… okay." Marth agreed after a moment of deliberation. Caeda was relieved. Honestly, she hadn't the faintest clue as to how Ogma would react to anyone else training her, but the less the mercenary knew, the less he could report to her father.

The prince took his wooden sword out, gave a nod to affirm that he was ready, and they began.

* * *

><p>Marth and Caeda were eating now in Marth's room, their match over. The difference in their skill was… scarily apparent. Perhaps if Caeda was seated on her Pegasus she could have done better, but what she did on-foot was basically just making floundering swings at him that were easily blocked, evaded, parried, or countered. Now, as they were eating, she found that she was embarrassed by her performance.<p>

Their food was, predictably, of greater class then what the knights were eating. Straight from Castle Talys, delicately prepared fish. Most of the exquisite food from Talys were specially cooked local fish. Nothing like the wide variety of fruit and beef Marth enjoyed back in Altea. They also both had a cup of tea.

The meal was private, of course. Marth began to wonder how Elice would respond to this. Years ago, Elice had surmised that, since Marth was a prince, he would be the target of "gold-digging" women. She had gone to great lengths to prevent Marth from having contact with any of Altea's female nobles that were around his age. He almost, _almost_ smiled at the fact that Elice would have been enraged at Caeda having a meal with him.

Caeda, shrewd girl that she was, noticed that something seemed to be lightly amusing Marth. She didn't say anything, simply finding herself to be rather happy that the prince was in slightly higher spirits right now. Instead, she just focused on her meal, she'd let Marth start a conversation if he wanted to.

* * *

><p>The knight's meal was over, and now the Alteans were simply talking amongst themselves. Except for Cain, who had risen and left.<p>

"What do you suppose they're talking about up there?" Norne wondered aloud. She was talking about Marth and Caeda.

"Whatever it is, it's the business of royalty." Malledus said, he sensed that Norne wanted to personally investigate Marth and Caeda's moment with each other, he decided to cut down any suggestions to do so immediately. "It's none of our business."

"Oh come on." Norne protested, "Aren't you at least a little curious?"

"A knight knows his place." Abel commented. Being ignorant of what was going on upstairs didn't seem to bother him at all. He turned to everyone else at the table, "Right?"

A small pause was followed by a collection of agreements from everyone else at the table besides Norne. Her head nodded down in disappointment. Being the odd-one-out was a tad discomforting, and she was honestly shocked that no one else seemed curious at all. After a moment she chalked it up to a difference between her volunteer self and the knights.

"So, this is our schedule, now?" Draug asked. "Training most of the day, everyday, until we leave?"

Jagen nodded. "We can't afford to not spend our time training. Not with what we're preparing for." Jagen leaned back, closing his eyes. "We can't have even a few days of relaxation… all our rest has to occur in the hours between the end of training, and the time we sleep."

"I understand. Truthfully speaking, I don't want or need any rest right now." Abel said. "Rather, I think training is being cut shorter then it really needs to be."

Malledus was interested, but not truly surprised that, from the looks of it, none of the knights seemed to be content to end training for the day. Even Norne, who wasn't actually part of Altea's knighthood, clearly had the strength and enthusiasm to keep doing it.

Yet Jagen's insistence that training end at dusk was founded in logical reasoning. They needed _some_ rest. Just in case an emergency occurred… they might end up being tested before they leave Talys.

* * *

><p>Cain took in a breath of the Talys air outside the fort. Very humid. Nothing like Altea's drier air, but he'd have to get used to it. He was going to be here for a long time. His gaze drifted to the setting sun. If his last few days haven't been so bitter, he might have been mesmerized by the orange light. Right now, all he wanted to do was work on his sword and lance play just a little while longer. He contemplated making a few practice swings with his sword, even if training was over…<p>

Jagen's orders or no, he wasn't ready to end training for today. He felt, no, he _knew_ that when the day someday came that he would leave, he, and everyone else, would say that they could have spent more time training.

He took his sword out, closing his eyes, he envisioned a Gra soldier standing before him.

"Traitor." The word came out almost against his will. The imaginary soldier his mind concocted simply stood there, spear in hand, with taunting silence. Cain charged…

* * *

><p>Time passed, and several months came and went, until the Alteans had been living in Talys for six months.<p>

The training was clearly taking its effect. Marth had to have had nearly thrice the skill he had when he escaped Altea. Cain and Abel were striking with more force and strength then ever before, and Draug could handle such a seemingly unstoppable assault. Norne had progressed to the point of being just moderately behind Gordin's level of skill. Gordin himself had improved his accuracy and speed, but he seemed to be having trouble making any significantly large improvement.

And Caeda's secret sparring with Marth was continuing. She had been horrible with on-foot fighting at first, but she had made considerable progress. She had yet to actually win any of her matches with Marth, had yet to come even close to such a feat, but she didn't look utterly helpless in their duels, either.

Ogma came to the Altean's fort at the behest of Mostyn to offer his own helping hand to Marth's training. His style of fighting, mostly self-taught, imparted its own wisdom into Marth's swordplay, though only somewhat roughly. Ogma's focus on power integrated poorly with Marth's more refined technique. Rather, Ogma's greatest benefit to the prince was showing him how those focused on sheer power fought.

Though Malledus was initially evasive about a mercenary training Marth, it quickly became apparent that Ogma wasn't the sort of under-handed immoral mercenary that he looked to be at first glance. In fact he was, for all extents and purposes, like a knight in behavior, though quite a bit more rough looking.

Jagen seemed to be the only one who wasn't improving. He wasn't focusing on his own training, but in helping others advance. All day long he lectured and complimented the others on their performance, yet spent little on his own lance play. Yet Altea's finest knight could easily be considered fine enough for this to not be an issue.

Ogma had three fellow mercenaries with him. Named Barst, Bord, and Cord, who recognized him as their captain. These three had their friendly training duels with the knights and Marth. This was appreciated, it was necessary that they all be experienced with axe wielding foes.

Today, Marth had been invited to the castle to have a private meal with the royal family of Talys. Far from just a friendly gesture, king Mostyn had things he wanted Marth to listen to.

The dinner table was small, but still rather regal. The table itself was made of very expensive metal, and it was covered with delicately woven red fabric that the plates and glasses were placed on top of.

The meal was much like what the king had been supplying Marth for the long months. Very carefully cooked and seasoned fish, with hot tea to drink. However, Mostyn also had three bowls of hot soup for he, his daughter, and Marth.

Caeda sat right next to Marth. It took a long time, and a lot of stubborn badgering, but Caeda eventually managed to finally, finally get Marth to completely open up to her. It had been a difficult game of trying to push Marth to talk about the issues in his heart without being unnecessarily blunt or cruelly forcing him to recall what he'd been through.

Those walls of emotional defense he had erected had come down, but, she suspected, only for her. Anyone else who tried to approach him regarding those things in a nonprofessional way, well…

"Prince Marth." Mostyn began as he finished his meal, leaving about half of his dish uneaten. Marth still had plenty of room in his stomach to fill, but politely stopped for a moment. "How much do you know about the situation across the rest of the continent?"

"Nothing, sire." Marth answered.

"I see." He sighed. "The rest of the continent is in bad shape, based on the letters I've been getting these past months."

Marth began to feel uneasy. His appetite seemed to leave as he sensed his stomach was about to react uncomfortably to whatever he was about to hear.

"Let me start at the beginning." Mostyn said. "For one, Macedon has joined Dolhr's Empire. According to my letters, it joined under prince Michalis after the prince's father was killed by assassins."

Marth nodded at the news. It meant that he would have another nation to fight when it came time for him to leave.

"The bad news doesn't end there, I'm afraid. Archanea has fallen, apparently just recently. They had held Dolhr off for quite some time, but one of their finest knights, a man named Horace, defected to Dolhr. The loss of such a fine knight and tactician proved to be too much of a blow to Archanea's moral to recover from."

As he predicted, Marth felt a churning in his stomach. Glancing at the food in front of him, he knew he had probably eaten all he would tonight. He took some solace in the fact that Archanea had at least fought the good fight to the bitter end.

"Did they destroy Archanea outright?"

"No. It seems that all territories Dolhr has laid claim to, Altea included, have been occupied rather then outright destroyed. Though the Shadow Dragon's ambition is the extermination of our species, it would seem that he would choose to annihilate all possible threats before he attempts to slaughter us off."

"Then Altea still exists…" Marth said quietly. Caeda put a comforting hand on the prince's shoulder, he reached his hand up to place on top of hers. "What about Aurelis?"

"Besides Talys, Aurelis is the only nation that does not yet bow to Dolhr. Dolhr _is_ invading the nation, but the invasion had only just begun when these letters were written. As of the letter's writing, Dolhr has made no true foothold in Aurelis, but who knows what's happening as we speak."

"I… see." Marth said, slightly uplifted by Aurelis' defiance. Maybe if the situation stayed where it was, Aurelis could prove an ally, if the nation was willing. Marth knew little about Aurelis, and how its leaders would think.

"Prince Marth, I should warn you." Mostyn said, his tone grave. "Dolhr has put an… unbelievable price on you. No less then eighty million standard pieces of gold for your live capture, and sixty million if already deceased. It seems they're desperate to get rid of you."

"They'd probably just kill whoever delivered me, rather then pay." Marth said quietly. "I doubt Medeus would honor a deal like that."

"Hmm. True." Mostyn nodded. "But fear not, I doubt there are any leads Dolhr, or anyone else, could use to track you. Talys only dealt in small trade before this all happened, and shutting our borders would hardly be surprising or suspicious, considering the state of the rest of the continent. The only way someone who would turn you in would find you is if…" he trailed off.

"If?" Marth asked.

"Across the ocean is the port town of Galder. Recently, it's become something of a pirate hideout under some brute named Gomer. They're untrained barbarians who think they're strong because they swing axes around, but they have the numbers necessary to make it nearly impossible to face them head on." Mostyn, somewhat uncomfortably, looked out the window, possibly in the direction of Galder. "Galder is the port nearest Talys, if anyone who would actually turn you over to Dolhr ever finds you, well, it would be these pirates."

"I'd like to see them try." Marth said, unfazed.

"I expected such a reaction." Mostyn said, smiling.

The conversation quickly shifted to other things. Soon it was a friendly exchange of words between friendly royal families. Mostyn retired early to his bedroom. It was already nighttime when they were done.

"Not the greatest news you could have heard." Caeda noted.

"I suppose it's just good to know that Altea still exists as a nation. Even if it is occupied." The words were spoken with a neutral tone, but then he made a long sigh. Caeda suspected that it might have been better if her father had withheld any mention of Altea.

No, no. If her father hadn't brought it up, Marth would have inquired of it. Either way, he'd of learned about his nation's current state.

She wasn't in his position, but she could sense that he had to be feeling like some coward who slunk away from his duties, leaving others to suffer. As an offering of comfort, she reached out, placing her hands on his shoulders. He sighed deeply, but accepted the gesture.

In a moment, her grip became more firm as her thoughts turned to the reward for Marth that Dolhr had issued. The simple thought of someone just coming into Talys and taking him seemed to repulse her. There was no way anyone would get to him… at least not without depositing a butchered princess of Talys on the ground. She may not have necessarily been a strong combatant, but she did know that she would be willing to die for the prince.

* * *

><p>Everyone at the fort was expecting Marth's return shortly. The last meal and training session of the day were already over. Despite the late hour, Ogma and his three men were still there, Ogma had been offering some old stories to the knights.<p>

Finally, eyes started to drop and mouths started to yawn. However, as of yet only Malledus and Jagen had retired for the night, everyone else, though tired, were still up and talking.

"Hey, Ogma?" Gordin spoke up. The mercenary turned to him. "Where did you get those scars of yours? Just slowly over your career?"

Ogma's face, previously cheerful and friendly, turned deathly serious. "Gordin, more then half of my scars came from just one fight."

"What?" Norne entered the starting conversation. "How could you get that wounded in a fight with real weapons and live to walk away?"

Ogma raised his arms to feel the scars all over his body, in particular the x shaped one on his cheek. "It is amazing that I survived that fight. That man…" he trailed off.

"What exactly happened?" Abel asked. "Were you untrained at the time? Or-"

"No. I received these injuries not too long before I came to Talys." He sighed, ready to tell a story. "Right, I once took a job that required me to take on a few Dolhr soldiers."

"Dolhr." Abel said coldly. "How long ago was this?"

"Quite a few years ago. Well before Medeus returned." Ogma replied. "Anyway, my employer wanted a certain item that some human Dolhr soldiers were transporting. It was some sort of gem, if I recall correctly. The mission seemed pretty easy at first, the Dolhr soldiers escorting the object, and the few reinforcements that came, I handedly dispatched. However, after that, _he_ came…"

Ogma looked incredibly uncomforted by the memory, nevertheless, he continued his story. "Dolhr had a mercenary of their own on their side. This man was, and still is, feared far and wide. They say that his blade moves so nimbly, with such subtlety, that most people die without ever realizing that he had moved."

"And…" Norne spoke up, feeling intimidated by Ogma's description. "What is this man's name?"

Ogma turned to the side with a colorless expression. He looked as if he was studying the wall of the fort, his face was like the face of a hunted man.

"Ogma?"

"Navarre." Ogma finally answered. Barst, Bord, and Cord seemed somewhat unsettled by their captain's discomfort. "This lethal mercenary that was employed by Dolhr, was named Navarre." He took a deep breath, preparing to continue the story. "I had always assumed that the stories made him seem more skilled then he really was. That assumption was one of the worst mistakes of my life. His fast swordplay made a mockery of my own power-oriented style, before I had even swung my weapon twice, the identity of the duel's victor was no longer in doubt."

"How did you survive?" Cain asked, listening intently. "Somehow I don't think this Navarre was the type to show mercy."

"Navarre follows his employer's orders to the letter. His employers in Dolhr told him to make me suffer. He cut me lightly, over and over again, but he didn't kill me. The Dolhr soldiers had something else in mind. After I fell unconscious from blows not intended to kill, I was taken to a Dolhr arena, where I was to be made some kind of practice target for untrained Dolhr soldiers. That didn't happen. I managed to escape… though bleeding from cuts all over my body, I still managed to escape. I didn't see Navarre as I ran. I suspect he had already received his pay from Dolhr and left, if he was still there and intercepted me as I escaped, I would have definitely been killed on that day."

"So this… Navarre, completely outclassed you." Abel mused. "I think I heard of a mercenary by that name once…"

"His exploits are widely known, but few have heard of his name." Ogma said. "You could count on one hand the number of people who have faced Navarre and lived to tell about it. I'm one of them, yet I only survived because his employer did not wish Navarre to be the one to do the deed."

"Wouldn't Dolhr have tried to chase after you?" Gordin asked.

"They did." Ogma answered. "Assassins chased me all across the continent after I escaped, but I managed to heal my wounds and stay a few steps ahead of them. Until, eventually, at an arena I was fighting at, they finally caught up to me. Dolhr soldiers interrupted my match, butchered my opponent, and tried to kill me. They would have succeeded, I was exhausted from my match, the assassins were rested, ready, and had numbers on their side. I managed to kill most of them, but it soon became apparent that one of them was going to strike the fatal blow. The person who saved me that day was… princess Caeda."

"The princess?" Norne was dumbfounded.

"I don't know what she was doing there, but she put herself in harms way for me, and provided the distraction I needed to finish off the last few Dolhr assassins. She heard my story, and decided to help me get to safety. She helped me dress one of the Dolhr assassins to look like me, then offered me asylum in Talys. I've been Talys' greatest swordsman, and most loyal mercenary, ever since. No Dolhr assassin has come looking for me, I can only assume that they fell for the decoy of me the princess helped me make."

The fort seemed to quiet down after he finished his story. It seemed to serve as a reminder of the sort of nation Dolhr was, and the kind of lengths they would go to if you angered them.

They all knew that Marth had angered that tenacious, murderous, and easily enraged nation just by being born. He also had to have been a much higher priority then Ogma had been. One could only imagine what inhumanities Dolhr was committing in the hunt for Marth. If someone as beneath the attention of Dolhr's higher caste as Ogma had necessitated such a pursuit… it wasn't a pleasant thing to think about.

"You survived quite the ordeal." Draug noted. "Hard to believe you had a run-in with Dolhr like that… Altea has had almost no encounters with Dolhr over the generations, and I think most people are unaware of just how hateful and cruel the humans from there are. The Manaketes, however, are said to make the humans look noble and kind-hearted in comparison."

Ogma nodded. "And it's people like that you're training to fight." He crossed his arms, once again taking note of his own scars, most of them were spots where Navarre had slashed him. "Don't take my level of skill as any indication of the average skill of the Dolhr soldiers. Those were far from elites I was fighting." He paused, looking to the wall opposite from him. "Hmm. My apologies, I think it's time my men and I were heading back to the castle." He moved to the door, his three men followed him.

"See you tomorrow, then." Abel said.

* * *

><p>Michalis found himself back in his throne room. Over the months he had managed to make roughly one visit per week to the Khadein refugee that had appeared in the castle town. He had learned many things from this man, a sage named Gotoh, also known as the White Sage. Michalis' relationship with Gotoh was an… odd one.<p>

He was casting no spell on the prince, but still Michalis tolerated Gotoh's criticism of his ambitions and plans, when he would have sentenced others to imprisonment for such words. Many of the White Sage's words were very similar to Minerva's own arguments as to why his direction for the nation was a bad one. Yet Gotoh's words were a little calmer, with more thought and careful analysis put into them. Minerva let her emotions and passion for her beliefs fuel her wrathful words, Gotoh's words were instead built on hard logic and rational argumentation.

Though he didn't do as Gotoh urged or suggested, he found that he was giving his ear to Gotoh more willingly and happily then he gave ear to Minerva's words. He also asked Gotoh for much advice and understanding. The White Sage always offered it, in between his urging that Michalis abandon Dolhr.

Gotoh seemed a secluded individual who preferred to be alone with his thoughts, and disliked visitors. It wasn't too long before the Macedonian knights were seeing to it that Michalis was the only one who ever approached the house that Gotoh had chosen to dwell in.

Michalis had, over time, discovered that this Gotoh was the one who trained Gharnef, the Dark Pontifex of Khadein. Michalis knew that Gharnef desired Gotoh's death, but he continued to allow Gotoh to live securely in Macedon.

Gotoh's knowledge, and advice, were too valuable to give up, and shielding Gotoh from his former pupil proved an effective way to drive the Dark Pontifex mad. After all, Michalis' rank was equal to Gharnef's. The mage couldn't simply order Michalis to do anything, nor could the Dark Pontifex send Khadein mages to kill Gotoh, that would grossly overstep his own boundaries. Though Michalis felt that Gotoh had little to fear even if Gharnef did make such an attempt, considering the sort of power he knew Gotoh commanded.

As for his sister, Minerva, she was integrating, poorly, with the nations Macedon was now allied with. In the months that has passed, she quickly developed a reputation for defiance to her superiors. Her Whitewings, and Merach, in turn, refused to accept or follow most orders. As a soldier, she was proving effective, if grotesquely unreliable. Her status as Michalis' sister seemed to be the only thing sparing her from receiving capital punishment for her misconduct. Her vassals were spared due to her constantly shielding them.

Though Minerva and Michalis' stances toward each other had grown cold across these months, there were some subtle traces of lingering warmth. Michalis, for his part, had gone to great lengths to prevent Minerva from ever serving under a Manakete directly. The Manaketes, after all, were the ones most likely to kill her for disobedience.

Minerva's left over bit of warmth for Michalis laid in the fact that she hadn't walked into Castle Macedon with the intention of killing him. She was more then aggressive enough to do something like that.

Still, Minerva's disobedience was putting Macedon in a very uncomfortable position. It would have been dismissible from anyone else, but the behavior of the king's sister reflected on his standing and position in Dolhr's eyes. Michalis' attempt to keep her from directly serving a Manakete seemed to only make Dolhr, and the other nations, suspicious of him.

Michalis' thoughts were derailed at the sound of hissing.

Shortly after he became king, he had somewhat remodeled the throne room. There was a large stable to the side, on a person's right when one entered the room. The stable contained Michalis' onyx black Wyvern, a most intimidating and temperamental creature. He and Minerva were among the few who had mastered such creatures. Beyond that, he had commissioned that a hole be built into the ceiling of the room, leading to the outside sky. A way for both he and his Wyvern to take to the air.

The Wyvern seemed to intimidate anyone who entered the room these days. The lizard could have easily escaped from the stable, but the creature was very obedient to Michalis, who could silence the Wyvern's territorial growling with a look from his face or a wave of his hand. Its obedience seemed to accent Michalis' authority, and his dominance as Macedon's king.

The creature's hissing was due to someone who had walked into the throne room. It was a woman with long blonde hair.

"Who are you? And what business do you have that bears merit to me?"

"King Michalis." The woman bowed deep, the correct distance to a superior. "I am… Adeline, an archer of Macedon. A castle guard." She rose from the bow and twisted her upper body slightly, revealed her quiver and bow, both on her back at the moment.

An archer. Macedon had few of them, due to the… natural animosity that riders of Pegasus and Wyverns felt toward them and their arrows. Riders of those creatures comprised well more then half of Macedon's military. This… Adeline, must have been an archer of considerable talent if she was in Macedon's army at all. He nodded, turning to his Wyvern for a moment. The creature quieted down, but its blood red eyes continued to bore into Adeline. "What did you invite yourself into the throne room for?"

"I… wouldn't be so foolish as to just walk in here without a reason, King Michalis. I'm here because-"

"I can talk for myself." A hoarse voice sounded from behind the archer. A cloaked figure walked into the throne room. Adeline stepped to the side.

"King Michalis…" the cloaked figure, which Michalis recognized as Xemcel, one of the highest ranking Manaketes from Dolhr, addressed him. "I imagine you already know why I'm here."

"Minerva." Michalis responded. "Adeline, leave the room."

The archer nodded, turning around and leaving.

"This disobedience cannot stand, Michalis. A useful soldier or not, her insubordinate attitude is proving a tenacious thorn in our side."

Michalis wasn't fazed by the lack of his proper title. As he had come to learn, the Manaketes rarely referred to the ruler of the human nations with their titles. They thought of humans as beneath them, human rulers they held in the greatest contempt. It would be nearly impossible to find a Manakete who used the respectful title for someone like Michalis.

"She is powerful enough that we can't risk losing her." Michalis said pragmatically, giving the impression that any desire to keep his sister in Dolhr's good graces was strictly impersonal.

"Then you are to find a way to keep her under control. Otherwise, her disobedience will make all of Macedon suffer our rage." Xemcel fished an envelope out of the inside of his robe, he took a step forward and handed it to Michalis.

Swiftly, he broke the seal and took the letter out, he acknowledged the official Dolhr seal and quickly read the contents of the letter. The letter's statement was blunt and simple, but dire. From this day on, every act of disobedience from Minerva would be responded to with the mass execution of one thousand Macedonian soldiers. That likely wouldn't faze Minerva, who had grown increasingly cold and uncaring to Macedon's army, he would have to find a way to get her to obey. It would not be easy, she gave little heed to his words anymore, the only people she seemed to show true concern for at this point was the Whitewings, Merach, and-

Michalis' thoughts cut themselves off before they finished the sentence. He already had a way to make her submit to her orders. The realization was like being struck in the face. The perfect way to make Minerva, and her vassals in turn, obey their orders. Yet it was also the ultimate knife to his heart. He buried the sudden uncertainty and conflict deep beneath, and spoke to Xemcel with cold words.

"I have formulated a way to make my sister… appreciate her orders."

"Impressive speed." Xemcel commented, Michalis felt an unspoken _for a human_ at the end of the Manakete's words. He began to back out of the throne room. "I shall stay here another day, I hope to see some progress in getting her under control by tomorrow morning."

The Manakete departed, Michalis sank into his throne. He put his head into his hands, looking as if he had a splitting headache, but his anguish was not physical in nature. His wyvern, from its stable, seemed to sense a deep conflict inside its master. It made a low growl, not a threatening sound, it was almost sympathetic.

_I can't turn from the path I've chosen._

He leaned back, taking his head out of his hands resting it on the back of the throne, with eyes closed he began tapping a finger on the throne's armrest. After a few minutes of this, he slowly opened his eyes.

* * *

><p>"You summoned me, Michalis?" Maria entered the throne room. Michalis rose from the throne.<p>

"I did." He said, his movement had a sense of weariness to it, which she noticed.

"Are you tired, Michalis?" She tilted her head, "I can help if you are, I've gotten good with my Heal staff." She revealed her staff with a slightly cocky grin.

"That's very appreciated Maria, but no. This isn't something your staff can fix, but there is something I need you to do for me." He walked up to her, then kneeled down to Maria's level. "I am in a bad position with Dolhr. Certain… circumstances has resulted in them being angry with me. I need to find some way to appease them, or Macedon will suffer."

That wasn't a lie, but he was purposely withholding some facts, like the reason as to why Dolhr was angry with him. Better that Maria suspect that he had such strong morals that he couldn't get along with Dolhr, rather then realize that her older sister was being too rebellious. Rebellious to depraved superiors maybe, but Minerva was hurting Macedon in ways she couldn't possibly imagine by doing what she was doing.

"And, I can help you do that?" Maria felt a little uneasy at the possibilities of what would be asked of her, but was still willing to enthusiastically support her brother.

"If Macedon is to stay safe from Manakete hands, we have to let them hang something over us." Michalis patted the top of Maria's head, a gentle gesture, but he was still pained. "I'll give you the choice as to whether or not to accept this. In order for Dolhr to give Macedon some breathing space, I… would place you in the custody of another."

Her eyes widened with shock, but she didn't pull back. She dipped her head down for a moment, but then looked back up. "Whatever it is you're doing, I bet you're only a step or two away from doing it. Yes, I can do this."

"Bravely spoken, Maria, but I want you to understand what you're so willingly signing up for. You won't be mistreated, your life will be too precious for that, but your conditions won't be good. You'll be in a prison cell, you'll be a hostage, watched over by people who have no respect for me or you, you'll just be a tool and a bargaining chip to them. Conditions will be bad. Very bad."

She paused, for a moment her enthusiasm seemed to vanish, but then almost immediately returned. "I said I'd do it, Michalis. Just… try not to leave me there too long." She took a step forward, giving a hug to the brother who had her unshakable faith.

Michalis put a hand on her shoulder, gripping it hard, as if he didn't want to let go of her, but didn't clutch her hard enough to discomfort her.

_Forgive me._

She pulled back from the hug after a moment. Then turned her head to the side, "I'm guessing I won't be able to see Minerva before I go if she's not even in the nation right now… oh, I can have some time with him first." She smiled and darted off in the direction she was looking.

Maria was the only person that Michalis' Wyvern liked besides its master. Though he always felt discomforted when Maria tried to approach the creature that could bite a man's head off and disembowel a soldier with a single swipe of its talons, the Wyvern never minded Maria. Maria began to pet the creature on the head. It responded with a guttural sound, the closest thing a Wyvern could give to an affectionate purr.

The Wyvern did not like Minerva, and Minerva's Wyvern did not like Michalis, yet both Wyverns seemed to enjoy Maria.

"I… am afraid you can only do that for a few more minutes." Michalis cautioned. "They will likely grow angrier if they do not hear from me."

Maria nodded as she continued to give the Wyvern attention. It made a sound like a weak groan, the Wyvern's equivalent to a sigh of extreme satisfaction.

* * *

><p>After several days of traveling with an escort, Maria arrived at Castle Deil. This would be Maria's home for na time, far far away from the familiar castle of Macedon. This place was held by Grust, and the soldiers here likely held little respect for Michalis.<p>

She arrived under the watch of Michalis's most trusted soldier, Orridyon. He was accompanied by some of Macedonian castle guards, the archer Adeline among them.

A heavily armored Grustian general, accompanied by a handful of Grust soldiers, was waiting to greet them outside the castle.

"General Zharov." Orridyon began. "I assume you already know why you're stationed here."

"Yes, general Orridyon." Zharov answered with a chilling tone, cordially folding his arms behind his back. "Though it's hard to believe that I of all people should be forced to waste my time with mere babysitting, I understand the duty assigned to me. Have their been any changes to my assignment, or some minor thing I should be made aware of?"

"No changes have been made, however…" Orridyon inclined his head to Adeline, who stepped forward.

"General Zharov, King Michalis bears a message for you. 'If she is harmed without reason, I will hunt you and your men down and skin you all alive.'"

"Scared?" Maria asked, Orridyon put his hand on her shoulder, a way to tell her to quiet down. Maria looked up at the elderly knight, she wasn't sure what Orridyon's opinion of her was, but she was precious to the man he had absolute loyalty to.

Zharov blinked at Maria's little taunt, but then smiled. "Look at me, I'm terrified. The king of Macedon has no jurisdiction in a Grust-held base. Only Dolhr is able to simply order another nation of the Dolhr Alliance around." He took pleasure at Orridyon's offended expression, the man clearly could not comprehend another person who didn't share his fanaticism for Michalis. "Yet I don't intend to overstep my assigned duties. I will watch over the princess, unless I'm given a… good reason not to."

Maria gulped, but didn't back away from the man.

"Then it seems we understand each other." Orridyon said, though he seemed to want to say more at Zharov's disrespect for Michalis. He released his grip on Maria, and a Grust soldier standing next to Zharov moved to grab her wrist in a steel grip.

"You have no further business here." Zharov said, turning away.

* * *

><p>"What did you just say?" Minerva, who had been stationed at a Gra fort, was in disbelief at what Merach was reporting.<p>

"Maria is in Grust's custody, princess. Apparently she did this willingly, at Michalis' request."

"That… but I-" Minerva was at a loss for words. Little Maria away from Castle Macedon? It was the only place in the world where Minerva could trust Maria to be safe. The news was too sudden and unexpected, the sudden sensation in her gut was painful, like her stomach was ripping itself apart. Her crimson red Wyvern made a small sympathetic grunt, Minerva patted it on the head then continued the conversation with a voice she couldn't stop from trembling. "Why… why would… I thought Michalis still… cared-"

"Commander…" Palla's voice was weak and sympathetic. The Whitewing absent-mindedly began to rub a hand through her Pegasus' mane. Her own stomach churned at the news, yet what she felt had to be only a pale shadow compared to what the Commander had to have been feeling. Palla found herself thankful that Catria and Est where elsewhere right now. They would react to this with anger and without grace, and Palla would have to reign them in, else they say something that makes it even more painful for Minerva.

"I believe he does still care." Merach said, Minerva and Palla looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Judging by the letter I received, I'm inclined to believe that he had little choice in this matter. It would appear, princess, that our recent behavior has put… not just Michalis, but all of Macedon, in a trying position."

"I… I only did as a true knight of Macedon would." She clenched her fists as her head dipped down, her eyes tightly shut. She couldn't believe that Maria's current situation was indirectly her fault.

"I don't doubt that, princess. We've all served with the moral standards that we, as Macedonians, should possess."

Palla found herself nodding at the statement. Yet it seems that few of Macedon's military cared about morals. Ever since Macedon had joined Dolhr, she had listened to the other Macedonian soldiers, looking to hear any private grumblings regarding Macedon's direction. She heard no such discontentment. In fact, all she heard was praise for Michalis' style of ruling and what he had done with the throne's power.

"King Michalis was forced, probably against his wishes, to do this because we have been a perpetual irksome factor. Her well being will be linked entirely to our… performance and obedience."

Minerva nodded, understanding the situation. "Palla."

"Commander?"

"Find Catria and Est, tell them the situation…" she took a deep breath, "…and tell them to do anything and everything their superiors tell them to."

"Commander, I…" Palla trailed off, then nodded. "I understand, I'll see to it that Catria and Est treat their superiors with the utmost respect." She simply stood there for a moment, like her legs were stone. She waited, perhaps frozen by disbelief, or maybe in the faint hope that Minerva would take the order back, but eventually she left to find her sisters.

Maria was in Grust's custody, and it couldn't have come at a worse time. Minerva had been on the verge of total, complete rebellion, separating herself from Macedon's military entirely. She would have taken Merach and the Whitewings with her, and would have spirited Maria away from Macedon. Now she was paralyzed, unable to go with her planned revolt. She would remain as such unless Maria was freed.

The only people she could trust at this point was Merach and the Whitewings… and she couldn't ask them to try and save Maria. That was too much of a risk. If they failed, everyone would understand that their attempt was made at Minerva's request… or at least for her sake. Maria would suffer the consequences for any attempt Minerva made to rescue her. If Maria was to be freed, it had to be someone else.

But… there wasn't anyone else who could do this. No one.

* * *

><p><strong>I am aware that the backstory I gave to Ogma contradicts his official story. (For one, offically he's never encountered Navarre before the events of Shadow Dragon, and Caeda saves him from being punished for assisting in the escape of Samto, a FE3FE12 character, Ogma was never chased by Dolhr assassins) However, since Ogma and Navarre seem to be presented as somehow associated with each other, as if they were rivals, I figured a previous encounter like this might be appropriate.**

**Take note of Zharov using the term 'Dolhr Alliance'. Since the nations that serve Dolhr still exist independently, I crafted a sort of faction name for them to be collectively. Something more interesting then just constantly referring to them as "Dolhr's subordinate nations".**

**Lastly, you'll be seeing more of Adeline, and that is all I'm saying regarding her.**

**Please review.**


	8. Pirate Attack

**Now we really start Shadow Dragon.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs. Everything else belongs to its owners.**

* * *

><p>Aurelis. The last land that could be said to pose a threat to Dolhr. The nation had once been home to the plains that the Aurelian horsemen flourished on. Ever since it had been invaded, the grassy plains had been replaced by tortured, battle-scarred wastelands.<p>

After only a few months, Dolhr retreated from Aurelis and had let Macedon handle the subjugation of the nation. Under Macedon, there had been considerable leaps and bounds in the invasion, but Aurelis' true strength became apparent when it seemed like victory was Macedon's. The horsemen's guerilla tactics, and the Aurelis military's ability to seemingly vanish at the drop of a hat, had stymied attempt after attempt to bring Aurelis' resistance to an end.

With the moon hanging in the night sky, two Macedonian soldiers stood in front of a burning building. The flames roared and consumed what was once a small house. The smell of burnt wood and, more sickeningly, burnt flesh, filled the air. The soldiers were unsympathetic. Only standing silently, they had no concern for the Aurelians who lived in the house they set fire to.

One of the soldiers held a large, folded up piece of paper in his hand. Something removed from the house before the fire was started. It seemed like a mere curiosity, and an odd thing to take from a building before you set it on fire, especially when there was money and other goods one could take instead.

Yet this paper was the only thing they desired from the house. The soldier who was holding the paper began to unfurl it, revealing it to be a map. It listed many deposits of weapons and a network of old tunnels under the nation, things that the Aurelians had been using ever since the nation of Aurelis had been put on the defensive.

Now, Aurelis' resourcefulness would finally cease. All their stashes of weapons, and all their secret passages, would be laid bare before Macedon. It should take only a matter of weeks to rout Aurelis' defiant remnant of a military.

Satisfied with what he was seeing, the Macedonian soldier folded the map back up and put it away. He would report this to his superior, most likely ensuring a most comfortable promotion. Turning away from the fire, he began to leave the area… then he knew nothing more.

A single arrow had flown from the dark of the night, piercing straight into the soldier's forehead, he fell down, having died instantly. The second Macedonian soldier reflexively took his sword out, waiting for another arrow to come. His gaze was firmly in the direction the arrow had come from, he tried his hardest to peer into the darkness, but couldn't determine who had shot the arrow.

His first thought was to get away from the burning building, where he was in plain sight. He began to slowly back away, distancing himself from the illuminating light and keeping his eyes in the direction the arrow had come from… but he suddenly felt a sharp pain. A pain that seemed to be coming from his gut, he looked down to see a sword stabbed through his abdomen. He moaned in pain as the sword's wielder pulled it out.

"Murderer." A youthful, but angry voice seethed at the Macedonian soldier. The soldier fell down, clutching at the wound, a second attack from his assailant's weapon ended the soldier's life.

The owner of the sword sheathed the blade, then picked up the map the first Macedonian's corpse was still holding. He turned to the night covered distance and nodded his head, after a moment a horseman came into view.

"If only we got here a little faster…" the one with the sword spoke softly, turning to the building still engulfed by crimson flame. "Maybe we could have saved those lives…"

"Even if we had gotten here sooner, Roshea, I doubt the outcome would have been different." The horseman said, bow in hand. "By the time we learned that Macedon had realized where one of the maps were located, it was too late."

"Even if they were willing, we shouldn't have let a simple farm family be the ones hiding something so important." He turned to the horseman, "Wolf, the longer we fight-"

"I know." Wolf said, already knowing the rest of Roshea's statement. "This battle has seemed so fruitless for so long now. It seems no matter how many we kill, Macedon will just send in more troops. It is… frustrating."

Roshea didn't take his eyes off the burning building. "It isn't right… how big of a family did Macedon kill to try and get the map?"

Wolf closed his eyes, recalling the details about the family that agreed to hide one of the maps. "A mother, a father, a teenage daughter, and twin sons, both in the toddler years."

Roshea turned to Wolf, "In the toddler… does Macedon have no conscience?"

"You don't need me to answer that." Wolf responded. "These last two years have been proof enough that there are few in Macedon's military who care about morality, if any at all."

Roshea nodded, turning black to the blaze. "It's like, we're fighting Macedon, we're accomplishing something, but at the same time we're not really accomplishing anything."

"For all we've done, in the end we have changed nothing. I understand, Roshea. I understand just as well as you." Wolf said, "However… Coyote wishes to continue the fight, that is all the reasoning we need to keep fighting."

The younger one sighed, then saw the burning building collapse. A support pillar must have gone up, and the roof came down. Roshea did a fist pump, his fist shaking with anger and frustration.

Wolf did his own fist pump, imitating Roshea's, down to the shaking fist.

They nodded at each other, then slunk away. Seemingly melting into the shadows of the night. Another day of battles with seemingly arbitrary results awaited them come the 'morrow, but as true sons of Aurelis, and loyal men of the man known as Coyote, they would fight to the end. To the very end.

* * *

><p>"Thank you, Father Wrys." The young girl rubbed at her left knee, which but a moment ago, had a most grievous cut on it. "I have so many chores to do today, and money is so tight, I fear that my family would collapse if I was forced to miss out on just one day of work."<p>

The church in which Wrys made his residence was quaint and small. Almost everything in Talys was small compared to what was in the other nations, but the size seemed to be an asset here. The small church was home to Wrys, the island's sole Curate, who spent much of his time healing.

Wrys, the elderly curate, nodded with a warm smile. He could feel the energy that left his Heal staff still lingering in the air, lightly soaking into the girl's skin to cleanse it of pain and disease. Her wound was already treated, but the positive, uplifting effect of the Heal staff would permeate her for a while.

"If you have such work to do, you shouldn't linger here." Wrys urged. The girl rose and gave a respectful bow before turning and walking away. She was only a step away from the door when she paused, turned around and returned to Wrys.

"Is there something else?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing." She said, reaching into a pocket and taking out a handful of coins. "I… know you work for free, but please take it."

"I suppose I can't refuse such generosity." Wrys said, taking the coins. The girl smiled again, then turned and left. Wrys placed the coins on a nearby desk.

The wooden church was small, but had many… trinkets. Gold rings, expensive metalwork, even large gemstones. All of these things were gifts that people he had healed had felt the need to offer him. Officially, he worked for free, and made it clear that a person didn't need to bring a material offering to him for healing, but many still gave gifts after he had performed his services.

Everything in the church, besides the wood that the church was made of, and his staffs, were gifts that others had felt the need to give him. Even the chairs and the altar. He knew that he could become a very rich man if he were to sell it all, but he refused. If he began to sell it en mass, he might fall victim to avarice and greed, he couldn't let that happen.

He occasionally sold something or other off, only to give the money to an ailing family. He only kept enough money to give himself clothes and food.

Wrys took to pacing around the chairs in the church, mumbling a small prayer. For quite some time now, he had been offering prayers for the continent. Hoping that what beings that were above them would spare humanity from Dolhr's wrath. He was also, more specifically, praying for Altea.

Dolhr had a bone to pick with every nation on the continent, but no nation would be treated as brutally as Altea would be treated.

Of course, that was just his assumption. He didn't know exactly what life was like in any nation Dolhr had taken control of. It was merely an educated guess on his part. It simply stood to reason that no nation would be so heinously treated as the nation that the hero Anri founded.

His prayers were also for the Altean knights, and the Altean prince, who sought sanctuary in Talys. They had been living on Talys for… two years now. Wrys only saw them occasionally, they rarely strayed from the fort that king Mostyn had supplied for them.

He continued to mumble his prayer, not spending a word on his own interests, but his prayer was cut short by a sudden knocking on the door.

"Father Wrys!" A male voice called, hitting the door with enough force that Wrys was mildly surprised that the door didn't get damaged by the assault. "Father Wrys!"

"Peace, child. I'm coming." Wrys answered the voice. The banging on the door stopped, and Wrys stepped out of the church. Some sort of commotion was going on, no one in the entire town seemed to be inside their home. The man who had knocked for him was also focused on whatever was happening. His eyes were focused on the horizon of water.

"What is the problem?" Wrys asked, not understanding what was going on.

"Look, Father Wrys. An incoming ship." The man pointed to the distance, Wrys looked again, this time he saw a ship approaching.

Wrys strained his eyes, looking to the top of the mast. Try as he might, his aged eyes couldn't see what he wanted to see, instead he would have to rely on the young man's eyes.

"What flag are they flying, child?"

"Flag?" He scratched the back of his head. "I don't see a flag."

"Pirates." Wrys said in a surprisingly loud tone.

* * *

><p>"It's about time we found something fresh to pillage." One pirate on ship deck noted. This pirate's name was Gazzak, the leader of this little… expedition. "Galder's completely dry of anything' interestin, les' see what this backwater nation has t' offer." Gazzak rubbed his hands together expectantly. Captain Gomer, Gazzak's superior, didn't need to learn about Talys anytime soon… oh, he would tell captain Gomer, after Gazzak was done with everything Talys had to offer.<p>

Gazzak's crew were just about as open to sharing as Gazzak himself was. The pirate took an axe out as the land drew closer.

The ship landed, and without warning, the pirates of Galder surged.

"Some of you boys ransack th' town. Th' rest of you, follow me!" Gazzak ordered. A small number of pirates broke off from the pack, heading for the town, Gazzak and the majority of the crew instead went straight for the castle, the place where the greatest plunder would be.

* * *

><p>"About to visit the prince again?" Mostyn asked with a smile.<p>

"Of course, father." Caeda said as she put herself in her Pegasus' saddle. "Wouldn't want to break my routine of daily visits. Besides, at this point they're expecting me to come."

"I imagine they would." Mostyn said, "I just ask that-"

"-I don't interfere with training." Caeda finished for him. "Yes, father. I know."

He smiled and nodded, not taken aback by her slightly rude response. "Then you should get go-"

"King! King Mostyn!"

Mostyn turned around with surprising ability to see one of Talys' axe men rushing to him. "Cord, what's wrong?"

Cord immediately sank into a kneeling position. "We've been invaded, sire. Pirates from Galder, they're right at the castle gates already. We're already trying to fight them off, Captain Ogma has his hands full defending the gates right now, there are a few pirates already pillaging the closest town. And… and-"

"Calm down, Cord." Mostyn said, having heard enough to know how to react, he turned back to his daughter. "Caeda, go to the prince, bring the Alteans back with you, we'll need reinforcements. We shouldn't take unnecessary chances, and Ogma's been away from real battle for far too long."

"Father, wait-" Caeda tried to assess the sudden situation in her head. "Are you saying just leave you here? I will not-"

"Yes you _will_." He answered harshly, "Go now. They won't kill me if they believe that I can lead them to our vault. I'll be fine. I will place all of my hopes on the prince."

Caeda trembled, then began slowly shaking her head.

"_Go_!" He yelled, ending the conversation and squashing any hope for a rebuttal. Reluctantly, Caeda left on her Pegasus. Mostyn turned back to Cord, "Where are Barst and Bord?"

"At the castle gates, sire." Cord answered, "They're with Captain Ogma…"

"I understand." Mostyn answered. "Return to aid them, keep the pirates back for as long as possible."

Cord rose from his knees, taking his axe out. "Yes, sire."

* * *

><p>Marth's training was continuing. All the knights had their time with him, letting him experience how different combatants fought. Cain and Abel showed him the methods by which mounted knights fought, Gordin and Norne let him experience fighting an archer…<p>

Right now he was working with Draug, understanding how to fight someone with armor as thick as his. It was a trying attempt to make Draug's armor become a hindrance, rather then the aid its supposed to be, but Marth was managing to dart around with such speed that Draug was getting exhausted just pivoting his body to keep Marth in sight. After several minutes, Draug had to request that they spend a few moments resting.

"You couldn't have done something like that when we first got here." Abel complimented the prince. He turned to Draug, who was trying to sit down, but was apparently exhausted enough to forgot to take the weight of his armor into account. He slammed onto the ground rear-first with unexpected speed. Abel, along with everyone else present, found himself having to resist the urge to chuckle at the sight.

"The day we leave may not be far off." Malledus noted. "I've seen enough real battles to know that you all far outperform the typical soldier. Though, training is different from actual battle, who's to say how some of you might perform when the person you're facing is really trying to kill you." He looked at the knights, more specifically, his haze was on Norne, the only one who had never been tested in true battle, nor even experienced it, despite having developed aim superior to many, many archers.

"I think you worry too much." Norne said, oblivious to the fact that she was the primary recipients of that warning. She took her bow out, giving a little tug to the string, "We'll do just fine." She reached a hand out to the shoulder of the knight next to her. "Right?"

"Um…" Cain shook the archer's hand off. "Of course we'll do fine. We've been training enough. Dolhr has probably just been kicking back without a real enemy."

I'm not so sure more training would do you any good at this point anyway…" Jagen mused. "Drills can only help so much."

Gordin spoke up, "I… well, not to tempt fate, but I suppose we really do need a real test. Not saying we should go out and find someone who would really try to kill us, but-"

"Marth!" a female voice filled with critical urgency registered on everyone's ears. "Marth, Marth, where are you?"

"Caeda?" Marth recognized the voice and the Pegasus descending on them. "Caeda, over here!"

The Pegasus swooped down and landed right in front of Marth. Caeda immediately turned to Marth, and her face alone revealed that this wasn't a friendly visit.

"Caeda, what's wrong? You-" he looked right into her eyes, they were filled with unease and borderline panic, and in all the time he had spent in Talys, he knew he had never seen her look so pale. Even her Pegasus had a look of discomfort, empathizing with its master's emotions and expressing a look in its eyes that could only be interpreted as some attempt to plead.

"Marth…" she took several deep breaths to collect herself, "The pirates of Galder landed on Talys and began attacking the castle and the closest town. My father told me to find you. Without the knight's strength…" she scanned around for a moment, assuring herself that everyone was here, she turned back to Marth after she completed her head count, "-I'm not sure we can repel them. Everyone's dedicated to just defending the castle gates."

"Steady, Caeda." Marth calmly grabbed Caeda's trembling hand. "You did well to find us." She calmed down at the feel of Marth's grip, Marth turned to look over his shoulder. "Knights, I think we should finally do something to repay Talys for providing us sanctuary."

* * *

><p>Ogma reared back and unleashed a battle cry. Swinging his sword across his field of vision, he fatally wounded three pirates. Growling through gritted teeth, Ogma swung his sword back across his field of vision, killing another pirate.<p>

His mercenaries were trained to deal with the occasional criminal that reared his ugly head in Talys. They were never trained with the intention of meeting an actual enemy force. The pirates weren't advancing any further then the gates, but the mercenaries couldn't seem to make any strides in actually routing the pirates, either.

"Augh… scum." Barst inflicted a critical wound to the chest of one pirate that had managed to get up to the castle gates. The fact that he could swing his axe was a miracle, considering the gashes on his preferred arm. With a moan going through his gritted teeth, Barst hunched down into a fighting stance, bracing himself for another pirate to come at him. "If only Castor had stayed in Talys… ugh…"

The amount of pirate corpses didn't seem to deter or intimidate their still living accomplices, who were still surging. A new wave of pirates came, this time led by a pirate more scarred and brutal looking.

"A… leader?" Bord asked aloud, holding his blood-stained axe firmly as Cord slashed another pirate down.

Gazzak blinked, his eyes briefly shifted to the large number of pirate corpses and the smaller amount of limp mercenary bodies strewn around, then returned to the mercenaries still standing. "Mercs… you can't really believe that yer' king is worth yer' life."

"I don't care what you think of our loyalty." Barst growled, then charged at the boss pirate.

However, he wasn't prepared for Gazzak's sheer physical strength. The pirate swung his axe at the charging Barst, and their weapons connected…

With a grunt of surprise, Barst fell backward as his axe splintered from the impact with Gazzak's weapon. A ripple of gasps came from Ogma, Bord, Cord, and what mercenaries were still fighting as shards of Barst's axe fell to the floor. Gazzak attempted to press his attack with a downward swing, but Barst managed to roll away, getting back to Bord and Cord.

"He's strong…" Barst admitted as he began to stand up, he grabbed an axe that a pirate corpse's hand was still holding, and prepared himself for a more cautious charge.

* * *

><p>"Sir, this is a humble church." Wrys protested at one of the few pirates who sought to plunder the town before going to the castle. "Please, even you must see the madness in desecrating a holy structure such as this."<p>

"Stupid priest, get out 'o the way." The pirate swatted Wrys to the ground with a muscular arm. "Maybe I'll thank yer' gods for all th' stuff I'll be gettin today."

"Be wary, sir." Wrys said as he rose, still blocking the door to the church, which had several citizens hiding in it. "People with such unrestrained greed never meet pleasant ends."

"What? Yer' gods gonna do sometin' to me?" He looked like he was on the verge of laughing. "I'd like to see 'em try."

"I cannot say whose direct hands will dole out justice. Whether the gods, or man, or even the venerable hands of time and age, but you will answer for what you're trying to do to Talys. Perhaps you will be made to answer today."

"Watch it, priest. 'Else it'll be an axe…" he pointed at Wrys' face, "…right between th' eyes."

"Is violence how you deal with any who frustrate you?" Wrys asked. "Sir, that is not the way. Nor is it an appropriate manner of acting on a church's doorstep, you-"

"Shut it!" The pirate said as he raised his axe, "I've had 'nough of you. I'll jez' be helping meself to what's in yer' church Les' see yer' gods do anythin' 'bout that."

Wrys mutely watched the axe descend unflinching, but it jerked back an inch from Wrys' face as the pirate suddenly cried out.

"What the-" Bellowing in pain, the pirate threw his weight around, and Wrys noticed that there was now a javelin sticking in the pirate's back. The pirate turned around, "Who. Did. That?"

"Me." A man mounted on a horse responded.

"Sir Abel!" Wrys recognized the green knight, then two other figures beside Abel. "…and…"

Gordin and Norne were near Abel, bows drawn, with an arrow already on their strings.

"Get to safety, Father Wrys." Abel warned as he took out a lance to replace the javelin he threw. Wrys nodded and slipped inside the church, closing the door behind him. Abel didn't take his eyes off the pirate, "The other knights are heading for the castle. Your raid is going to end in failure."

"Knights? Since when has Talys had knights?" The pirate said through clenched teeth, reached an arm behind him and ripped the javelin out of his back with an angry cry. Several additional pirates appeared, apparently having been attracted by the pirate's bellow when Abel attacking him from behind. "Knights, thinkin' yer' safe under that armor. Lemme show you how what a true warrior does."

"You mean… rob and murder?" Abel asked with a clearly disgusted tone, unafraid of the fact that he and the archers were now outnumbered.

"Ya stuck up knights. I just enjoy life. Shame y'all won't get to see what just takin' what you want feels like."

"I hope I never do." Abel answered, he scanned the crowd of approaching pirates, there were six in total. Some were covered in gold and linen clothes, most likely things they had already stolen from the town. Gordin seemed to shudder at the sight, but there didn't seem to be any blood on the axes… maybe no one had been killed for those things. Maybe.

Without any sort of cue, the pirates charged at the two knights. It was impossible to tell which pirate charged first and which others followed after, Abel, Gordin, and Norne readied themselves for the attack…

* * *

><p>"You… mons-ugh…" one of Talys' mercenaries expired, bleeding his life out in the castle courtyard. Cord immediately descended upon the pirate who had killed the mercenary, coldly slicing the pirate's chest open and kicking him to the ground.<p>

Gazzak arrogantly charged through the battle, as if he believed that he couldn't be as much as harmed. The blood soaked his axe as he took down several mercenaries, he was advancing to the gates.

"We'll have to retreat…" Ogma noted at Gazzak's undeterred march, "Mercenaries, fall back! Regroup in the main ha-" his words were cut off as Gazzak's fist found his jaw, knocking him down.

"Captain!" Barst yelled as Gazzak raised an axe over Ogma, the pirate swung down.

Ogma rolled back from the blow that would have killed him instantly. Scrambling back to his feet, Ogma took his sword in hand as Gazzak came at him.

"Pirate scum." Ogma blocked Gazzak's first blow and forced the pirate a step back. "You won't win."

"Of course I will." Gazzak responded, coming forward with the axe again, his swing managed to knock Ogma's sword from his hand. "No two-bit merc with morals 'ill keep me from me plunder."

"Captain!" The three axe wielding mercenaries yelled simultaneously as Gazzak raised his axe…

"Stop!" A voice cried out, Gazzak paused for just a moment, Ogma took the chance to scurry out of Gazzak's reach, picking up his sword as he moved to put some distance between himself and the pirate.

Talys' mercenaries and Gazzak's pirates seemed to collectively pause for a moment, confused as to who gave an order to stop.

"Who has th' gall to tell me t' stop?" Gazzak turned around, yelling in the direction the voice came from. For a moment no one moved, then he heard a distinct sound. "More mercs? Ya' can get a hundred of you guys, ya' still can't beat-" Suddenly a knight with red armor appeared in the courtyard, saddled on a horse.

"Cain!" Ogma said with a crash of recognition. Cain hadn't a moment to spare for Ogma, however, and moved through the crowd of pirates and mercenaries swinging his sword. By the time he had passed through mass of combatants, at least half a dozen pirates were killed by his sword alone.

"Knights?" Gazzak asked aloud. "What 'r knights doin in Talys-" he cut himself off and turned back to Ogma, who was trying to take advantage of his momentary lapse of attention. With a hiss, Gazzak blocked the sword swipe that would have otherwise sliced his arm off.

Behind Cain, several new figures appeared to enter the fray. Draug charged in with his heavy armor, several pirates attempted to attack him, but found their axes ineffectively bouncing off of his armor. Rather then kill a heavily armored interferer, they found themselves dying on Draug's lance.

Jagen galloped into the battle with the certainty of someone who has charged right into the maw of enemy forces dozens, or perhaps hundreds of time. In just a few seconds, his lance had skewered several additional pirates.

Marth and Caeda appeared by each others side. Looking at their obvious regality and youth, several pirates seemed to assume that they were both untrained and carried many riches. To their ire, Marth darted around with his rapier, slashing the tendons in their arms, and Caeda rose up and swooped down on her Pegasus, her lethally sharp lance cutting through them. Several of them were dead before they realized that they had to get away from the finely dressed boy and girl.

The mercenaries rejoined the fight. The pirates, now being attacked in the front by the mercenaries, and in the back by Caeda and the Alteans, became disorganized. The presence of the Alteans proved to be just what Ogma needed to turn the fight into a one-sided affair. It was now painfully obvious that the pirates had lost.

"Knights or no knights, yer' doomed." Gazzak threatened as he continued his fight with Ogma. The mercenary said nothing, only smiling, sensing that, deep down, Gazzak was starting to feel the first pangs of panic. "Don't you look at me with that expression!" Gazzak swore, pressing his attack on Ogma more ferociously. Now unbalanced, it was childishly easy for Ogma to knock Gazzak's axe out of his hand.

"This fight is over." Ogma said, delivering a hard punch to Gazzak's gut, which knocked him down. "We'll let the king decide your fate."

Gazzak glared back up at Ogma with a defiant expression. Ogma pointed his sword directly at the pirate's chest, hovering the tip a few menacing inches above Gazzak's flesh.

A few final screams registered on Gazzak's ears, and the last of Gazzak's crew fell motionless. He was beaten, but…

"No way am I gettin' judged by yer' king, I don't bow down for nobody." Gazzak swatted Ogma's sword away with his arm, then sprang up and tried to make a weaponless charge at the mercenary. Ogma simply brought his sword back to the front and stabbed the pirate through the chest.

"You might have lived if you hadn't done that." Ogma said as he pulled his sword out of Gazzak. The pirate wheezed, making a final attempt to reach at Ogma, then fell down at the mercenary's feet.

* * *

><p>"You… pampered… little-" a pirate muttered as Abel finished him off. That was the fourth pirate to go down, and only two were left. Abel and the archers remained unharmed, but they were starting to feel exhausted. Abel was breathing hard as he turned his horse to look for the last two pirates.<p>

_Come on… come on…_ Norne mentally chided herself. Throughout the skirmish, she had gotten a good shot at a pirate on multiple occasions, but always hesitated when she could of fired. As of yet, not a single arrow had left her bow.

_I'm a part of Marth's little army, why can't I bring myself to shoot an arrow? _She momentarily lost herself in her thoughts, not paying attention to the battle.

"Norne, watch out!" Abel called. Norne jolted to awareness just in time to see a pirate right in front of her.

The pirate scowled. "No stupid wench 'ill keep me from me gold." He swung an axe with murderous speed.

"Norne!" Gordin shot an arrow at the pirate that was about to kill Norne. The arrow sunk into the pirate's shoulder, and he backed away, wincing in pain. Abel charged at the pirate, putting himself between Norne and the pirate. In a reflexive motion, the pirate swung his axe out at the same time Abel moved to kill him.

The pirate died as Abel's lance went through his chest, but the pirate's axe managed to tear Abel's shoulder open. The knight made a painful yell, but managed to keep a grip on his lance.

"Gord-Gordin…" Norne stammered as the pirate collapsed, she turned back to the archer, "Thanks, Gor-" her eyes went wide with shock as she saw the last remaining pirate getting up behind Gordin. "Gordin! _Gordin_!" She pointed a finger.

Gordin looked over his shoulder, then immediately rolled forward to dodge the axe swing. The pirate advanced…

"Get away from-augh!" Abel clutched at his wounded shoulder, "Gordin, get over here, now!"

The archer tried to back away, but the pirate was practically on top of him. The pirate thrust forward with his palm, knocking Gordin to the ground. Another axe swing came, Gordin reflexively raised his bow, perhaps intended as some sort of defense. The axe cut straight through both the bow and the string, but missed Gordin himself, digging into the dirt right beside his head.

"Stop, stop!" Norne yelled, placing an arrow onto her bowstring. She took aim, but found that her aim was trembling, nothing like the steady aim she normally had. Was she scared for Gordin's sake, or…?

The pirate raised his axe, and Norne realized that it would have been the fatal blow.

"_Get away from him_!" She suddenly screamed, released her arrow. The pirate looked up just in time to see the arrow pierce into his neck. He made a weak, garbled sound, then fell onto his back. Norne immediately scrambled over to move Gordin away from the pirate.

A last guttural sound came from the pirate, who was twitching. The sound seemed to sound just vaguely like final words, perhaps a death threat of some sort. Norne grabbed Gordin by his shoulders and pulled him back, as if she was afraid the pirate would get back up.

She looked at the pirate, soon to be a pirate corpse, and began to feel queasy. Her stomach felt ill at the sight of blood seeping from the wound on the neck. Despite the fact that the danger had passed, she found herself trembling…

"You two… okay?" Abel asked through gritted teeth, still clutching his wound.

"Y-yes, yes, we're fine." Gordin said as he stood up. He looked pale for a moment, having been only a few seconds from death before Norne interfered. "Abel, we need to do something about your shoulder. Ah… I don't have medical supplies with me, what should I-"

"Perhaps I can help." A voice came from behind. Abel turned to see Father Wrys coming out of his church.

"Father Wrys, don't concern yourself with-"

"The archer just said you lacked medical supplies, didn't he? I am but a humble Curate, but this is a Curate's line of work, is it not?" He had a humorless smirk on his face.

Abel stopped to think for a moment, but then nodded. "Very well, Father Wrys. Please deal with this wound." With some difficulty, he dismounted, sitting himself down on the ground, still keeping a firm grip on his shoulder. Wrys took a staff out and bent over the wounded knight.

The shoulder had been literally ripped open, and the amount of blood coming out was… not life-threatening, but would give Abel many uncomfortable bed-ridden days of recovery. Wrys, however, could turn weeks of recovery into mere seconds. With his Heal staff in hand, the Curate began to chant under his breath…

His Heal staff shone a bright golden color as a soft blue aura covered Abel's sliced open shoulder. After a moment, the blood seemed to flow back into the wound as the flesh began to sew itself back together. After only a few seconds, the process was complete.

"There." Wrys said, "Please try to move your arm."

Obediently, Abel pivoted his arm around, the movement was simple and painless, as if no injury had ever been there. The damaged armor was the only sign of what had happened.

"Thank you, Father Wrys." Abel said as he began to get back up.

"No need for thanks. This is a Curate's duty."

"Still, thank you." Abel said. Wrys nodded, accepting the knight's gratitude.

* * *

><p>The pirate attack had ended, and the corpses were collected. The mercenaries who fell were given a proper funeral, Ogma was not one for speeches, but with a somber face he spoke well of his fallen comrades. These mercenaries who died in defense of Talys were respectfully buried near the castle.<p>

The pirate corpses, on the other hand, were disdainfully tossed onto a burn pile. There was absolutely no interest in giving them an honorable resting place.

"Prince Marth, I owe you my thanks." King Mostyn said, starting a conversation in the Talys throne room. "Had you and your knights not come…" he motioned his head to the other Alteans in the room, which were only Malledus, Jagen, and Draug at the moment, the others waiting elsewhere in the castle. "-many more would have died before the pirates were defeated."

"It was my pleasure, king Mostyn." Marth responded, "It's only right that we do something to repay you for your generosity over these past two years."

Mostyn nodded. "I am shamed that all I could do is send a request for reinforcements, then spend the rest of the crisis under the guard of my mercenaries. It was Talys that was attacked, after all, we shouldn't force refugees to fight our battles for us." He closed his eyes, "I'm afraid Talys has grown complacent in some ways. To have to be saved from mere pirates, the bandits of the sea… shameful."

"Do not worry, no one should be forced to just let their belongings be stolen from them like that. I… am familiar with things being taken from you."

"Marth…" Caeda began under her breath before trailing off. She knew that he was talking about what had happened to Altea and his family.

"Still, let us not bemoan Talys' inability to handle its own dilemma. It would only dishonor the men of Talys who gave their lives in this struggle." His voice and face were both solemn, even though he wasn't involved in picking up the mercenary corpses, he looked as if a new weight was on his shoulders. "Prince Marth, with the taste and experience of real battle fresh in your mind, and considering your performance against the pirates, I believe now is the time for you to leave."

Marth's eyes widened with shock. "Now-"

"Now is the best time for you to go, now that we have seen how you face the test of true combat. Though the standing armies of your foes are undoubtedly cut of stronger cloth then the pirates…"

"I understand, king Mostyn." Marth said, nodding. "It was in my last day in Altea that I swore that any who think their safe in Dolhr's shadow I would find and-"

"Not so fast, Prince Marth." Mostyn urged. "Many are those that would fight you to the bitter end, either in servitude to their masters or in loyalty to their nation. Yet at the same time, there are many who doubtless fight against their better judgment. If you are to have any hope in your crusade, you must find these individuals who are either too scared to think for themselves, or see no practical way to free themselves from the chains that bind them. I am afraid the might of Altea alone cannot topple Dolhr."

Marth took the information in, then after a moment, nodded. "I would not kill someone who could be a potential ally. Those who want me to hear them, I will hear."

"You won't regret hearing their words, even if they are an enemy." Mostyn nodded, but then felt he needed to add something more. "However, don't be so naïve to let your guard down. Many are those who would take advantage of a leader who is all too willing to listen to the enemy."

The prince nodded. "I have no intention of letting my guard down around someone I can't yet bring myself to trust."

"Very well. Then it would seem that tomorrow is the day you embark." Mostyn leaned back in his throne. "Oh, prince Marth…"

Marth hadn't even begun to turn to leave before Mostyn began to speak again.

"I'd… rather not make requests as to where you should strike first, but… those were pirates of Galder. Maybe they wouldn't care about their comrades, but there's a chance someone may come to investigate, perhaps you could…"

"You want me to go to Galder, and eliminate any possibility of a retaliatory raid?"

"Yes." Mostyn said, pleased that Marth understood what he was getting at. "I would prefer not to make such a request of you, but-"

"Say no more." Marth cut the king's words off. "Even if I spent the rest of my life helping Talys, I doubt I could ever repay all that you've done for me. Don't worry, the pirates of Galder will be routed before they grow suspicious of the disappearance of those seafowl."

"Thank you." Mostyn said. "Wake up early tomorrow, I'll have a ship ready for you. Some of my men will assist you in your journey…"

"Some of-" Marth seemed discomforted at the thought of putting men of Talys in danger, but quickly regained his composure. "Thank you for the offer, king Mostyn, but shouldn't you expend your resources on your own nation?"

"Fear not, prince Marth. Recovering from the pirate attack shouldn't require any strong sword arms, merely the will to move forward and repair the damage. I can have Ogma and his best men assist you."

"Well, thank you." Marth said, making a small bow. "I hope your faith in me isn't misplaced."

* * *

><p>"Finally done, Father Wrys?" Cain asked. The knight was watching the front of the castle. There was still splatters of blood and broken pieces of axes and swords all over the stone ground, though any corpses had already been removed.<p>

"Yes, Sir Cain." Wrys sat himself down with a deep sigh. Healing the mercenaries who had been injured but survived the fighting had run him ragged, Wrys took the chance to relax himself. He dipped his head down, making a short prayer for the souls of the deceased mercenaries and, yes, the pirates as well. "I would not have expected an attack like that to come."

"No one could have predicted it." Cain said, he looked around, several mercenaries that Wrys had healed were in little groups, conversing with each other. Some seemed to be happy, smiling, joking with each other, perhaps comparing stories of what had accomplished in the attack. Others seemed more somber and solemn, possibly having lost friends in the battle. Cain turned back to Wrys, "We could use someone who wields a staff like that, considering what we're trying to do."

"Oh, that's very flattering, Sir Cain." Wrys warmly smiled, "I see that no one in your little army is much skilled in the art of healing."

"Some of us know bandages and medicine, but nothing seems a good substitute for a Curate or a Cleric."

"So you wish me to come with you…" Wrys muttered, "Hmm, it is no small thing you ask of me. I must say I have come to enjoy the life of a simple healer in Talys… but, surely there are much greater woes across the continent. I shall think on this for a time…"

* * *

><p>"Norne, are you okay?" Gordin said with a clear sense of worry in his voice. Norne had looked as if she was sick ever since the fight ended. She had looked just fine when they had gone out, but once it was all over…<p>

They were sitting right by each other on a bench inside the castle. She was almost motionless. Gordin tried to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, the moment his fingers touched down, she leaned onto him.

"Ah, N-Norne!" Gordin found himself completely unknowing as to how to respond as Norne's head flopped onto his shoulder. The girl grabbed Gordin's arm and held it close to her.

"Gordin…" she said in a voice gone shaky.

"Norne, what's wrong?" He slightly turned himself to her, looking straight into her eyes. "Ever since the battle, well, you've-"

"Excuse me." A voice interrupted. Gordin turned to see Abel walk into the room. "Oh, are you two having a conversation?"

"I… uh-" Gordin looked at Abel, then at Norne, then back to Abel. "I… I'm not sure what's going on right now…"

Abel raised an eyebrow, then walked up to the bench. He examined Norne's forlorn expression for a moment, then sighed. "How long has she been like this?"

"Ever since the battle ended. Right after… right after she saved me from that pirate, is when this started."

"I see." Abel looked at Norne, "I think I know what the problem is." He seated himself beside Norne, on the side opposite where Gordin sat. He turned to Norne, "You only ever hunted animals back in Altea. You've never killed another person. You weren't prepared for the sensation, were you?"

* * *

><p>"I…" after some conversation, Norne had begun to talk a bit. "I'm so sorry, it's just… the thought of killing someone was, was…"<p>

"Frightening." Abel finished for her. He had his eyes closed and was leaning forward. "I suppose you're making the most understandable reaction to this. The first time I killed someone, I felt like I was sick for days, but that turning sensation in your stomach just gets weaker and weaker every time." He sighed, "Still, Norne, if you're going to be one of us when we leave Talys, you'll need to be able to do the deed without hesitation."

"Not… care about them?"

"I didn't say that." Abel said, "If we feel nothing when we kill someone, then we've lost who we are. Yet the people who we'll be fighting, we have to face with the intention of killing them. If you can't bring yourself to do that, we'll have to leave you behind, here in Talys."

"I… I…" Norne seemed disappointed in herself, but as troubling as the ordeal had been, she didn't want to be left behind either. "I understand. I'll… find a way to cope."

"I hope so." Abel responded, "Everyone needs to be dependable."

"Gordin…" Norne turned back to the archer, "I'm sorry."

"W-" Gordin began to grow confused, "What are you apologizing to me for?"

"I saw that pirate towering over you and I… I hesitated. I nearly let you die because I was too scared over someone dying by my hand. I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Ah, N-Norne…!" Gordin tensed as Norne gripped his arm. He turned to her as she tried to apologize. Flustered and unsure how to react, he could only let her continue to hold onto him.

Abel, believing that he had supplied everything to the conversation that he could, got up to leave. Norne, he knew, would need a little time to understand, and accept, what being a soldier meant doing, but she would have to come to the understanding quickly.

* * *

><p>Caeda was back in her room, testing the sharpness of her lances. She lifted one in the air experimentally and then stabbed at nothing in particular. Her time sparring with Marth had helped her actually amount to something with on-foot fighting, but it still wasn't her field of expertise.<p>

Now, if she was on the saddle of her Pegasus, she was lethal. The saddled Caeda would be what would help Marth in his journey.

"Caeda?" her father's voice came from behind. "What are you doing?"

"Just making sure my lances are ready, father." Caeda said, putting one lance away and getting another ready.

"For what purpose?"

"To help Marth, of course."

"To help…?" Mostyn paused for a second, then his face became stern when he realized what she meant. "Oh, no, Caeda. The battlefield is no place for you."

Caeda turned back to her father with an offended, defiant expression. He didn't seem to be impressed.

"Glare at me all you want, Caeda. I forbid such an action. War is nothing like you've ever experienced before-"

"I experienced some _battle_ today, father."

"That is beside the point, Caeda. A pirate crew is completely different from the military of an enemy nation. You saw how quickly the battle turned when Altea came, the pirates only asset was that they had the element of surprise on their side. What Marth is heading out there to face won't be so easily thwarted."

"Then he needs all the help he can get." Caeda countered, "You said it yourself, didn't you? He needs like-minded individuals because he and Altea won't be able to do it alone. If he needs every good arm he can get, then I should go with him."

"You're hardly a-"

"You know that I'm more then an able combatant, father. You know full well that I can make a mockery of just about any mercenary of Talys. I'd be just as much an asset as Ogma. I'm strong enough to do this and you know it. I can help Marth, and the world, but I won't be able to do that if you keep being so pointlessly overprotective."

She left out the fact that she predicted that helping Marth would be more centrally based on emotional support then battlefield support.

He thought over her reasons for a moment. His daughter wasn't going to behave and accept protection in Talys, oh no, she was insistent on putting herself in harms way for the sake of Marth. His face alone revealed just how dead-set he was against the idea, but the events of the day seemed to make him unable to really argue. "You spirited child… I can see that arguing this won't get us anywhere." He nodded to himself, with a pained expression he began to talk again "This is against my better judgment, but, if Marth will have you, you can journey with him, but Caeda…" he moved forward and positioned himself right in front of his daughter. "Never, _never_ put yourself in danger without a reason. I… could not bare losing you, even the thought-"

"I'll take care of myself, father. You wouldn't be the only one grieving if I died." Her thoughts were on Marth again. As devastated as her father would be, she suspected that he would take her death better then Marth. Marth would become a wreak if she was ever killed, if only because she had become an emotional crutch for him across these two years. She doubted he could ever really cope if she ended up dead.

Mostyn nodded. "Yes, I'd be far from the only one who would never truly recover. See to it that you give none of us a reason to spend our remaining days in misery."

"Of course, father." She turned back to her lances, taking another one out to examine.

Mostyn shook his head. Unable to shake the feeling in his gut. _Please tell me that letting her go like this is the right decision._

* * *

><p>The morning sun rose, and the finest ship in Talys had been prepped and readied for Marth. Everyone was now in the process of boarding the ship<p>

The entire island seemed to have come out to see the Alteans off. Others came to wish the best for princess Caeda, who would journey alongside the Altean prince.

Prince Marth and his knights, his tactician Malledus, and the volunteer Norne, boarded the ship. Caeda followed afterward, with Ogma, along with Barst, Bard, and Cord. The last addition was Wrys, who felt that he was being called to assist in the healing of a scarred continent.

"Ready?" Caeda asked.

"I've been waiting for this day… for too long, Caeda." Marth answered, "Of course I'm ready. There is neither hesitation or doubt in me."

Caeda smiled, then moved to the rail of the ship. She wasn't surprised at all that her father was the one closest to the ship. Mostyn raised a hand to wave when he saw Caeda.

"Is something troubling you, king?" One of his castle servants asked.

"No, nothing." Mostyn said. _I simply can't put away the feeling that I may never see her again._

The sails were set, and the ship began to move away from the island. Mostyn felt his stomach lurch, he felt the undeniable sensation that he had made a mistake, letting Caeda leave with them. Try as he might, he couldn't quell his own reservations. He closed his eyes, mumbling a silent prayer for Caeda's safety as the ship continued to move further and further away, until eventually being a small figure on the horizon.

* * *

><p>Norne leaned on the rail, staring in the direction that the ship was traveling in.<p>

Gordin was right beside her. He was still concerned for her after her confession to how killing someone felt like. She seemed a little more at peace now, but still somewhat depressed.

Her hesitation almost got Gordin killed, something she kept reminding herself about. She was firmly of the belief that she had to make it up, somehow. She looked at the boy, then looked back to the distance.

"You two okay over here?" A voice came from behind, Gordin and Norne turned to see Draug approaching. "I'm used to a certain someone chattering away like it was her sole reason for living…"

Norne managed a small, weak, fake smile. "Maybe I'm just a bit stressed out, what with everything starting now…"

"Abel told me what's bothering you." Draug said, "Most soldiers go through a phase like this."

Norne's smile faded, she turned back to the distance. "I'll get over it. I mean, I'm an Altean soldier now. Of course I'll get over it." She made a small bounce, as if she had regained her vigor, but it was just an act she didn't have the heart to keep doing, and quickly stopped.

"I hope you do. Otherwise, we'll have to cut you out of the army." Draug said pragmatically. Norne shuddered, Draug's eyes gleamed sympathetically for the girl, but he didn't withdraw his somewhat cold statement. After a moment, Draug left to go to the rail on the opposite side of the ship to watch Talys disappear into the distance.

Norne turned back to the rail and sighed. A weak breeze tossed her hair around as she made an effort to summon her old enthusiasm under the sun's rays, but only achieved mixed results. She perked up a little, but…

"Gordin…" she began, getting the other archer's attention. She grabbed his hand firmly in both of hers. "The next time a fight starts, I want you to stay near me."

"Huh?" Gordin seemed uneasy at the request. "What… are you getting at?"

"You… couldn't understand how scared I was when that pirate was about to kill you. Abel wouldn't have gotten over there in time, you almost died, I-" she let go of his hand, cringed at the memory. "I like all of you knights, and… I thought I was going to lose one of you yesterday. If you're near me, I can be sure that you're safe."

Gordin's eyes traced away, not wanting to look her right in the eye at the moment. "I… Norne, I was worried that _you_ would die yesterday."

Her eyes went wide and released her grip on his hand. "What do you mean? I wasn't ever in dang-"

"Right before that pirate got the drop on me, there was that one pirate who got close to you, remember? I didn't kill him, but I did get him away from you. I… was scared that he'd kill you before I could do anything."

Norne paused, but then nodded. "I forgot about that." Her voice almost an embarrassed little squeak. "I guess… we're even."

"Norne…" he began, wanting to say something, but having difficulty finding the words he needed. Abel or Wrys would be much better for this. "I… can understand why you feel guilty, even if that man would have killed us without hesitation, but, you… did it to protect me, right?"

She nodded. "The moment I saw that you were in danger, I couldn't stop myself from shooting."

"W-well, maybe that can be it. You… don't want us to die… maybe you can, kill to protect?"

"Kill to protect?" Norne repeated. She closed her eyes, picturing what might happen if she was too scared to kill if Gordin or anyone else was in danger. She opened her eyes the moment the image of the first bloodied corpse hit her.

She looked at Gordin, and even with her eyes open, an image of the boy cut into pieces forced its way into her mind. The feeling in her gut was still there, but…

"Just… think about it Norne." Gordin said, trying to sound as sure of himself as he could. "You don't need to become open to killing our enemies right this instant but, um…"

Norne thought about his words for a second, then reached out and grabbed Gordin's hands. "Thanks, Gordin."

"Huh?" Gordin looked down at her hands gripping his firmly, he stole a glance across deck, and was relieved that no one was looking at them at the moment. "What did I do?"

"You're trying to cheer me up. It's a lot more comforting then telling me to 'get used to it or get out'. It means a lot, really."

"I… I see." Gordin said, Norne released his hands. "I'm… happy to help."

"Yeah." Norne began to sound sullen as she turned away. "I don't want to be left behind, but-"

"Norne?" Gordin reached a hand out to her, despite the distance being to great for his hand to reach She turned back to him.

"Something else to say?"

"No… well, yes." He took a deep breath, "Norne, well…" He fidgeted uncomfortably on his feet, "Um… can you… start smiling again?"

"Wha-" Norne found herself unsure as to how to respond to that. "Smile again?"

"Ever since the battle, you've been depressed. I… I miss the happy Norne. I don't want you to just pretend to be happy, but…"

Oh…" Norne felt herself being lightly amused by his odd request. "Oh, _you_." her lips curved into a genuine smile.

* * *

><p>Galder was never a port of much significance. It was a quiet and, honestly, boring town. At least it was, until pirates led by Captain Gomer decided that the port was their hideout. Since then, life in Galder was nothing but turmoil and fear. Gomer demanded everything and then some from the people, and was inhumanly cruel to anyone he even <em>thought<em> wasn't giving him everything.

All the pirates gleefully followed Gomer's example… except for two.

Darros was an anomaly among pirates. That is, he had a conscience. He had joined a pirate crew because it was a life that supposedly promised freedom from all forms of restriction and allowed one to do whatever he pleased. Such advertisements grabbed Darros' attention and… completely suckered him.

Yes, being a pirate meant not bowing to any government in the world, but he hadn't been ready for the pillage, the arson, and the murder that he had to do to be a pirate. He had only been with Gomer for a quaint two years, but already he wanted out.

Castor, a former archer of Talys, also had little love for pirating… but to him, he had no choice but to do this. His… only remaining family, his mother, was sick, but the required medicine was so expensive. Captain Gomer paid his crew, and pirating was literally the only way to make money in this area, so Castor did what he felt he had to do. Yet even for the sake of his mother's health, he just… couldn't stomach what Gomer was doing.

"Captain Gomer." Darros said, they were within what was once the town hall of Galder. This was the place Gomer was using as his headquarters. "Galder be dry 'o plunder." He knew that the captain wouldn't be impressed by concern for the people, that was rather obvious by the fact that Gomer had taken a small child and was using the boy as a slave. Darros and Castor were both unsettled by the sight of a boy that seemed barely six years of age pouring large amounts of rum into a bowl for Gomer to drink.

"Ain't dry 'o th' plunder 'till I say it's dry." Gomer said, standing up from his chair, ignoring the rum the child had poured for him. "We be gettin' richer ev'ryday."

It was difficult to tell Gomer that he had it wrong without the pirate captain taking offense. Gomer was a very… temperamental man, quick to anger, quicker to violence. As Castor and Darros had learned, most pirates happy with the pirating life were like that. Pirate society was a sort of totem pole, everything was based on strength and brutality.

"Galder be dry, cap'n." Darros said.

"We… should find something new to plunder." Castor said. The slave boy looked at Castor with a confused expression, probably surprised that Castor didn't speak with the odd pirate accent. "Like, target some other pirate crew. They'd have done the plundering for us, we could just swoop in and take it. We'd be getting it faster."

There were extra, unspoken words he left out of his sentence. The words _and we wouldn't have to brutalize these people anymore_.

"So you don't think I'm doin' my best job as cap'n? I ain't servin' yer' best interests, right?" Gomer moved up to them, raising his thick muscular arms and crossing them over his chest. "I be staying in Galder, boys. You be staying too. Stick with me, and you'll see that I'm th' prince of generosity." He focused his attention on Castor, who flinched at the gaze. "'sides, ya' know what I do to deserters."

Castor trembled for a moment, but quickly stopped the movement. "I… I won't desert, I need the money."

"'course ya' do. Ev'rybody needs gold." Gomer said, a hearty laugh came from the cruel pirate. "We be forcing th' people to give us more gold tomorrow, expectin' Gazzak to come back any day now, too." He went back and sat down, he grabbed the bowl of rum and lifted it up. "Off with ya, now. 'nd 'member, find a person who don't give you no gold, axes 'n arrows 'n th' face."

Darros and Castor both cringed, but Gomer paid them no mind. He poured the rum down his mouth, though some instead splashed on his face, going through his beard, down his neck and soaking into his shirt. He didn't mind the mess, and continued to drink.

Turning around, Darros and Castor left the room. Castor found it all completely disgusting, even for the sake of his mother. He knew how she'd react if she knew that he had condoned such depravity to get her medicine… but what could he do? Gomer was crueler to deserters then he was to the people of Galder.

Darros, on the other hand, was unafraid of Gomer. he knew that he had to get out. He had to get out _now_.

* * *

><p><strong>The pirate accent is incredibly frustrating to write. I just want to say that.<strong>

**Anyway, the whole deal with Norne is simply the fact that I've always found it odd that, despite the fact that the Fire Emblem games revolve around you killing enemies en mass, you still have these overly cheerful characters. I just always found it a tad interesting that we have these characters who spend the game killing other people, but still seem rather chipper. So I figured it might be interesting to write about someone experiencing their first kill.**

**Please review.**


	9. Galder

**Ah yes, now we have the chapter which contains the first 'big' battle. I'll admit that I'm not entirely experienced with this, but I believe I came up with something satisfactory.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>"Open up!" A Macedonian soldier, lance in hand, banged on the wooden door of an Aurelian house. "I have to talk to you. Open up."<p>

After a second, the door opened, letting the soldier in. "Um… thank you, sir."

With a summer sun blazing in the air on such a windless day, and with a heavy suit of armor on, the soldier seemed relieved to step inside the cool building. It was a simple farmhouse with no particularly distinct features, though the man who lived here didn't seem to be a farmer.

The man who had taken residence in this house did not have the face of an Aurelian. He had to be an immigrant of some sort… the soldier seemed to be ignorant to the fact that any non-Aurelian would have long since fled the nation by now.

"Have I done anything suspicious?" The man living the house asked, he looked mildly concerned, folding his hands behind his back and shifting his weight around.

"No, you've done nothing to arouse captain Bentheon's suspicions. Sorry to bother you, I'm Matthias from Macedon, I'm just here to ask if you've seen a Mage in the area."

The man looked bewildered for a moment, but then relaxed and shrugged. "Can't say I've seen any Mages. I'd think a Mage would stay far away, considering all the Macedonians running around."

Matthias' face, which had just barely seemed professionally in-control of himself a second ago, twisted into a fearful expression. "Are… are you sure you haven't seen a Mage? One has been reported in the area. Everyone else I talked to said that I should come to this house if I'm looking for a Mage." he sighed, holding his lance loosely in a hand that was trembling. "Captain Bentheon has always seemed to hate me. I'd… rather not be forced to tell him that the trail's gone cold. He'd throw me straight into the Court of Miracles…"

"Sorry, I certainly haven't seen any Mages." The man felt somewhat sorry for Matthias, who clearly wasn't the sort of knight who should be part of an invasion force.

Matthias all but had his teeth chattering in fear of reporting a dead end lead to his superior, but with an effort, regained a small bit of composure. "I… I see. Sorry to bother you, sir." Matthias turned and left the house, going back to his horse, he climbed up, seated himself in the saddle and swallowing hard.

There was a twisting sensation in his gut. He was already an underperformer in Macedon's invasion force, and his superiors, like captain Bentheon and general Eremeus, had a clear disdain for him. If he were to deliver bad news, they might… no, he wouldn't think about it.

_Why did I have to get involved in this? I'm no soldier…_

"Poor guy." The man said as Matthias galloped away, in a moment the door to the outside was closed. "He's pretty unobservant, I must say." He grinned, looking at the blue cloth of his sleeve, which was _clearly_ the garb of a Mage. The man, Merric, a Mage of Altea, closed the door and sat down at the table.

"I wonder what the 'Court of Miracles' is supposed to be." Merric pondered for a moment about what seemed to unnerve Matthias so much, then shrugged.

For two years now, he had been moving across the continent, locating resistance after resistance, trying to find prince Marth. After being intensely concerned for quite some time, he had managed to determine that Marth had made it safely out of Altea. The news had come as a relief, Merric had, for a time, feared that he hadn't escaped. Though any news as to where Marth had gone when he escaped was nonexistent at best. Merric, a member of Altea's nobility and a good friend of the prince, was certain that Marth would be looking for a way to strike against Dolhr, but as of yet, Merric had found no trace of the prince.

It was fortunate that Merric had left to search for Marth when he did. Had he stayed in Khadein, perfecting his skills with magic, Gharnef would have likely seized such a promising Mage, he would have worked for Gharnef or been killed outright. He briefly pondered what his teacher, Wendell, was doing right now. Wendell had still been in Khadein when the situation there began spiraling so completely out of control. Wherever Wendell was, he doubted that it was pleasant.

Now Merric was in Aurelis, having come based on a rumor that the Aurelians were giving refuge to a member of the royal family from another nation. He had no guarantee that it was Marth, he didn't even know the gender of the person, or even if the rumor of Aurelis harboring someone from another nation was true. Still, it was the best lead he had had in a long time. He would have to get into contact with someone connected to Coyote, the man who handled the Aurelian resistance, before he could confirm anything.

He wasn't having any success there. The Aurelians that were still fighting were a nightmare to locate if you were actively looking for them. They seemed to somehow be striking every Macedon held base in the nation at once, but vanished the instant someone tried to seek them out for whatever reason. They seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time… he wondered how an Aurelian would even enlist in this diminutive rebel army in the first place.

Matthias' arrival was bad news for the Mage. Despite Merric's attempt to avoid gathering attention, someone had apparently noticed him. It was fortunate that Matthias had been oblivious to the obvious fact that that he was talking to the mage Macedon was looking for. Whatever Matthias told his superiors might throw Macedon away from this area for now, or maybe a more thorough search would be authorized. He'd have to relocate to somewhere else in Aurelis.

Regardless of what he or Macedon would do, Merric was still running out of time. Attempting to get into contact with Coyote would become much harder if he had inadvertently piqued Macedon's interest. Yet he wasn't ready to leave, at least not until he had ascertained the identity of whoever Coyote was sheltering.

Coyote… actually, that was the nickname of prince Hardin, younger brother of Aurelis' king. It was no surprise that the prince, as well as Hardin's brother, the king, were nearly impossible to find. Such key figures of an underground insurgence would be hidden well away from any prying eyes. Merric doubted that even most of the resistance fighters knew where the two men were most of the time.

There were reports of Hardin personally leading certain key raids, and he was always accompanied by four certain individuals whose names were not public knowledge.

With a sigh, Merric placed his hands calmly on the table, tapping his fingers on the wood. His time was short, and he might have to flee the nation before he could contact Coyote. He could only hope that in the challenge of finding Coyote, conditions would turn to his favor, without simultaneously turning to Macedon's favor.

Rising from his chair, he moved to go outside. Another day of dead end leads undoubtedly awaited him, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.

* * *

><p>Killing to protect. Norne was trying to hammer the concept into herself as she sat on her bed.<p>

A sense of guilt, subtle but still powerful, was in her gut. No matter how murderous that pirate may have been, she wasn't entirely at peace with what she had done.

Yet at the same time, she balked at the idea that she had done the wrong thing. The pirate was about to kill Gordin, the one among the knights she was the most casual with. There was no way she could live with herself if she had done nothing. The pirate clearly deserved to die.

Gordin had even tried to comfort her when he learned what her problem was, and succeeded in making her feel a lot better. She felt quite a bit more chipper, like how she was before the pirate attack.

She placed a hand across her chest. _Heart, don't fail me now. _Her fears and doubts had to disappear fast. She knew she had to be a reliable soldier. Being left out of this wasn't something she could bear.

Her thoughts turned to what this journey would be like, and a genuine smile found its way onto her face, the sense of adventure she never felt before seemed to override everything else she was feeling. This was something she had never felt before, and she loved it. For a moment, she pictured herself as a key part of an eternally winning army fighting against Dolhr and all of its underling nations…

The sound of loud snoring registered on her ears, dispersing her daydream, she turned around with an irked expression to the others in the room.

There were only so many rooms on the ship that could be used as bedrooms. Marth and Caeda both got their own bedrooms, Jagen and Malledus shared a bedroom, Ogma and his three men shared another. Norne was forced to put up with sharing a bedroom with Draug, Abel, Cain, and Gordin.

Draug may have been calm and collected while awake, but he was loud and annoying when asleep. The knight made an almost pig-like snoring sound in his sleep that made Norne's skin crawl. The other knights, Cain, Abel, and Gordin, just breathed normally and softly in their sleep. Amazingly, they were able to sleep through Draug's… noise.

She laid down in her bed and pulled the covers completely over her, then covered her ears with her hands in a vain attempt to drown out the snoring. This might end up being a _long_ ship-ride, even if reaching Galder took only a single day on a ship like this.

* * *

><p><em>Marth was running forward to face the enemy, rapier in hand. He ran straight for the armies of his foes, single-handedly standing against all of them.<em>

_His enemies came at him in a perfect formation, movements seemingly choreographed. It was the kind of formation that seemed impossible to challenge. Marth swung his weapon, the soldiers charging at him fell in droves. He seemed to be unstoppable, his enemy's corpses piling on the ground, victory in battle had been attained._

_Then, out of nowhere, an enemy soldier mounted on a horse appeared. He charged, lance in hand, straight for Marth's vulnerable back. The prince was preoccupied with those in front of him. The soldier with the lance galloped to the prince's back. Closer, closer to Marth the soldier grew, the lance dropped into position._

_Marth didn't turn in time, the lance pierced right through his back and protruded out his chest. The soldier lifted his lance in the air with Marth skewered on it, the soldier howled in victory._

Then Caeda awoke. She jolted into an upright sitting position on her bed, breathing hard.

_A… nightmare?_ She looked around, realizing she was still on the ship her father had given Marth. She just sat on the bed, trembling and taking in ragged breaths for several minutes, then threw the cover off, needing more solace and assurance of the fact that what she had seen had been just a dream. Even with her eyes open, the image of Marth dead on that soldier's lance was still in her mind.

She left her room, heading to the deck. It was night, everyone else was probably in bed, where she had been just a moment ago.

"Princess Caeda?"

A voice sounded in the darkness, and she snapped around. "Ah, Jagen." She took a deep breath as she recognized the elderly knight. The veteran knight could give someone a heart attack, approaching soundlessly with that spiked shoulder armor of his. "W-where is Marth?"

"He's sleeping, princess Caeda." He answered. "I was in his room just a moment ago to check on him. Is something wrong?"

"N-no, nothing's wrong." She said, doing a remarkably inadequate job at hiding the fact that something _was_ wrong. The elderly knight's words alone didn't console her. "Can I go into his room? I won't wake him up."

"If that's a request from you, I cannot decline." Jagen said, he pointed to one of the doors on the ship. "However, make the extra effort to not wake him, he will need to be rested for the days ahead of him."

"I understand." Caeda said, nodding her thanks and walking to the door he had pointed to.

She entered into Marth's bedroom. It looked like just another ship cabin, and not where someone as obviously important as Marth would sleep. A quick scan around revealed the prince. He was sleeping peacefully on his bed, Caeda sat down in a nearby chair, breathing hard, a hand across her chest.

That nightmare was too vivid. Far too vivid. For just a moment, she feared that Marth would be lying in bed, a hole ripped into his chest. She was tempted to gently stroke his cheek with her hand, or more gallingly, embrace him protectively, but resisted the urge and let him sleep. She continued to sit, the shadow that her nightmare had cast fading at the sight of the completely unharmed prince.

She listened closely to his gentle breathing, as if she feared that he'd suddenly stop breathing at any second. Unable to help herself, she got up from the chair and gently brushed a hand through his hair, he didn't wake up. It was a bitter struggle to not pull him to her, let her embrace protect him from any enemy soldier…

_Marth, oh…_ A deep sense of fear for Marth's safety gripped her heart. She had been worried for him before, but the feeling suddenly spiked. She had the feeling that she wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. Taking her hand out of his hair, she backed away and sat back down in the chair.

Suddenly, she wanted them all to go back to Talys. Where they had routine, assurance, comfort, and where she could be sure Marth was safe. It was too late to go back now, but…

She could only pray that nothing would happen to him. If he were to die… no, the mere thought was too painful. She shut her eyes tight and shook herself of the thought.

* * *

><p>A cold mist, resistant to all efforts to see through it, welcomed the two men standing on deck in the morning.<p>

The trip between Talys and Galder was a short one, but this sudden mist made it seem more like they were in the middle of the ocean, standing on the deck of some derelict ghost ship.

Abel uncomfortably began to pace around the ship. Like his fellow knights, he was a man of the solid earth, and the constant rocking of a ship was both disconcerting and unwelcome. It hadn't bothered him when they were fleeing Altea years back, but now that he was in higher spirits, his reservations about having anything besides his feet or a horse under him came to the forefront of his mind.

Altea had a navy, yes, but he had rarely been on the ships, and had always been thankful to be off of them. This voyage, even if it lasted just a single day, was something he desperately wanted to end.

Ogma, the other man on deck, seemed unbothered by the boat's incessant rocking. Though not a citizen of Talys by birth, he was used to the sensation of being on a boat. He simply took practice swings with his sword on the mostly unoccupied deck. His skill was going to face the ultimate test in the future. He doubted that the pirates of Galder would be much of a challenge, but those who would come after…

There was no doubt that he needed more training. It was shameful that he had been disarmed by a pirate during the raid, the strongest pirate of the raid or not, Ogma was embarrassed by his incompetence. He needed a firmer grip and quicker reflexes.

Momentarily, he turned his head to the crow's nest. Despite being Talys' finest ship, the crow's nest on this ship looked so precarious and unstable the a real crow might think twice before perching on it. Yet it was occupied. Seeing as archer's lived and died based on their eyesight, Gordin was the natural choice to be stationed in the nest. The archer made no indication that he could see anything, Ogma could only wonder if the mist was any better up there.

* * *

><p>Marth stirred in his bed. Slowly waking up, he found that he had apparently pushed the covers off the bed in his sleep. Without the covers on him, he woke up freezing. Shivering, he looked around, trying to find his covers, then, to his surprise, he found Caeda in the room.<p>

She was slumped back in a chair, apparently asleep. She looked rather… strained? Stressed? Or perhaps merely exhausted. Whatever the case, Marth got out of his bed, feeling wide awake already. He grabbed the covers of his bed and gently placed them over Caeda to keep her warm, then went out.

"Ah, prince Marth, you're awake." Jagen turned in respect as Marth came out on deck. The morning sun reflected a blinding light off of Jagen's armor, Marth found it a struggle to not wince and look away. At this point in time, everyone else was awake, out here and on deck, Caeda must have been the only one still sleeping. "How are you feeling, sire?"

"Just fine, Jagen." Marth responded, he walked forward until he was at Jagen's left. "Though I'm a little confused as to why Caeda was sleeping in a chair in my room."

"She requested to go in your room last night, sire." Jagen answered, "Though she denied it, something seemed to be concerning her."

"Well, she's asleep in my cabin. I'll just let her sleep for now." He moved up to the rail and placed his hands upon it. He trembled slightly from the cold temperature of the morning.

"This is an appropriate time for you to wake up. Gordin just alerted us that he spotted land." Jagen pointed to the distance. Their was fog obscuring his view, but it was breaking up. Marth could clearly see land, and a port.

"Is everyone ready for this?"

"I've already determined that everyone has their weapons on hand. They are ready for any orders you can give."

"Good." Marth said, satisfied. He trusted that there would be pirates at the port, if they were cut from the same cloth as the crew that attacked Talys, this should be fairly easy. He turned to Jagen, "Make sure everyone stays focused for the battle, I have one last thing to see to."

"Of course, sire."

Marth turned and returned to his cabin. Caeda was still asleep, with a sigh, he grabbed her by the shoulder and gently shook her.

"Caeda." He spoke softly. She stirred, stretching her arms from beneath the cover and yawning. Her eyes flicked open, then immediately shut, as if the morning sun lit room was too bright. A moment paused, and Marth shook her again, Caeda's eyes lazily opened once more and moved to Marth.

"Mar-" she blinked once, yawned again with her eyes shut, then fell back into her chair. Her eyes opened, in a moment she threw the cover off of her, apparently forgetting that she didn't have covers on her when she fell asleep, and stood up.

She almost instantly stumbled, but immediately regained her balance. "Marth…" she looked both dizzy and dazed. She shook her head to rid herself of some of the disorientation, she managed a smile, "Marth, good… good morning."

Her mind, still half asleep, didn't seem to remember her nightmare or the sudden spike of fear for Marth's safety.

"Caeda…" he sighed. "We'll be making landfall shortly, and we'll likely be fighting the Galder pirates immediately afterwards. You seem… tired, perhaps you should stay in the ship while we-"

"No." She said, adamantly. "I can do this, I'll just grab my lances and get on my Pegasus, I'll be fine."

"But, Caeda… you don't look like you got enough sleep-"

"I said I'll be fine Marth." She walked past him to the door, "I don't have much of a point to being here if I'm not out there fighting."

_And protecting you._ The last words she would have wanted to say were left unspoken.

* * *

><p>Galder was now enduring another day of misery. Though the port was sucked dry of anything even remotely valuable, Gomer had, again, called for more gold from the people.<p>

Gomer gave strict instructions to kill anyone who didn't come through with the money. Yet there was barely any money to give, Gomer's orders seemed more like an excuse to commit mass murder at the port. Already, several carved up corpses of men and women had been left in the street. The citizens of the port who survived the pirate's wrath would mournfully carry the bodies away when the pirates had left for the day.

The corpses of children couldn't be seen anywhere. The pirates didn't kill children. It wasn't some sense of mercy or honor that spared the young ones, it was more the fact that the pirates reasoned that children made good slaves. Not a single family living in the port still had a child younger then sixteen years of age living with them.

Not a single corpse was by Darros' hands. This was the last straw for the pirate. It was time to wash his hands of this life, once and for all, and find a more tasteful group to journey with. Today, which was far from the first bloodbath in Galder, was the day to act. His only regret would have been that he didn't act sooner.

He walked through the streets, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of eyes on him, some vengeful, others petrified. It was not a good feeling. Though far from a man used to receiving praise or glory, the fear and anger he seemed to elicit from the people was unnerving, even if the sensation was familiar.

He'd be no better then the pirates who continue to pillage if he just left without doing anything. He began to move away from the town toward where Gomer stayed. An axe in the captain's head, and then he would leave. Planning may not have been Darros' strong suit, but he knew that there would be little to stop him. Gomer wouldn't expect it, and Darros would wait until he was sure that the slave boy was the only other person in the room. Though Gomer was probably stronger then him, he wasn't quick with his mind, Darros would just walk in like he always did, then suddenly bare his axe.

The more he thought about it, the more certain of success he became. Gomer would die today.

"Darros!" Darros reaffirmed his grip on his weapon at the sound of his name. One question or statement that he didn't like, and whichever pirate called his name would die, followed shortly by Gomer. It wouldn't draw suspicion, pirates fighting each other with lethal results was actually rather common. Turning around, he was surprised to find that it was Castor. The Ex-Talys pirate came to a stop in front of Darros, oblivious to what Darros was planning on doing. "Darros, they've spotted an approaching ship."

"Yar…" curious for a moment, Darros gave Castor his full attention. "There be a ship approachin'?"

"Yeah. It's… kinda hard to believe, everyone knows this is basically a pirate port, no one in their right mind would come here." He turned and pointed to the distance, Darros followed the finger, and his eyes widened at the sight he saw. A ship was indeed approaching, and it clearly wasn't some simple merchant ship unaware of Galder's conditions.

"Aar… a mercenary ship? Come to keelhaul the lot 'o us?" Darros was surprised, the townsfolk couldn't have hired anybody, not with how Gomer had stolen every scrap of gold. So… who could these mercenaries be at the behest of? Even as he asked himself the question, the hope that Gomer would get what was coming to him was going through his head. The next thought to go through his head was that this was the exact sort of opportunity he could use. He could take advantage of any confusion while the mercenaries were fighting the pirates and-

Darros blinked as the ship grew closer. It was quite regally built. Far too carefully crafted to be a mercenary ship… it looked more like the centerpiece of some nation's navy. Yet the only nation around here with a navy was…

Almost against his will, Darros' lips curved into a smile. They were expecting Gazzak, Gomer's first mate, to return from a small expedition, but it seemed that Gazzak had done something to provoke a reaction from Talys. He doubted that Gazzak was still alive, which was fine by him. The first mate was, in so many ways, even crueler then Gomer.

* * *

><p>"Cap'n Gomer! Ship's been spotted!" A pirate rushed into Gomer's room. At the moment, Gomer had been drinking another bowl of rum, but stopped the instant the words registered on his ears.<p>

"Flag?"

"Talys flag, Cap'n. People on deck be armed to th' teeth, too."

"Talys… they think they be heroes or somethin'?" Gomer tossed the bowl aside, spilling the rum all over the floor. This was not news he had wanted to hear, he had been expecting his crew to return any second with what the townsfolk had offered. "Rally th' crew, we'll teach em' what happens t' anyone what messes with us."

The pirate messenger nodded, then left the room. Gomer scowled, baring his teeth. He slowly turned his head to his slave boy, who shrank back into the corner, trembling in fear.

"Don't ya' dare move, ya mindless lubber." He took an axe out and pointed it directly at the boy, "I'll be back, n' you be pouring me more rum. Don't be gettin' any hopes up for a rescue."

* * *

><p>The pirate crew formed up in the town, axes and bows ready, eager to make an example of someone who would try to rout them. The townspeople had retreated into their homes, though a few had gotten on their roof to try and figure out what the pirates were doing.<p>

Gomer found himself at the shoreline. The Talys ship apparently didn't want to dock at the harbor itself. Possibly to keep the fighting out of the port town itself. Gomer didn't care where the battle took place at. "Keelhaul the lot 'o 'em. Show 'em that Galder pirates don't bow down for nobody!"

The pirates shouted challenges, gripping their weapons in preparation and began to charge at the hull with the intention of hacking the wood off and boarding the ship. The crew was out here in its entirety, their numbers were considerable, comparable to a small army.

Castor shuddered, not wanting to kill the Talysians that had to be on that ship, nor did he want to die himself. He reluctantly placed an arrow on the string of his bow, hanging back as other pirates advanced. He wondered what princess Caeda would say is she could see him now. Call him a traitor and gut him where he stood, no doubt.

In comparison to Castor, Darros was looking forward to this battle. He had no intention of honestly helping the pirates, he planned for a different outcome then the one his crew wanted. Though he had no chance to kill Gomer subtly now, he would still be there to see the captain die. If… if those of Talys would accept him.

The Talys ship docked at the shore. The pirates could clearly see several armed individuals on the deck, some of which were mounted on horses, and one was on a Pegasus. In their eyes, easy prey. They could not possibly imagine such a… modest sized force, being a credible threat.

So enthusiastic was their focus on the ship's hull in their charge, that they failed to notice two figures crouched in the crow's nest.

"Okay, I'm ready for this." Norne took in a deep breath up in the nest, then looked over the pirates at the shore. The pirates were coming at them in straight lines, they presented easy targets. There was a lingering discomfort in her, but she had to overcome it if she had any hope to be one of the soldiers.

Next to her, Gordin drew his bow back. "Better to use the element of surprise. There's a lot of pirates, so even taking a few out from up here will do prince Marth a lot of good."

"Of course." Norne placed an arrow on the string of her bow and took aim. There wasn't anyone who looked important, so she aimed randomly, focusing on a pirate with a bow. Gordin's aim was at an axe-wielder.

The two archers fired.

In their charge, none of the pirates noticed the descending arrows. An anonymous axe-man was killed, as well as a bow-man who was standing right beside Castor. The Talys pirate cringed at how close he came to getting killed.

Several pirates stopped, hissing as they noticed the archers. Norne cringed at the sight of a pirate dying from her arrow, but shook the feeling off and immediately began placing another arrow on the string. Gordin followed suit. The pirates with bows had already switched their aim from those on deck to those in the crow's nest.

"Go!" Malledus yelled. "Remain cautious, don't let yourself get surrounded." The ship's crew disembarked and met the pirates head on. Pirate axes met knightly steel and mercenary iron. The pirates that were present were large in number, and dwarfed the ship's crew. It did them little good, and the disorganized pirates could only hold their ground. The pirates swung powerful arms, but found themselves unable to get any good strikes on any of their enemies. Yet those from the ship were striking and felling pirates with what would only be described as childish ease.

* * *

><p>Ogma and his three men were at the head of the charge, seemingly all too happy to exterminate the Galder pirates once and for all for the memory of the deceased back in Talys. Ogma was a veritable killing machine, killing pirate after pirate. His men followed his example, hacking pirates to death with their heavy axes.<p>

Jagen positioned himself beside Marth to serve as his defender. A trio of pirates came at them, but Jagen rather easily killed two of them with his silver lance. The third came too fast for Jagen to intercept, but Marth nimbly dodged the pirate's unwieldy axe swing and responded with a lethal strike across the pirate's chest.

Marth turned away before the pirate had fallen down, his rapier ripped through a new pirate that was charging at him. He turned around to see another pirate coming at him, but before either Marth or the pirate could strike, a lance fatally pierced the pirate's chest and dragged the corpse away.

_Please stay safe, Marth._ Caeda ascended into the air after killing the pirate that had been trying to attack Marth. She knew she couldn't simply patrol the area directly around him, she bade her Pegasus move to another target.

From up above, Caeda could easily observe the bloodbath. The pirates may be swarming the shoreline, but they were falling faster then a person could count. Their lack of an actual opponent to cut their teeth on, combined with their unwieldy, easily countered axe swings, had irrevocably doomed them.

Draug lumbered through the battle with his lance ready. The pirates who came at him were fast, but their axes hadn't the force necessary to as much as scratch his armor. Draug stabbed with his lance, killing pirate after pirate as he continued thrusting. Even as he was completely surrounded, not even a dent showed up on his armor as the pirates fell around him.

* * *

><p>Darros moved forward, coming at the ship's crew from another direction then the other pirates. He saw two knights mounted on horses, one with green armor, and one with red armor. He called out to them, and they turned to face him.<p>

"Pirate." Cain hissed, dropping his lance into position. He was about to charge, but Abel reached a hand out and grabbed Cain's shoulder to stop him.

"Why alert us to your presence?" Abel asked, maintaining a stance that allowed him to respond to any charge the pirate might make. "Surely you don't mean to take us both on when we know you're there."

"I… I be wantin' to surrender, knights." Darros said, dropping his axe on the ground. "I be done with piratin', Cap'n Gomer's way of living isn't t' me liking."

"A change of heart." Abel observed, skepticism was clear in his voice. Though he saw that Darros had dropped his axe, he didn't let his guard down. The pirates' body count was skyrocketing, this was the obvious point of time where someone would suddenly become remorseful and repentant. "Why wait until the pirates are attacked to want to change your ways?"

"Aar… I be wantin' to change me ways for a while now. Just… never acted." He shook his head, the knight's question made him feel like a cowardly opportunist. "But… if th' word 'o a man 'o the sea isn't good enough, let th' actions 'o a man 'o the sea work." He reached down and picked his axe back up.

"…and how do we know this isn't a trick?" Cain asked, still holding his lance firmly. "Your kind isn't the sort you can turn your back on."

"You won't be needin' to turn yer' back on me. Let me take lead point, you can keep me in yer' sight, I'll show ya' just what I think of me old crew." Darros looked straight at both knights. Neither knight took their eyes off the pirate, Abel contemplated for a moment, then sighed. "Okay, you can fight with us-"

"Abel! Have you gone-"

"But…" he continued, ignoring Cain. "Do something I don't like, you die. We'll talk more when this battle is over."

Darros nodded. "Thanks, sir knight. I swear to be pulling me load." He hunched into a battle stance, then charged past the knights.

The battle continued, and Abel found that Darros must have truly had little love for his old crew. In only a few minutes, he was killing his former crew with the same speed as Ogma. Abel was uncertain as to whether he should be pleased with Darros' skill and clear effectiveness, or if he should be appalled at how unfeeling Darros was in killing his former allies. They might not have exactly been Darros' friends, but…

Abel snapped out of his thought, reflexively turning and fatally ripping his sword through the chest of a pirate that thought to sneak up on him. He turned back to Darros, who had felled another four pirates in that brief moment where Abel wasn't looking at him.

The pirate was effective in his work. Without even a word, the Alteans and Talysians understood that he was on their side. It was fortunate for them that one of the strongest pirates there seemed to have actual morals.

The pirate bow-men were almost all dead. Gordin and Norne had slowly whittled away their numbers to almost half, unafraid of the horribly inaccurate arrows that flew just vaguely in the direction of the crow's nest. Cain and Abel charged forward to kill most of what was left of their numbers.

* * *

><p>In the back of the pirate's formation, if it could be called that, was Castor, one of the only remaining pirate bow-men. He should of already had his bow aimed toward Ogma and the mercenaries, or the sudden turncoat Darros, the ones who were clearly the greatest threat right now, but he recognized them, knew them, and hesitated. He shifted his gaze around, looking for someone he didn't know. He scanned the area, everyone besides Darros or Ogma and his mercenaries seemed to be an unfamiliar face, eventually he settled for the Pegasus Knight.<p>

He focused his aim on her as she swooped down for another attack run, then he caught sight of the rider. Beautiful blue hair…

_Is that… _Castor's bow dropped from its proper position as a sense of dread built up in him. _Tell me that wasn't…_

He shook his head, concluding it was a trick of his mind. There was no way _she_ would be here, out of Talys. It had to simply be another Pegasus Knight with a similar hair color. He readied his bow again, placing an arrow on the string, aiming directly at the Pegasus Knight. His bow rose into the air, and in just a moment, an arrow would fly at the Pegasus Knight with lethal result…

As he took the extra second to be sure that his aim was dead certain, the rider of the Pegasus turned to him, and there could be no mistaking the face he saw. Serene, gentle, and so… so recognizable.

_No… not her… not… princess Caeda…_

He lost any will to fire, even as Caeda was coming straight for him with her lance, he must have seemed just another pirate. She was only a few feet away from him, but then she paused.

"Castor?" Her eyes widened in shock and recognition, she stopped her attack entirely. Despite the battle going on behind her she came up to him, landed, dismounted, and approached him. "It's you, isn't it?"

Castor was frozen in place, his only movement was his face twisting to a shamed expression, feeling overwhelming remorse in the fact that the princess had discovered he was working with pirates. "P-princess, I-"

"What are you doing here, Castor?" She asked with a bewildered tone, acting as if she had just run into him in some alley, and that they weren't on two opposing sides in a battle. She reached a disbelieving hand out to him, but he took a step back. "Castor, everyone in the world seems to be betraying and killing each other. Do you have to stoop to that level as well?"

"I-It's not what you think, p-princess." Castor said with his voice shaking. "I-I didn't want to do this, but…"

"What could be a good reason for being a pirate?"

"My mother is, sick." He said bluntly, "And, there's no other way to get money-"

"Your mother is sick?"

"Yes, princess." He lacked the heart to look Caeda straight in the eye, instead looking away, to the left. "She can't even get out of bed, she's going blind, and now she's starting to become delirious. She just repeats my name over and over… I, I had to do something about it, get medicine for her. I-"

"All for your mother?" Caeda's face was blank for a moment, but then she gave an understanding smile. "If money is what you need, then…" she reached into a pouch tied to her waist, and took out a fistful of coins. "Here, take my money, go and help your mother."

"What-" Castor just stared at the coins Caeda was offering him. "B-but, princess, I betrayed you, I'm an enemy, you shouldn't-"

"Just take it." Caeda forced the coins into Castor's hand. "A lot of people were confused why you left Talys so abruptly, but I see that you did it to help your mother. I can understand that, but lowering yourself to serving pirates? You-"

"Princess…" Castor looked at the gold coins in his hand. "Ah, I-I'm s-sorry, princess." He had been feeling increasingly shamed throughout the entire conversation, and the feeling suddenly grew worse. Castor backed away from her, feeling undeserving to simply be near her. "Princess C-Caeda, let me… give me some way to make this up! I-I still have the aim I did back in Talys, I-"

"What's goin' on 'ere?" A familiar voice bellowed from behind Castor. The Talysian turned around to see Gomer approaching. "Me crew be fallin' like flies, 'n yer' busy chattin' with a wee lass?" He turned to Caeda, and his eyes brightened upon a closer look at the girl. "Ah, a fetching lass, she be. Maybe I can sell her when this be all over."

Caeda flinched and backed away, repulsed by the comment. Gomer smiled, it was a somehow unsettling smile, but then he turned back to Castor. "You be gettin' back to t' fightin', Castor. 'Else it be an axe right in yer' face."

Castor shuddered, he turned to Caeda, then back to Gomer, and his face took on a defiant expression, something Gomer had never seen from Castor. "I… I refuse to follow your orders. I'm not one of your men anymore." The utterance came out slow and forcefully, Gomer's face flared at the words.

"That's mutiny, Castor." He raised his axe, the blade pointing toward the Talysian archer, "But, it's not like a kid like ya' ever had much o' a place in me crew, anyway." He lunged, moving to kill Castor instantly with a single chop. Caeda got between them and swung her lance, forcing Gomer to jump back.

"Princess!" Castor's stomach rolled at the sight of Caeda stepping in Gomer's way to save him, even after he turned his back on her to leave Talys. Reflexively, he reached an arm up to his quiver and pulled an arrow out.

"No finely dressed wench 'ill claim me life." Gomer lunged again, but Caeda dodged out of the way of the axe swing. She ran back to her Pegasus and lifted off. Gomer tried to slice into the Pegasus' side before it could get away, but his axe only swung through empty air. He glared straight up as the Pegasus continued to climb higher… then an arrow sank into his back.

He grimaced in pain for a moment, then turned around to Castor. "Ye'll regret that, traitor."

"You'll regret all the pillagin', Cap'n." A new voice interjected. Gomer felt a tug on his back, followed by the painful sensation of someone messily ripping the arrow out. Gomer spun around, swinging his axe with lethal speed to strike whoever had taken the arrow out, but his axe swing was blocked by another axe.

"Darros!" Gomer's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of who was attacking him from behind, but then squinted in rage. "Ya' traitors come in pairs…"

Gomer took several steps back, glaring at both men. "Traitors, the both of 'ya. I'll make short work, of ya' both!" He turned his gaze back up to Caeda, hovering right over the scene. "'nd don't think I forgot about you. Ye'll fetch a fine price."

"Castor, 'n you…" Darros looked at both Castor and Caeda. "You be headin' back and fightin' more pirates. Cap'n Gomer be mine."

"Darros? You… want to fight him yourself?" Castor was caught off-guard by the request, but not truly surprised. The long days of Darros silently grumbling about what they did for a living would have obviously resulted in the pirate wanting to do something like this. Even so… "Darros, Gomer's a monster, I won't let-"

"Talk later, Castor. Lemme deal with th' Cap'n." Darros turned away from them, hunching into a fighting stance.

"Taking on the captain by yourself? You've gone cra-"

"I said talk later, Castor. I got some words t' share with th' Cap'n."

"But-"

"Castor." Caeda came back down on her Pegasus. "Do as Darros says, this is probably his business. You should help me win the fight going on near the ship."

The archer turned to Caeda, seemingly pained at the thought of leaving Darros behind, but then nodded. Backing away a step, then turning around and breaking into a run, followed closely by Caeda and her Pegasus.

"Now that they be gone…" Darros readied himself for battle. This was not how he had envisioned killing Gomer, but he was content. Perhaps this was even better, not only would Gomer be defeated today, but so would the entire crew.

"Traitorous dog. I coulda made ya' a very rich man, Darros." Gomer said quietly. He briefly looked past Darros to the two people escaping. He'd deal with them soon enough. His eyes returned to Darros. "Lemme tell ya, morality is th' last thing we need in life."

"I know exactly what I need in life, Cap'n." Darros responded, "'nd it isn't killin' n' murderin'."

"Ya' gone soft, Darros. Ya' got no place in me crew now. The only place you belong at this point is in th' ground!"

* * *

><p>"Stay near me, Gordin." Norne urged as the two archers joined the fighting on-foot. "I don't want a pirate to get the drop on you again." She kept an eye on her fellow archer for a moment, assured by his close proximity, then turned to the battle. Both archers loaded an arrow on their strings, and directed themselves at the pirates, who were now few in number.<p>

Wrys stood still, lifting his staff in the air and chanting, unleashing the energy in his Heal Staff. The holy power of the staff permeated his allies, healing what wounds they had received, and chasing away any fatigue that was building up with them. He continued to chase away their exhaustion, even as his own was building from the stress of using the staff. His own discomfort meant nothing to him.

A pirate rose behind Wrys with his axe in hand. Wrys noticed the pirate, but didn't move, keeping all of his attention focused on aiding his allies to the bitter end. The pirate prepared to swing his axe, but an arrow caught him right in between the eyes.

Mildly confused, Wrys turned and saw that the pirate behind him was already a corpse. Neither Gordin or Norne were near enough to make a shot like that, he turned in the direction the arrow had to have come from. He saw a bow-man he didn't recognize, he looked as if he was one of the pirates. The bow-man was standing near Caeda, and he was already focusing his aim on another pirate. Wrys presumed he was an ally. Lifting his staff in the air again, he returned to banishing fatigue from his allies, and healing what wounds they had received. As the staff's energy went into his allies, a spell of calmness went over them, hindering unnecessary rash decisions and allowing for good judgment.

Wrys knew the battle had been won. The pirates that remained could be counted with one hand, but Wrys did not neglect his duties with the staff. He continued his work until the last pirate died.

* * *

><p>"Is that all of them?" Marth asked, scanning the area, not a single living pirate in sight.<p>

Castor walked up to them, forcing himself not to stiffen as everyone seemed to eye him in confusion. "N-not exactly, sir-"

"Who are you?" Draug inquired, moving his armored body up to Castor. "A helper from town?"

"Um…" Castor couldn't figure out a way to tell them the truth as to why he was there. "No, but-"

"Castor? Is that you?" The Bord's eyes widened in surprise and recognition, but then he smiled and walked up to the Talysian, clasping a hand on Castor's shoulder. "I wondered what happened to you after you left Talys. I actually worried that you'd fallen into a bad crowd, but here you are, exterminating pirates."

"Y-yes, good to see you again, Bord." He nodded at the mercenary, then stole a nervous glance at Caeda. He would prefer to tip-toe around the fact that he had been part of the pirate crew, but the princess could say it, and shame him in front of old friends, at any time she wished. He would deserve it too…

"First things first." Marth said, interrupting Bord. "You said 'not exactly', there are more pirates?"

"Yes, well… there's one left. The captain is just a short distance away, fighting Darros, the pirate who defected to your side.."

"I see." Marth nodded, still holding his rapier, now covered in blood. "Then the port is effectively free from pirates?"

"Y-yes sir. Captain Gomer is all that's left, Darros should be able to handle himself… and he made it quite clear that he wanted to fight the pirate captain by himself."

Marth nodded again, "If he defected from the pirates, I suppose fighting his former captain is his own business." He turned to the port, still a fair distance away. "Yet any pirate we don't kill today will just torment someone else another day, but we need to go and confirm that this Gomer ends up dead. Darros may not like it, but we'll interfere if necessary."

* * *

><p>"I always be a little scared of fightin' ye, Cap'n." Darros said as he swung his axe at Gomer, who jumped away before his chest got sliced. "I should 'ave tried to keelhaul ya' long 'fore today, if this is really yer' best."<p>

"Ya scurvy dog. I be the terror 'o Galder! No way can ye' best me in battle." Gomer lunged again, swinging his axe with the intention of striking in between Darros' eyes. Darros simply ducked the swing, then came back with his own slash, managing a shallow cut into Gomer's chest, which the pirate didn't even seem to notice.

"Not be much 'o a terror anymore." Darros retorted, pressing his attack. He reached an arm out and grabbed Gomer's axe-arm by the wrist and delivered a deeper cut to Gomer's chest. Gomer roared in pain and threw Darros away from him.

"You be a little runt, Darros. Ye' shoulda stayed in me crew."

"What crew?" Darros asked, "From the sound 'o things behind me, I say yer' crew be keelhauled already."

"No fancy Talysians be gettin' the best 'o th' Galder Pirates." Gomer charged again, faster then last time. His axe was heading straight for Darros' neck, but Darros jumped back from the attack, letting it fly harmlessly in front of him, then counterattacked Gomer.

With a sound almost like a thunk, Darros' axe went straight into the bicep of Gomer's axe arm. The captain screamed as he suddenly dropped his axe. Darros ripped his axe out of Gomer's arm, letting the blood spurt out. Rearing his other arm back, Darros smashed his knuckle into Gomer's jaw.

Gomer fell backwards, clutching at his wounded shoulder.

"Dar…Darros…" he managed to speak his former crew members name, then groaned. "You never be livin' th' good, ugh… life, with that attitude."

"Yer' words be wasted, Gomer." Darros approached his former captain, who quickly rose back to his feet, his axe arm covered in his own blood.

"Me words be true, Darros. Th' Talysians won't be winnin' when ye' get back there. Me boys know how t' turn a fight 'round."

"Yer' in denial, Gomer." Darros took a step forward, bearing his axe menacingly. "Ye' lost, Gomer, and yer' actions be too much t' let slide. This be th' end."

Gomer's eyes widened in fear, but his legs seemed to be rooted in place. Fear? Or was he simply too prideful to run? Whatever the case, Darros' axe came down, and Gomer's life ended, his corpse dropped to the ground.

"That be th' end 'o that." Darros nodded. Feeling almost elated at the fact that Gomer was now dead. "Now t' get back to th' port." He turned around, and came face to face with the ones from the ship.

"Aar, I thought I said t' focus on th' battle with the rest 'o th' crew."

"The… the rest of the crew is gone, Darros." Castor said, looking over his shoulder at the bloody shore. He gulped, knowing that he would have ended up just like them, a lifeless body, if it hadn't been for Caeda recognizing them. "The fight's over, Darros. We should head to the port now."

Darros nodded and took a step forward. He looked over everyone that came from the ship. The green knight gave him an uncomfortable, yet simultaneously approving, glance.

"To th' port we go. Gotta tell th' people they no be livin' in fear anymore."

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Galder, which had begun the day with dread and terror, was instead filled with elation. The pirates were deceased and the port was now free. The corpses of the pirates were collected and disdainfully thrown into a mass grave.<p>

The Alteans and Talysians were treated like heroes, even as they were scurrying around the town, helping the town regain its sense of normality. Wrys in particular was dashing through the streets, healing injuries of those the pirates had previously tormented, but not killed. There was nothing the Curate could do to help those the pirates had killed, save assist in their burial, and offer a prayer for their soul.

The child slaves the pirates had taken were able to return to their families. The joy in the parent's faces seemed to be indescribable. The children they feared they would never see again had been returned to them… their smiles were the biggest and the happiest.

The pirates loot and plunder was given back to the people in equal shares, the extra effort was made to make sure items got back to their proper owners. As an extra way to help the people of Galder get back on their feet, Marth authorized that the Talys ship, which had no further use after they landed, to be striped down of valuables. The people could use the pieces of the ship as they pleased. He could only hope that king Mostyn wouldn't be bothered by that.

Darros was also there, and though many of the port citizens looked upon him unfavorably, their cold reception somewhat thawed at his desire to make amends. He and Draug did much lifting and carrying supplies, letting the workers and laborers of the port rest on the day they were finally free of pirates.

* * *

><p>Norne held Gordin's hand firmly. The sensation in her gut was much weaker now, but she still looked slightly ill. They both sat down at the base of one of the port's buildings, taking a small break from the sudden labor around the port.<p>

She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"A-are you okay, Norne?" He swallowed hard as he tried to ask the question. "The battle today, are you feeling-"

"I'm fine, Gordin." She smiled, her eyes drooping slightly, as if she could fall asleep at any moment. With a happy sigh, she leaned back onto the building they were sitting at. "I did just fine today, I can't wait to see them all eat their words."

"Um… good?" He knew she was talking about how both Abel and Draug had said that they would leave her behind if she would hesitate in killing enemies again. He could only hope that she wouldn't try to rub it in their faces, they might still cut her ties to the army if she got arrogant…

She might not have even taken the first step on the road to becoming a reliable soldier without Gordin trying to comfort her. Back in Talys, you'd think that she'd be the confident, helpful one, but now he seemed to be the one offering support and assistance. In the near future, she'd have to reverse that. She should have been the one offering encouragement. It had to have been weird for the less confident one to be the one giving reassurance and comfort.

The more confident one, she reasoned, should also be the better archer. Norne certainly wasn't unskilled, but compared to Gordin's ability to go through a battle without emotional difficulty, she felt somewhat inadequate.

Gordin looked away from her, oblivious to what Norne was thinking about. At the moment, he was more concerned about one of the other knights happening across the two of them, and mistaking it as a… intimate moment.

* * *

><p>"I must thank you, you and all of your men." A bearded man seated at a table spoke up, patting the head of the boy Gomer had been using as a slave. He smiled at the reunion, the boy was this man's son. The boy smiled as he loaded a small plate with food, he had never enjoyed a decent meal when he had been a slave, he scurried off to enjoy what must have seemed like a feast to him. "We have endured too much under those pirates. They stayed even after they had stolen pretty much everything."<p>

The room had been stripped by the pirates of all valuable goods. In the past, expensive dishes and cups lined the shelves, but not at this moment. In the coming days, they would probably return the shelves to their former condition, but this was not a day to surround oneself with images of wealth. This was a day to appreciate life not spent under the thumb of murderous thugs.

The others at the table were Marth and Malledus. They each had a cup of simple water. They had not wished to demand a more expensive drink.

"There is no need to thank us." Marth said, "Talys was attacked by this same group of pirates just two days ago. After their raid was repelled, the king wanted to eliminate any chances of a second raid."

"I see." The man's smile didn't fade. "Well, as far as the people of Galder are concerned, the pirates are gone, and we are free once more." He took a sip from his cup, which had been put to Gomer's lips too many times. "Sir, would you be so kind as to tell me your name?"

"My name? I'm… prince Marth, of Altea."

"Altea?" The man seemed to cock an eyebrow. Marth was discomforted by the movement. Looking over Marth, the man acknowledged the obvious regality of his clothes and nodded, believing Marth. "Altea… now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time."

"Do you… know my nation's current state?"

"I'm afraid not, prince. For a long time, anyone who tried to learn about Altea, or as much as uttered the word 'Altea', was captured and killed by Dolhr on the logic that they were a 'sympathizer' to Altea. The pirates took more then a few people from Galder and sold them just like that."

"I… see." Marth shook his head. If trying to find information about Altea could garner treatment like that, he dreaded to learn how the people of Altea might be treated. He calmly put his fingers on the table, but after a second, strongly gripped the table, squeezing his eyes shut, desperately wanting to just march straight to Altea and liberate it. At the time, he didn't have nearly enough strength to do that. Hopefully, if he could join forces with Aurelis…

"Prince Marth, I assume you plan is to oppose Dolhr?"

"Indeed it is." Marth opened his eyes. "I've spent the last two years preparing for this. My first goal is to see if Aurelis will side with me."

"Aurelis? That seems to be the only nation who is still capable of fighting against Dolhr. Though there's no telling how much help the nation could really give you." The man put his cup down and folded his hands together. "Aurelis has been… backed into a corner. Dolhr's subordinate, Macedon, has done well in carving the nation of Aurelis to ribbons. Only a modest resistance remains. A tenacious, defiant resistance it is, but not something that could stand up to even one nation of the Dolhr Alliance."

"Dolhr Alliance?" Malledus spoke up, "I don't believe I've heard of an organization by that name."

"The nations that serve Dolhr, which would be Macedon, Grust, Gra, and Khadein, are collectively referred to as the Dolhr Alliance. The organization is, of course, completely subordinate to the Dolhr Empire."

"So they have a name for themselves." Malledus muttered, tapping a finger on the table. "Four nations under Dolhr, it's a lot to be opposing all at once. Especially for just Altea and Talys. I suppose we truly do need allies, even if a potential ally is in a… weakened state."

"Rumor has it that the Aurelian resistance is hiding a member of the royal family from another nation. I had assumed that it would be you, the prince of Altea, but…"

"Obviously it isn't me." Marth said, "You have no idea who they're hiding?"

"None whatsoever." he replied. "All I know is that it's apparently someone who, by some miracle, managed to flee their nation after it had been conquered."

Almost instantly, Elice's face appeared in Marth's mind. The idea of a reunion with his sister made him ecstatic. With an effort, he hid the sudden jolt of enthusiasm away, and talked calmly about Aurelis. "No matter how much help they can give us, I still plan to head into that nation."

"Well, if you're adamant about going to Aurelis, the quickest path would be through the Ghoul's Teeth, the peaks to the north, though it's a very dangerous route."

"Dangerous?" Malledus asked, "In what way?"

"Bandits. They're much more cruel and deadly then these pirates. These bandits, they call themselves the Soothsires, prey on any who try to make their way through the peaks. For most people, the only hope is to get through without them spotting you. The Soothsires will kill before they give any real thought as to whether you're holding valuables. Oh, the stories I've heard…" he seemed rattled as he recalled stories of the Soothsire's brutality, then he remembered something else.

"Recently, the Soothsires have hired a mercenary. I don't know his name, but word is, his swordplay is good enough that he might be able to take on the Soothsires all by himself."

Malledus slowly nodded. "Highly skilled or not, I do not believe any single mercenary has the strength to single-handedly take our army on."

Marth took a sip of water from his cup, then put it back on the table. "I have every intention of reaching Aurelis as quickly as possible. Bandits or not. The sooner I get there, the more help I can offer Aurelis, and the more Aurelis can offer me."

"I understand, prince. I merely urge that you stay aware of your surroundings up there."

* * *

><p>The people of Galder had attempted to offer various gifts to Marth when he left, but he had declined. The people of Galder should spend their time and resources rebuilding the port and regaining stable, comfortable lives. Besides, in terms of supplies, Marth's little army was more then stable.<p>

After their business in the port was done, the army began to move north. Marching from the afternoon straight up to evening, they arrived at the peaks that had earned the name "Ghoul's Teeth."

Marching through bandit territory at night would be far from a good idea, and the decision had been reached to set up camp, and continue in the morning.

At the end of the first day of the journey, the soldiers discussed their expectations and hopes for the future.

Darros seemed to fit in quite well. His well-meaning, honorable, yet relaxed nature gelled well with most of his new allies. He was also quite insistent on doing his part for the little army, a new axe arm had certainly been found.

Ogma, Bord, Cord, and Barst seemed happy to be reunited with Castor. They remained oblivious to the reason as to why Castor had been at the port. They simple concluded that he was making a living dealing with pirates and bandits. He made no effort to tell them the truth…

He dearly hoped that they'd never discover the truth, if princess Caeda ever told them… they'd never speak to him again.

His mother was in safe hands back home, he could journey with the princess, make amends, then return to his mother's side to help her return to good health.

* * *

><p>The Ghoul's Teeth was all that stood between Marth and Aurelis. As he laid down in bed, staring at the air above him, Marth found himself wishing that more had happened that day. Defeating a pirate crew didn't seem to satisfy him at all…<p>

He'd probably feel like he wasn't really accomplishing much until the day came that he was fighting Dolhr, or one of the nations of this 'Dolhr Alliance'. Though defeating pirates, and bandits as he'd probably do tomorrow, were undoubtedly good deeds, he felt that he should be doing more. Something that actually affected the continent as a whole.

He turned over onto his side, and his eyes found someone standing in the tent. Reflexively he sprung up, ready to defend himself-

"Easy, Marth. It's me."

Marth blinked, then relaxed at the familiar sight of Caeda.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, Marth. I was just curious as to how you felt, now that your first real battle is over and done with." She sat herself down on his bed, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders to lay him back down.

"I feel like I haven't done anything." Marth said, "I want to be fighting enemy nations, not-"

"You did a good thing today, Marth. The people of Galder are free from the pirates."

"I didn't say I regretted my actions today. I'm saying that it feels like I haven't accomplished anything."

"Well, Marth, think of these pirate and bandit fights as… real training." She focused her gaze on Marth's face, looking him straight in the eye to be sure she had his undivided attention. "For all the training you did in Talys, you never really experienced fighting when the other person is trying to kill you. If the armies of our enemies are going to be completely unhesitant when trying to kill you, best to understand what it's like to fight people like that now."

She reached her hand out and placed it gently across his forehead. Marth closed his eyes and was silent for a second. For a moment, Caeda believed he had fallen asleep when they were still talking.

"I guess." he answered, he opened his eyes back up and rose to a sitting position. "I still don't feel satisfied at all."

"Well, we'll probably be fighting Macedon soon. You'll get your fill of trained professionals trying to kill you soon enough."

Her tone was teasing, and Marth smirked for a second, but then returned to a more neutral expression. "I should get back to my own tent now. We'll all need our rest for the morning." Caeda said, rising up from the bed. Marth turned to her as she left, for a moment looking at her longingly, like he didn't want her to leave, but dissuaded himself from saying anything.

Caeda went back to her tent. She sat down on the side of her bed, but seemed hesitant to actually lie down. As she sat there, her nightmare of Marth dying on a soldier's lance came back to her. She thought about how Marth wanted to fight against trained enemies, but the nightmare made her want to avoid engagements with a true army for as long as possible.

The nightmare also made her fearful of going to sleep. She feared that another nightmare would come to her… but if she didn't sleep, she couldn't fight. More importantly, she couldn't keep an eye out for Marth. The day that they would fight a true enemy army was going to come eventually, and probably sooner rather then later, she had to be there, ready to help him.

Reluctantly, she laid herself down in the bed, pulling the cover over her, and let sleep conquer her mind.

* * *

><p>At this hour of night, torches lit up the Soothsire's stone castle. It was unknown who built this castle, rumor has it that it was a stronghold for knights attempting to rout the Soothsires, but it was a Soothsire stronghold now.<p>

The Soothsires were several steps above a pirate crew. They knew their territory, their terrain, better. Though the Soothsires had only modest numbers, they understood defense and formation slightly better. There was a reason why they had succeeded in resisting all efforts to oust them from the Ghoul's Teeth.

Dolhr's ambition seemed to make life easier for bandits and pirates alike, and few had flourished in quite the way the Soothsires had. As long as every military of every nation was preoccupied with something or other, there was no danger of any well trained force interfering with a Soothsire raid. Nor was there a threat of anyone with real skill coming to try and annihilate the Soothsires. At best, they had to deal with the occasional townsperson who tried to be a hero during a raid.

"Sir, please, I have nothing of value. I came here only to heal the sick."

A cleric was behind bars in the Soothsire stronghold. She had, against all logic and rational, come to the Ghoul's Teeth to tend to the wounded and ailed who lived in the peaks.

As was the eventual fate of any foolhardy to travel the Ghoul's Teeth alone, the Soothsires targeted her. Rather then kill her outright, as they would do with most, they instead captured her. They captured travelers every once in a while, but that was worse then being killed on the spot. Being captured generally meant long weeks of torture at the hands of the Soothsires prior to death, followed by your head being mounted on a pike out in front of the Soothsire castle. This grisly display was enough to unnerve anyone who might actually be a threat to the bandits.

Hyman, the Soothsire chief and leader, turned to her. He had a body honed from a lifetime of fighting tooth and nail to stay in control of the Soothsires, and a heart gone cold from decades of pillaging and slaughtering. He eyed the hooded cleric disdainfully. She shrank away from his unfeeling, murderous gaze.

"If you don't have anything of value, then what's _that_?" He pointed to a staff the cleric was holding close to her.

"M-my Mend staff? This is a tool to help the sick and injured, not something to throw on a loot pile."

"Anything can be thrown on a loot pile." Hyman retorted. In a single bound, he moved up to the bars, reached his hand between them and snatched the Mend staff from the cleric's grasp. "A Mend staff is hard to come by compared to a Heal staff. This would actually fetch quite the price."

"Please, sir-"

"Shut up." He turned away from her, examining the Mend staff for a moment, then motioned to another Soothsire. "Julian, watch her."

Another Soothsire, Julian, walked up. He didn't look half as threatening as Hyman, his body build looked more like it belonged to a pickpocket in a city, not to a Soothsire brigand. Julian turned to the cleric in the cell, he looked almost repulsed at how the woman had been thrown into such a degraded holding.

"I'll have some unpleasant experiences for her in the morning. The usual treatment. See to it that she doesn't escape. Though I doubt she could get far." With a cruel grin, the sort only someone who enjoyed torture and hearing screams could give, Hyman turned and left the room.

The cleric, seemingly pained at the loss of her Mend staff, turned her gaze from Hyman to Julian.

"Relax." Julian said, approaching the bars and giving his most disarming smile. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, sir." The cleric smiled. Somehow, she could just sense goodwill in this Soothsire, unlike with Hyman. "Sir, I must ask you to help me escape."

Julian looked to the left, then back at the cleric. "Um… get you out of the Soothsire's base of operations without being seen? That'd be impossible, even if it was just me."

"Sir, I'm not asking you to do this for me. I came here to help those in the peaks who were suffering. If you can help me, you'll help them as well."

"Yes, well, see, the whole 'helping' thing kinda conflicts with the whole 'bandit' thing." He turned his back on her and leaned onto the bars. "I've sorta got an image to maintain."

"I'm sure that if you try to help others, you'll find it more rewarding then brutalizing them."

"Well, technically I'm more of a friendly thief then one of those 'kill them first and see if they've got loot later' sort of Soothsire, but-"

"If you've got a distaste for killing, then please-"

Julian sighed, then turned back to her. "You're a pushy girl, you know that?" He looked over her, then reached his hand into the cell and pulled her hood off, revealing… a very beautiful head of red hair. Julian blinked at the sight, but then shook his head. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Ah…" the cleric backing away from the bars, seemingly flustered at her hood coming down and her hair falling over her shoulders. She moved her hands up, sweeping her hair behind her, then nodded. "Yes, my name is Lena, from Macedon."

* * *

><p><strong>And Caeda seems to have prophetic dreams, hmm.<strong>

**Please review.**


	10. Navarre

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The moon, a crescent moon, has risen over the Ghoul's Teeth, hidden above a blanket of clouds, which rumbled with the promise of rain for when the sun came to chase the moon back to its hiding place.<p>

The Soothsires had already laid themselves down for the night, though some still lingered in the waking world. Perhaps wanting to see if they can make a rival bandit… disappear. Others stayed awake in fear of such a fate. There was no punishment for killing another Soothsire, no one here cared enough about another to seek vengeance.

Even when 'safe' inside their stronghold, the life of a bandit, the life of a Soothsire, was a dangerous one. In these times, they had more to fear from each other then they did from anything else.

Most recently, they had something new to fear. A myrmidon that had been hired into the Soothsires. This silent, long haired man had been brought in by Hyman to make the Soothsires seem more threatening, and perhaps, to better ensure Hyman's dominance over the Soothsires.

The myrmidon, Navarre, the man Ogma once had a run in with, was loyal to his employer for the extent of the deal. He would, for now, go along with anything Hyman told him, until their agreement ended. Navarre did not allow his deals to be extended, he would leave at the appointed time, which was a few days from now.

Navarre paced through the Soothsire castle, feeling the sensation of fearful eyes on him. The owner of every pair of eyes would have happily killed him if they could… with his sword in his hand Navarre continued his walk. He was neither fearful or concerned about a Soothsire getting the drop on him, but he remained perfectly aware of his surroundings. Every sound, footstep, and breath in the entire castle he could perfectly hear. The Soothsires obvious fear of him was almost palatable, but he did not even inwardly smirk. There was little that amused him.

The castle was quiet, and the simple clicking of his steps on the stone floor could drown out all other noise, then he heard talking. Silent whispering. It was faint, and the words were likely of no importance, but Navarre did not dismiss them. Though distinct and vague at the moment, he knew that it wasn't the simple grumbling of a Soothsire who felt that he was too low on the totem pole. This was something else.

The words were coming from the prison. Silently stalking past the cells, he found their origin. Julian, and one of the prisoners, were talking to each other. Navarre was standing in plain sight, but neither Julian nor the cleric in the cell seemed to have noticed him. Stepping to the side, Navarre obscured himself in a shadowed corner.

They were talking of escaping. The cleric, with her hood off, was pleading to escape from the Soothsires, if only in order to continue to give aid to the people of the Ghoul's Teeth. She was swearing to do all in her power to give Julian a safe life far from the vengeance of the Soothsires should he help her. Julian seemed willing to help her, he might have been more reticent to express such a willingness if he knew Navarre was standing so close to him.

The cleric reach an arm through the bars to tenderly grip Julian's shoulder, Julian leaned forward to whisper something. Navarre caught his words, an agreement to get the cleric out of here safely in the morning, after he swiped the keys from Hyman.

Stepping away from the bars, Julian rose to his feet. His destination would be Hyman's room. He turned and walked off, swallowing hard. Slipping out of the Ghoul's Teeth wouldn't be easy with Lena in tow. It wouldn't be easy even if it was just him. The other Soothsires were simple and crude, but they weren't unobservant. All the Soothsires already knew about Lena, and if she were to disappear, along with one of the Soothsires, they'd easily piece together what happened.

It would take some time to get Hyman's keys, and if Hyman woke up and realized what Julian was doing, then the break-out attempt would end right there. No way could Julian take on Hyman, or pretty much any of the Soothsires, if they knew he was coming.

He left the prison, trying to figure out how the escape would work out. He didn't notice Navarre as he was leaving, he likely wouldn't have noticed the man even if he wasn't engrossed in his own thoughts. Navarre stepped out of the shadows as Julian passed him, his face betrayed none of what he felt or thought.

* * *

><p>Julian took a deep breath as he approached the door to Hyman's room. There were no guards posted. Being the leader of bandits seemed to make one paranoid, and Hyman would not, could not, trust anyone with his protection when he fell asleep.<p>

The door was locked… that wouldn't have stopped a Soothsire from breaking in, but it would have made more then enough noise to wake Hyman up. Once woken, Hyman would chop his would-be assassin to pieces in the slowest, cruelest way imaginable. Hyman actually held his axe firmly in his fingers when he slept, he wouldn't have to worry about someone attacking him before he could get it, it would already be in his hand.

Julian crouched by the door and took a lock-pick out, inserting it into the keyhole and began his work. It was fortunate that so many were asleep now, no one would try to interrupt him. Though there was no tenderness or loyalty between most of the Soothsires and their boss, but they did enjoy doing little things that would put them in his good graces.

After only a second, Julian was done and the door slowly creaked open. Hyman was too heavy a sleeper for the creaking sound to wake him up. Julian slowly entered the room, and the reeking stench of death hit him, this is where Hyman kept his 'trophies'. Grisly things, parts of the remains of Soothsires who had challenged Hyman, or villagers of the Ghoul's Teeth who had tried to be heroes during a raid.

Hyman actually seemed to like the smell the rotting flesh gave off. Julian closed the door behind him, still crouched down, stealthily moved across the room, his soft, woven shoes making no sound on the stone floor. The room was lined with gold and silver ornaments, things that Hyman himself had personally taken during raids, many of which were still coated with the dried blood of their old owners. For a fraction of a second, Julian's eyes glanced over at the expensive ornaments, but then focused his eyes on the bed that Hyman was resting on, ridding himself of any distracting thoughts.

He crept up until he was looking over Hyman, and Julian's heart quickened its pace. The boss was sound asleep, doing what he came here for should only take half a minute, but this was still the most nerve-wracking part of what Julian was trying to do.

The cell keys were attached to Hyman's necklace. With the silent efficiency of an assassin, Julian unsheathed his knife without a sound. With one hand, Julian picked up the string of Hyman's necklace… with Hyman laying down he wouldn't be able to just remove the necklace, he'd have to cut the keys off of it.

He pressed his knife against the rope, and slowly, silently, began to cut it. After a few tense seconds, the knife sliced through the rope, and the keys slid into Julian's hand. The cut rope fell back down on Hyman's bare chest, and the bandit grumbled in his sleep. For just a second, Julian's heart seemed to stop and this single moment became an eternity of fear…

After a few seconds, Julian took a shaky breath in, assuring himself that Hyman was still in a deep slumber. He held the keys securely in his hand and began to back out of the room, shaking from being so nervous. He was happy to leave and shut the door behind him. His relief was so great, that he accidentally ran right into someone while heading back to the cells.

"Ow…" Julian picked himself up off the floor after the collision made him fall down. "What are you still doing up? You-" he paused, frozen. The person he had run into had been-

"N-N-Navarre." he stammered. He had run into the swordsman's back, and the man, undoubtedly the most dangerous person Julian had ever encountered, turned to the simple thief. Navarre stood almost perfectly still, like a statue. The only movement was in his eyes, which briefly examined Julian's face, then shifted to the key that Julian was holding.

No words came from the swordsman, and for Julian, that seemed to be the most unnerving thing. The thief held his breath, it was more like his breath had frozen, as he waited for some form of response from Navarre.

After a moment, Navarre walked past Julian, as if he had stopped to collect his thoughts, not examine a thief who had effectively tackled him. The cloth on his back looked as though it wasn't even disturbed. Julian's eyes were on him, seemingly terrified at the chance that Navarre might suddenly snap around and behead Julian with a single stroke.

Navarre eventually left, but Julian was still frozen. A minute passed, then two, then ten. Finally, Julian found the guts to start moving again, assured that Navarre was far away. He began to navigate toward his destination, the castle prison.

* * *

><p>"What did you just say?"<p>

Captain Bentheon, Macedon forward commander serving under general Eremeus, who had just moments ago been drinking wine in high spirits, raged at the Macedonian grunt who was before him.

It was yet another reprimand for Matthias. He could barely go a few days without his lackluster performance incurring the wrath of his superiors. He once had to answer to general Emereus for failing to capture a fleeing Aurelian resistance fighter. It was a wonder he hadn't been executed yet.

"S-s-sir." Matthias stammered before Bentheon's rage, lacking even the slightest trace of the stoutness one might expect from an invasion soldier. "The trail went c-cold at the village. N-no trace of the Mage."

"The trail went cold?" Bentheon was sitting down in an occupied Aurelian castle. He placed his goblet of wine on the table and calmly folded his hands together, even as his face revealed anger and frustration. The expression was one that Matthias had grown accustomed to. "We've spent weeks following the trail of this mage. Weeks that, as you know, required man-power that would have been better used to focus on the Aurelians, and you walk in and tell me that it was all wasted?"

"I-I'm sorry sir. It w-won't happen again." Matthias began, "I-"

"I've heard that from you one too many times." Bentheon said, eyeing Matthias with cold disdain. "The most worthless soldier I've ever encountered, the greatest encumbrance any military could be forced to put up with. You are clearly determined to become the bane of my life, and to give cessation to any chances I have of advancing myself."

Matthias could not defend himself. His performance was deplorable, and there was no kind or understanding way to look at it. Even if he could defend himself, he lacked the necessary confidence. The captain could have gutted Matthias on the spot, or let the soldiers use him as target practice, or even send Matthias to the Court of Miracles. All were horrifying options, and Matthias knew that Bentheon was looking for a way to get the drafted knight out of his hair. Matthias presumed, quite correctly, that Bentheon was going to give an order for the sole purpose of getting Matthias killed.

Bentheon's face began to look slightly more calmed. "You are dismissed. Go to the front lines, soldier."

The words froze Matthias' heart mid-beat. "C-captain Bentheon, sir, you… you want me on the front lines of the invasion? Surely that's not-"

"Soldier." Bentheon repeated. "Are you _questioning_ my _orders_?"

"Ah!" Matthias jumped back, his heart quickening as the fear of being punished for disobedience came to him. "N-no sir. Right away, captain Bentheon!" Matthias responded, he backed away, all but running out of the room.

The room quieted down without words, and Bentheon turned back to his wine. He lifted the goblet up, but seemed to be too frustrated with what Matthias had reported to actually drink. Weeks of investigation down the drain… He couldn't fathom what some of his superiors were thinking, sending a soldier so utterly useless to him.

An inept, drafted soldier like Matthias had no place under Bentheon's command… he imagined that those back in Macedon were laughing at what they were forcing him to put up with. He made a mental note that, if he ever got back to Macedon, he'd tell his superiors exactly what he thought of their decision making capabilities.

He rose from his chair, leaving his goblet behind, and left the room.

* * *

><p>Morning came to the Ghoul's Teeth. A morning that would undoubtedly be filled with fear and anxiety. The Ghoul's Teeth was, after all, the residence of one of the most brutal bandit tribes in the continent.<p>

Each villager had been born into this environment. Living in fear of the Soothsires, praying everyday that their village wouldn't be targeted hoping that in the event of a raid, they would not be killed. It was a horrible way to live, but they could do nothing about it. There wasn't enough strong men to fight against the Soothsires, no way could the people escape.

Occasionally someone would try to escape, but even under the most favorable conditions, these attempts almost always ended tragically. The Soothsires were doing a remarkable job in keeping anyone from escaping.

The Ghoul's Teeth lived up to its name. Life here was like being chewed up in a demon's mouth, and you couldn't escape, the demon wouldn't even swallow to put an end to your misery.

Yet if the Soothsires were devils, then Sister Lena was an angel.

In the miserable, woeful life in the Ghoul's Teeth, the presence of this kind-hearted cleric was like a godsend. After just a few days of her presence, it seemed like every village in the Ghoul's Teeth loved the girl. During the Soothsire's raids, they had made the extra effort to keep her hidden until she decided to leave. Each village requested that she stay with them, where they could continue to hide her, but she declined every single time. She always left, to offer help to another village.

Eventually, the inevitable happened. When journeying from one village to the next, the Soothsires caught her. They took her to their castle, and, the villagers knew they'd never see her again. Their life of grief would continue.

* * *

><p>Hyman's eyes lazily opened, then closed back down. He rolled over onto his side, fidgeting to get into a comfortable position. Despite being awake, he wanted to lay down just a bit longer, keeping his eyes open seemed to sting just a bit.<p>

Then he remembered the cleric that had been captured yesterday, and smiled. With his eyes closed, he imagined how it would happen. He loved the twisting of the face, especially when the victim seemed so delicate. He loved the squirming, the convulsing…

But most of all, he loved the screaming, and begging.

His ecstatic glee for torture overrode his desire to keep on resting, and he sat up on the side of his bed. Eyes moved to his trophies, a few of which were remains of those he had tortured to death, some of which had been… quite defiant and stoic in the face of his torture. He was always irritated when someone he was torturing seemed capable of spiting him like that to the very end.

The cleric, he imagined, would not be particularly stoic in the face of the pain he could, and would, inflict.

He doubted that the cleric was even awake at this hour of the morning. Her sleep would be disrupted by the sound of clinking blades and prongs, all ready to rip her skin back.

With a cruel grin, Hyman reached for the keys on his necklace, in just a few minutes, the cleric would-

His hand touched his chest where the keys would be, but he didn't feel the familiar metallic object. He patted his hand around his chest, searching for the key, but still didn't feel it. He looked down and his eyes widened, the rope of his necklace was cut, and the keys were missing.

Did he accidentally cut it with his axe while sleeping? He looked around the bed and the floor, there was no sign of the keys. He bolted off the bed, scanning furiously through the room.

Just as he was ready to tear the room apart in his search, he heard the door swing open. He spun around as a Soothsire stepped in. Hyman held his axe firmly and growled, preparing for any potential lunge this lesser bandit could make, but the intruding Soothsire wasn't armed, and didn't seem to want to attack Hyman.

"Chief! The cleric… she's escaped!"

Hyman blinked, then looked down at his necklace. Someone must have stolen it during the night… but who could have done that? He looked at the door, then it occurred to him that the door hadn't been locked when the lesser Soothsire had come. He knew for a fact that he had locked it, and-

"Julian." He seethed. The only Soothsire with the finesse to pull off something like this. Everyone else was too focused on brute force, his list of potential suspects was a narrow one. He pointed a finger at the Soothsire in his room, "You. Get everyone awake and ready, we're heading out. Find the cleric, and the traitor who freed her. Bring them both to me…"

Hyman didn't know the expression on his face, but whatever it was, it made the Soothsire in front of him, who was just as murderous as Hyman, shudder prior to nodding at the order.

* * *

><p>The morning sun was continuing its rise, its rays chasing down and annihilating the last few strands of the nightly darkness. The light illuminated the Ghoul's Teeth from above a cloudy blanket, from the Soothsire castle, to the small villages that the Soothsires preyed on, all was visible. Had it not been for the Soothsires, the peaks would have been a peaceful, tranquil place to retreat to. Everyone remained in their house, for fear that leaving at this hour might be construed by the Soothsires as an escape attempt.<p>

At this time, when everyone was in their house, likely huddled together in fear, the sun shone its light on two curious figures, who were outside and running.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Julian urged as he slowed down to let Lena catch up to him. "Come on, sun is up and rising, Lena. We get slow, the Soothsires will rip our ankles off and tie them to our faces."

"Julian…" Lena slowed her pace and looked back at the Soothsire castle, "I'm sorry, Julian. The Soothsires still has my Mend staff… I've had that staff for years, and helped too many people with it, I can't just leave-"

"No, no, no, no, _no_, Lena." Julian cut her off, slipping behind her and giving her a harsh shove to keep her moving. "You did not just talk me into breaking you out only for you to tell me that you want to go back. The staff can wait."

"Julian, please." Lena said softly, "More then a staff, it's a symbol of what I am. Please, I cannot just leave it behind, let me-"

"Oh come _on_, Lena." He took his hand off her back momentarily as one hand clutched at his forehead. "Do you really think that you can sneak into the Soothsires castle, take it back from the boss, and sneak back out? Let me handle that some time when I don't need to worry about you. Now let's-"

His words were cut off by the sensation of something wet hitting the top of his head. Tilting his head up, he saw the dark clouds above him, accompanied by a rumbling sound.

"Oh great." Julian muttered as the image of storm clouds registered on him, the last thing he needed was trying to sneak into the Soothsire castle when it was wet and slippery. "Lena, there is no way we're going back to the Soothsire base if it's raining. We clear on that?"

A small drizzle began to pelt her hair as she tried to look back at the castle, "I can't just replace that staff, Julian, if they sell it before I can get it back, I-"

"Okay, Lena. Okay. I get it, it's important, I'll come back a few day later when it's dry. All you need to focus on right now is… _run_!" He gave her a hard shove on the back, nearly knocking her to the ground, but she managed to regain her orientation and break into a run.

Lena made a silent, mental prayer for Julian's safety. He was risking too much to die on the escape…

* * *

><p>The Altean army, first thing in the morning, had begun its march. It was a quiet march, the Ghoul's Teeth seemed to suck away any real enthusiasm from the army. The peaks were foreboding and sinister, every rocky spire seemed likely to be hiding dozens of the Soothsire bandits behind it.<p>

They had yet to find the Soothsires themselves, but the bandits, wherever they were, had left plenty of traces behind. The Soothsires, as some of the soldiers learned back in Galder, tended to kill first and check to see if you were holding valuables later. Sickeningly, corpses were thrown across the trail that Marth was traversing, many of them were already in a skeletal state. Some corpses seemed more recent, flesh still attached to the bones, with vultures gorging themselves on what remained of the Soothsire's victim.

There was an undeniable scent of death in the air. The soldiers did not speak, but it was clear that many wished to get out of the Ghoul's Teeth as fast as possible. Subconsciously, many began to quicken their pace.

A low rumbling sound could be heard in the distance. Jagen looked at the origin of the rumble, his eyes narrowed.

"Rain." He muttered, and judging from the size of the clouds starting to stretch out over the Ghoul's Teeth, it would be more then a mere summer shower. "Prince Marth…"

"I see it, Jagen." The prince answered, not slowing his movement. He looked mildly irritated at the hindrance ahead of them, but did not as much as blink. "We're still moving."

"Of course, sire." Jagen answered, his horse still trotting at an even pace beside the prince. The aged knight had his reservation about marching through such a dangerous, harrowing area when rain was coming, but kept them to himself. It would make for a long, miserable march through hostile territory, and a difficult battle against uphill odds if they encountered the Soothsires.

The rest of the company continued on without words, even as the rain came. First a drizzle, then a stronger rain, Caeda brought her Pegasus down and let it trot along the ground after the rain began to irritate the creature. The prideful creature, however, seemed vexed to be walking beside regular horses. The proud steeds that Cain and Abel rode, in turn, seemed to dislike the Pegasus.

Darros scanned the area uncomfortably. The aura of murderous rage in the peaks was something he was unfortunately familiar with. It was a thing he could almost taste…

_There be no avoidin' a skirmish t'day._ He knows. He had been part of a crew that projected this same sense of murderous rage… and he knew just how weak the reasoning abilities were of those who had this aura linked to them. He turned to his new allies, some were tense, but many, he knew, were oblivious to this feeling.

* * *

><p>The Soothsires were moving out, but today was a unique day for them. Most of the time they went out to hunt for travelers and to torment the villagers, sometimes these things were for money, other times for pleasure. Yet today… it was seek and destroy. The latest prisoner, along with a traitor Soothsire, had fled.<p>

They were separated into three groups. One stayed with Hyman at the castle, in case someone thought they could ransack the Soothsire vault. The second charged away from the castle, looking for the runaways on the beaten bath. The final group, which contained Navarre, was searching a more subtle, hidden passage that a Soothsire like Julian would use.

Navarre stood silent, even as his group charged ahead of him. The rain was coming down, covering his face in a layer of cool water. The rain seemed to plaster his long hair to his face, but he paid it no mind. He began to move, his sword, a unique, nimble blade called the 'Killing Edge', moved with him.

His movements were precise and quick, he didn't seem to run so much as slide, and in mere moments he had moved past his group. His only interest was in efficiently fulfilling his objective, then returning to the castle.

* * *

><p>Julian slid down a slope gone slippery from the rain. He turned to watch Lena, with an irritating slowness, carefully go down the slope, making sure the ground was firm under her, every step. She could have easily jumped and let him catch her…<p>

He impatiently watched as she got to the base, and the two were off again. Julian decided to use a less obvious route, and led them through some foliage. The water dripped off the leaves and branches as they moved through the thick foliage, more then once the two of them cringed at the feeling of water sliding down their neck, under their collar, and down their back.

_Lousy rain…_

Julian mentally mused as he held a branch out of the way for Lena to pass by it. He released it as she passed, and quickly moved back in front of her, he brushed another branch out of the way, and peered through the foliage. His eyes looked for any sign of the Soothsires… at this point, his old gang couldn't still be oblivious to Lena's escape. A day of rain was a day where they'd love to kick back, and enjoy torturing one of their victims. The Soothsires were likely already searching the Ghoul's Teeth.

Though his eyes were looking for Soothsires searching the path below them, he instead found a unit of warriors whom he clearly had not expected to see. An entourage escorting someone through the Ghoul's Teeth? Or perhaps just some mercenaries looking to get to their destination the fastest way possible?

Before he could give anymore thought to this group, he heard a subtle sound from… above him? Very far above him. Lena didn't even seem to notice the sound. A sound… like stomping. His face grimaced as he realized a band of Soothsires were closing in. He and Lena needed to start moving again.

* * *

><p>The march quickly became wet and… unpleasant. Castor found himself more then a little irked by their situation. As a former citizen of Talys, he was used to water, everyone in Talys was used to water. Yet he were used to it washing up on the beaches and shores, and seeing the ships cruising though it, water falling on him in sheets wasn't something anyone of Talys enjoyed.<p>

More then once, a soldier's boots had gotten mired in the newly formed mud, and had to stop for a second to pull the foot free. Jagen and Malledus bade the soldiers to keep moving, despite any reservations anyone might be feeling.

Cain squinted his eyes, trying to peer through the rain to what laid ahead. The rain fell onto his face, but his eyes were unbothered. He noticed something in the distance, something moving. Even with the clouds blocking the sun, he still saw the gleam off an axe, and knew exactly what it was.

"Soothsires." Cain pointed at the distance, the figures were oblivious to the presence of the knights, the bandits seemed to be carefully searching for something. Marth saw the bandits, and took his Rapier out, everyone else followed suit, taking out and prepping their weapons.

"Are they looking for something?" Gordin asked, taking a step forward, examining the bandits. There was an arrow on the string of his bow already, he was ready to raise the bow the moment an order was given.

"More likely, they're looking for some_one_." Abel said, holding his sword firmly.

Could the Soothsires be looking for the Altean army? No, impossible. They had likely received word of another traveler passing through the area. It was fortunate that their thorough search had left them unaware of Altea's presence.

"Ogma." Marth called, "Can I depend on you to handle the rear by yourself? We need as many of us concentrated on the front as possible. We can't risk being surrounded."

"Of course, sire." Ogma said, backing away. "You needn't fear, I'll see to it that no Soothsire can reach you from behind." He turned and began to walk away, he would have to get far away from the rest of the army to ensure that a bandit group would focus entirely on him.

Bord seemed discomforted as Ogma walked off. The captain was an excellent combatant, and no Soothsire could match him, of course. There was nothing to fear. Yet Bord couldn't shake a feeling in his gut… but he followed orders and stayed with the rest of the army.

* * *

><p>Julian landed almost artfully at the base of the last slope. Safety and haven should be theirs once they got out of the Ghoul's Teeth. He turned back as Lena began to slowly move down the slope, he mentally noted that he should have just picked her up and carried her down. He looked beyond her, and could see an indistinct figure in the distance. The Soothsires were catching up, Lena clearly knew nothing about urgent speed. The thief turned back as Lena reached the bottom of the slope, then began to urge her forward with a forceful shove.<p>

He looked around the wet area near the base of the slope. The coast was clear. Getting out of the Ghoul's Teeth was now just a skip and a hop-

"Hey!" Julian's head jerked up at the voice. It came from a muscled swordsman, certainly not a resident of the peaks, too hardened looking, yet too clean and pleasant to be a Soothsire. "What are you doing to her?"

Ogma came up to Julian, a scornful expression on him as he took his sword out. "Thug. Let me ask you again, what are you-"

"Whoa, man. Easy, I haven't done-" he looked at Lena, and realized that this man was misinterpreting why he was shoving the cleric. He turned back to the swordsman with a worried, unbalanced expression. "Look, you've got it all wro-"

"I believe I have it quite right." Ogma said, scowling at what he was certain was a Soothsire abusing a traveler. "Bandit scum. I-"

"Wait!" Lena yelled, putting herself between Julian and Ogma. "Please, sir, wait. Julian is helping me escape. He turned his back on the bandit life to get me to safety. You have no quarrel with him…"

Ogma came forward, looking at her with an astonished expression. "Yet the way this… Julian, was pushing you along… how do I know you haven't been threatened in order to defend him?"

"Sir, I am Lena, a simple cleric, and my words are true. You could easily kill him, what could I gain from trying to defend him at this point?" She didn't move from her position, making sure that striking Julian would mean going through her first. "As surely as the gods are guiding me, I will say that Julian is a good man. He is not an enemy of any virtuous or honorable person."

There was a pause in the mercenary, he examined Lena very carefully. Her expression was pleading, something very important seemed to hinge on him believing her words. He sighed, then relaxed himself. "If a cleric feels so strongly that he is a just man, that will be all I need." He nodded, putting his sword away.

Lena felt the relief course through her, then smiled. "After everything he's done for me today, I cannot let death be his reward. I thank you for your understanding, um…" she waited for him to identify himself.

"Ogma." he said, "I and my allies are trying to go through the Ghoul's Teeth, I'm making sure no one is approaching us from behind."

"Um… excuse me?" Julian interrupted, drawing the irritated gaze of Ogma. "We're kinda being chased by the Soothsires, and-"

"There are Soothsires coming?"

"Yes. They should have been right behind us, and-" he started to turn his head to look up the slope, and saw the pursuit. "Oh no."

"Julian?" Lena asked, "How close are they?"

"W-well… the Soothsires are probably still a ways away, but… we're dead." Julian swallowed hard at the sight, "Navarre is heading the search for us."

Ogma suddenly froze. For a moment, he believes that his ears played a trick on him, that Julian did not name the name Ogma believes he just named.

No such luck. Ogma knew exactly what he had heard.

This man, who had been fighting for years, and won more then his share of losing battles, found it to be a struggle to keep his fear buried deep down. He reached out and grabbed Julian by the shoulder, "Did you just say that _Navarre_ is here?"

"You… know the name?" Julian looked up nervously at the long-haired man coming down. Almost gliding down the slopes sluiced with rain, Navarre was moving fast… faster then a horse would move on a flat plain.

"Get out of here." Ogma pointed in the direction he had come from. "Meet up with my group, they'll protect you. Tell them that the Ghoul's Teeth just became much more dangerous, because Navarre is here."

"Sir? Ogma?" Lena found herself raising an eyebrow at how the situation seemed to have become much more dire in Ogma's eyes. Was it because of Navarre? She had crossed many lands in her life, but only heard the name 'Navarre' once or twice. "Ogma, what are you say-"

"Go!" Ogma brought his sword forward and took a step back, "You don't have any say in the matter. Let me handle this."

Lena winced, but reluctantly nodded. Julian grabbed her by the shoulder, and the two were off. Just in time, because Navarre was just a few seconds away from the base of the slope.

The myrmidon landed across from Ogma in a kneeling position with his eyes closed. Slowly, Navarre rose and opened his eyes. Eyes icy cold, without the slightest shred of empathy, focused on Ogma. Ogma found himself gripped by a very real fear, one look at Navarre, and he knew without a doubt that it was the man. Burying his fear deep down in a pit where he couldn't feel it, he put both of his hands on his sword and prepared himself for battle.

Navarre noted Ogma's presence, and readiness for battle, but regarding him not as a threat, but more like a pothole on the road that he'd have to walk around.

"We meet again, Navarre."

Navarre raised an eyebrow at the words, and looked at Ogma a little harder. Noting the scars and wounds of long past battles on the man, clearly no recent fool who picked up the sword.

He pondered for a moment, then rid his mind of the thought. The swordsman had no interest in any knowledge about a man who was meaningless to him. He subtly brought the thin blade of the Killing Edge forward. A sudden flash of lightning from the storm above them accented the movement, seemingly reaffirming Navarre's unfeeling nature toward death.

"You're in my way. Move."

Ogma kept his eyes on Navarre's sword. He would wait for Navarre to make the first move, he would not be so foolish as to leave an opening. His lack of movement served as his response to Navarre's command.

Navarre's eyes did not squint in frustration or aggravation at the sight of his words being ignored. Instead, he merely hunched down, then charged straight at Ogma.

Even with his prior experience regarding the man, Ogma was shocked at Navarre's speed. Reacting without thinking, he rolled to the left, and let Navarre's sword stab through empty air.

Briefly sliding uncontrollably on the wet ground, Ogma got back to his feet, readying his sword. If Navarre had been surprised that he had not ended the fight with his first attack, he had quickly brushed the feeling aside and was already flowing to his next strike. He charged again, this time his sword slashed rather then stabbed, this move would rip Ogma's chest open if it connected.

Ogma jumped back, the blade that would have struck fatally instead fell short, the sword's reach ended less then an inch from his chin.

He wasn't going to get anywhere just dodging Navarre's attacks. Ogma held his sword firmly and charged, keeping his defense up as he approached, as he neared his sword rose up and then swung down, but Navarre was already gone before the blade was even falling down to strike into the muddy ground. Ogma turned to see Navarre coming at him and raised his sword in defense. Navarre's thin blade would have no chance to break through Ogma's broadsword, before the weapons connected Navarre disengaged from his attack and moved to the left.

Ogma swung his sword in the direction Navarre moved to. Navarre leaned back, letting the horizontal slash sail over him, then retaliated with his own attack. Ogma jumped back before the sword could bite into the flesh of his neck.

The two warriors stood at a distance for a moment. Ogma was breathing heavily, having not fought this cautiously, or had so many close calls, in a very, _very_ long time.

In comparison, Navarre was completely at ease. He stood almost perfectly still, not drawing breath. Yet for a moment, just a moment, his eyes seemed to flicker and reveal annoyance, before returning to their old expression.

The rain pelted their shoulders, dripping off of their faces and developing into puddles on the ground. Ogma was starting to feel the first strains of exhaustion, yet Navarre seemed unbothered.

The Soothsires that Navarre was supposed to be leading didn't have near the same amount of speed as the myrmidon did. It might be nearly half an hour before they could reach this area.

Ogma charged, Navarre responded. The two flew across the wet slippery landscape and met. Their swords cut through the air… and they passed each other.

They had slashed past each other, then stood still, their backs to each other. For a moment, it looked like they had both failed to strike their target, then Navarre straightened up out of his fighting stance, and flicked some blood off of his sword.

Ogma held his sword firmly, then grimaced at a deep cut Navarre had administered to his left arm. Not a life-threatening wound, or even a disabling one, but…

Navarre was already ready to continue the fight. He turned around, unsympathetic to Ogma's pain.

His expression didn't change, and he merely readied for the next exchange. Across from him, Ogma was trying, with mixed results, to ignore the pain in his left arm. At the very least it wasn't his preferred arm that had been slashed, but this would still have an acute, detrimental effect on his two-handed swordplay. His now injured arm quivered as it obeyed Ogma and readied for more combat.

* * *

><p>The Soothsires were scanning the area fervently, even through the miserable rain. Bare feet were splashing through the puddles, as they continued to investigate the area. It was clear that none of them actually wanted to be out here, sloshing through the mud, looking for an escaped prisoner and a traitor. More then a few of them would have been willing to accept that the two got away to get back to the comfortably dry castle. The only thing stopping them was Hyman… none would dare disobey the strongest Soothsire's order. So they continued their search.<p>

Navarre's group should cut off any attempt to actually escape the Ghoul's Teeth, allowing them to continue searching. Hopefully, they would eventually sandwich the runaway cleric and the traitor, and they could get out of this rain.

A sound was suddenly heard. An odd thumping sound. The bandits presumed it to be the sound of a few rocks loosened by the rain and tumbling down the slant of a peak.

They didn't realize it was the galloping of knights.

One bandit used his muscled arm to pull some foliage out of the way. The path he revealed behind the branches was large enough for someone to hide in… the bandit contemplated investigating it, but then he was dead.

It happened so suddenly that his compatriots weren't aware of what had happened until the bandit made his death cry. The sword of Cain had ripped through the bandit's shoulder, then immediately gone up and inflicted fatal damage to his head.

"What-" one bandit turned at the sound of the scream to see Cain. Almost immediately, a green knight, and a slew of others were charging at the bandits.

"Who are-" One the bandits tried to speak, but died instantly on Barst's axe.

The bandits rose from their current activities and suddenly charged at these armed invaders in their territory. All thoughts of locating an escaped prisoner gone from their heads. Rallying in numbers, the Soothsires were a veritable wall of death. They descended upon these new enemies with all the murderous efficiency they had employed when attacking and raiding… but these were not the helpless villagers they were used to.

Abel and Darros headed the army's counter-charge. Abel's sword chopped several bandits up, one of them nearly getting decapitated by the green knight's sword. Darros' axe slashed through multiple bandits, spurting blood across the watery ground as the corpses began to pile up.

With the beating sound of her Pegasus' wings, Caeda and her lance swooped down to strike a bandit, then soared back up to safety. Pegasus were fragile creatures, and Caeda could ill afford to let the creature's feathers be as much as ruffled, when not on the attack, she was safely in the air.

The bandits shifted their tactics slightly, forming a ring around the army, then descending upon them again. They managed to advance upon the knights, and scored a few, non-fatal blows on some of them, which was more then what the Galder pirates had managed, but even with a numeric advantage and a terrain advantage, they were still outclassed. They could not press their advantage any further, and it quickly fell apart for them.

The bandits… couldn't have even been described as self-taught warriors. They were a little more skilled, a little smarter then the Galder pirates, but they were still thugs who thought they could get their way just by swinging an axe around. They were, quickly, being dismantled by the army.

It was not long before the entirety of the Soothsire search party was dead. Men who had probably spent years harassing and tormenting others had been laid to rest. Their corpses would be left to rot, just like those the Soothsires had taken advantage of before. Quickly, Wrys had dealt with what injuries had been received. That skirmish alone had injured them more then the entire fight with the Galder Pirates had, yet still no one had received a life-threatening injury.

Marth stopped for a moment to wipe some of the rain from his face. The bandits… had put up just slightly more of a fight then he had anticipated, considering that they had gotten the drop on them. He shook his head and sheathed his rapier, all to do now was to keep moving.

They should have been continuing the march, but a voice suddenly called out to them.

Jagen was the first to respond to this voice, turning around and brandishing his lance, maintaining a stance that would allow him to defend prince Marth. He relaxed, but did not completely let down his guard, when he saw a womon in white robes coming to them.

"Who are you?" Malledus asked, stepping out of the protective circle of the army.

"A cleric, sir. My name is Lena…" she motioned at a figure beside her, "…and this is Julian, he turned his back on the Soothsires to save me. When we were fleeing, we had a run in with a man named Ogma, he told us to seek you out. That we'd be safe with you."

Malledus took the words in and nodded. Not suspecting her of lying, few would be wandering around the Ghoul's Teeth without reason, especially a cleric. Though he regarded Julian somewhat skeptically, and his eyes were far from the others that had been cautiously placed on the former Soothsire. A bandit who suddenly changed his ways couldn't have been high on anyone's list of people to trust.

"He had a change of heart?" Marth asked as he walked up, eyeing Julian suspiciously, then turned to Darros, another man from a violent group who had turned to a more heroic cause. Darros was just staring at Julian, possibly pondering what to make of the thief, and didn't realize that Marth was comparing the two. He turned back to Julian. "I suppose he deserves to be able to prove any new found integrity."

"Of… of course I do." Julian said, his face eased, and a smile, somewhat cocky, crept across his face. Jagen and Malledus looked at the expression disapprovingly, but said nothing.

"Before we go anywhere else…" Bord walked up to the two, momentarily putting his axe away. He eyed Julian somewhat skeptically, but directed no words at the thief specifically. "You two saw captain Ogma? How is he doing?"

"Um…" Julian looked back for a second. "Well, he was fine when we saw him, but-"

"He had a message for you." Lena said, she was also looking back in the direction they came from, as if she expected to see something. "He said 'Tell them that the Ghoul's Teeth just became much more dangerous, because Navarre is here'."

Bord, Cord, and Barst froze in their tracks, and several of the knights looked around uncomfortably. Each of them thinking back to the story Ogma had told.

"Navarre?" Caeda came up, "The same Navarre that he ran into years ago?"

"He seemed to recognize him, yeah." Julian said, "Navarre isn't much of a talker, but… well, Ogma looked strong, but you wouldn't understand how skilled this guy is without seeing it yourself. I'm not sure Ogma stands much of a chance."

"No. He doesn't." Caeda agreed, " I'm sure Ogma has improved since he encountered Navarre last time, but he won't be able to win. I need to go back." Impulsively, she bade her Pegasus to take her away to where Ogma was before anyone else could stop her.

"Caeda!" Marth yelled as he reached out a hand, yet Caeda was already too far away, and his words drowned under the rain. He could already picture her getting killed. Back in Talys, some of his knights had told him about Navarre after Ogma had told them… he couldn't see Caeda being able to best the man, or spirit Ogma away from him. Not by herself at least.

"Sire, how do we respond to this?" Jagen asked, waiting for an order to follow.

"Caeda won't be able to stand against this Navarre if he's even half as skilled as I think he is, but I can't just have everyone double back, the Soothsires may realize some of their numbers disappeared." He was breathing hard, panicking, thinking out loud, trying to devise something that could allow him to deal with two things at once, then shook his head. "Gordin, Norne, go after her, make sure she stays safe."

"Us, sire?" Gordin asked.

"Get her back safely." Marth said, his words came out quietly, almost impossible to hear under the sound of rain. It was an order, but it almost seemed to have an unspoken threat of consequences for failure.

The two archers stared for a moment, then nodded. Norne ran off first, followed by Gordin.

"I'm not sure archers will do any good against Navarre." Julian said, "I mean, I'm sure those two are good, but…"

"I don't have a choice." Marth answered, Julian winced at the sight of Marth's hands clenching into fists. "I… can't act emotionally. I need my strongest for our offense. I can't-"

"Sir, please don't be afraid." Lena said with a comforting tone, getting Marth's attention. "If her desire to help is selfless, I'm sure things will work out for her." She turned to Julian, a former Soothsire who appeared to help her in the nick of time. Julian wasn't even aware that Lena was looking at him, and simply continued to watch the archers disappear into the distance.

"Sire. We don't have time to not be moving." Malledus said, though he shared Julian's sentiment that archers would likely do little good. He turned to the distance, "We must keep our pace up, the only thing between us and Aurelis, is that castle." He squinted his elderly eyes to peer through the rain, seeing a small castle, it looked like a temporary base.

"Ah-" Julian took a step forward, "That's the Soothsire base of operations." He slapped a hand onto his face and moaned to himself. "Oh man, don't tell me that I just circled around the Ghoul's Teeth."

* * *

><p>There was little known about Navarre outside of his reputation. His tendency to almost never speak, combined with the efficiency of his blade, made him seem somehow inhuman, and many of his employers preferred not to speak about what little about him they might learn. Not an actual person, no, he was more like a demon, his sword rending flesh with unfeeling speed.<p>

Ogma felt his muscles weakening, his strength being sapped faster then he anticipated in this duel. Yet Navarre wasn't even breathing hard… Ogma wasn't even sure if Navarre had drawn breath once during the battle.

With a groan, Ogma forced his muscles to move and began another charge, his sword seeking to bite into Navarre's hip. Navarre easily evaded the attack, and countered with a hard kick to Ogma's chin, the mercenary fell backwards onto the wet ground, his eyes looking straight up into the grim, stormy skies. Another bolt of lightning flashed as Ogma weakly raised his head to see Navarre slowly approaching him. Ogma survived an encounter with this man before, but…

The myrmidon slowly rose his sword to perform the killing blow, Ogma's eyes clenched tightly shut as the sword came down-

"_Navarre_!"

Their was a pause as Ogma felt nothing. Nothing save the feel of rain pelting him. Cautiously he opened his eyes to see that Navarre's sword had stopped above him. Slowly, Navarre pulled the Killing Edge back to his side, his eyes already on the intruder in the duel. Ogma wasn't sure what direction the voice had come from, and was forced to look in the direction that Navarre was looking.

"No." Ogma breathed as he saw the familiar Pegasus grounded only a few meters away from them, with Caeda already dismounting. "Cae… princess Caeda, get out of here! Stay in the air! This man… is too dangerous."

"Navarre." Caeda said as she approached, her eyes glanced at Ogma, beaten, slashed, and defeated. Her eyes moved back to Navarre. "How can a swordsman of your skill willingly serve murderous thugs?"

"Who are you?" Navarre took a step toward her, Ogma felt as though his heart had stopped, fully expecting Caeda to be chopping to pieces if she didn't try to flee on her Pegasus. Navarre didn't take any further movements with his arms or his legs. "Leave. Remaining here will offer you nothing, save your own grave."

"Navarre, please."

Ogma blinked, realizing that Caeda was trying to reason with Navarre, make him turn his back on the Soothsires. What was she thinking? Navarre was a monster, a demon. He could not be reasoned with. She had to run! Couldn't she see that?

"Princess!" Gordin called out as he and Norne arrived at the scene. Navarre's eyes shifted to them as they were loading arrows on their bowstrings, Navarre looked ready to move to intercept. He could _easily_ strike them both down before they unleashed any arrows.

"Stop." Caeda commanded, raising a hand in their direction, the two archers froze. "Do not give him a reason to come after you." She took a step toward Navarre, she could hear everyone's unspoken plea to not get closer to the man, but she continued to advance toward him. She was now at a distance where he could bisect her with one simple motion. "Navarre, why fight for soulless killers when you can fight for people with virtue? Your sword cannot be pleased to fight for such an empty cause and slay at the command of some bandit chief."

Gordin swallowed hard, it was a completely suicidal game Caeda was playing. He had his bow lowered, following Caeda's order to not provoke Navarre, but…

"Please, fight with us. Our cause is just… worthy of a man of your skill." Caeda said, then, with a more sullen tone added "Or kill us, if virtue means so little to you."

"Kill you?" Navarre raised his sword and pointed it directly at Caeda's throat. She took in a deep breath as the other three present collectively held theirs. For a man as indifferent to killing, it seemed obvious what would happen. Ogma felt, no, he _knew_, that Navarre was about to kill Caeda, and he couldn't even summon the strength to stand.

"Nay." Navarre said, slowly lowering his sword. Ogma blinked in confusion as Navarre began to limply hold his sword at his side. "This sword is withheld from the flesh of defenseless women. And children."

Caeda breathed a sigh of relief, but still held herself between Navarre and Ogma.

"If you would use your life to bargain my services, then consider yourself the higher bidder." Navarre said, releasing most of the tension in him. Ogma, slowly, began to get back to his feet, using his sword as a crutch, as the archers approached.

"You… you're joining us?" Ogma breathed hard, His cautious eyes were on the myrmidon. One slight movement he didn't like, and Ogma would kill him. The suspicions he held in his mind regarding overrode the knowledge of the fact that he barely stood a chance against Navarre when rested and ready. Trying to attack Navarre now was effectively suicide.

"Do you desire proof?" Navarre inclined his head up the slope, Ogma followed the movement to see approaching Soothsires, almost upon them. The tension of the standoff with Navarre must have resulted in them relegating the sound of the Soothsire's approach as unimportant.

One Soothsire was ahead of the pack. He ignored Navarre, still believing him to be a loyal sellsword. Instead, the bandit moved right to Caeda, fully intending to sink his axe into her beautiful face. Navarre made one swift motion with the Killing Edge, killing the bandit, roughly one whole meter from Caeda. Before the body had even fallen done, Navarre was racing toward the rest of the Soothsires.

One of the Soothsires had exceptionally quick reflexes, his eyes managed to widen in doomed realization before he fell to Navarre along with all the others. In mere moments, the blood beneath Soothsire corpses seemed to displace the puddles of rainwater.

Gordin gulped hard. "He's… um, quite skilled." He took a step back as Navarre began to walk back to them, blood splattered across the fabric of his clothes. As he reached them, he stopped moving and simply stood silently, seemingly waiting for an order.

"One of his skills being his ability to leave you too scared to move just by standing still." Norne said, almost trembling. "Maybe we should approve of him before he gets mad." Putting her bow away, she began to nervously eye the long-haired man, just happy that that his eyes didn't turn to her.

Ogma looked at the Soothsire corpses for a moment, he couldn't comprehend how any human not raised by Manaketes could be as indifferent to killing as Navarre was. He shook his head of the thought, instead positioning himself between Navarre and Caeda… just in case.

"We need to head back." Ogma said, "I was supposed to be watching the rear, but I believe that you…" he focused his eyes on Navarre, "…just took out every Soothsire that might strike from the rear. We have no further business here, now is the time to return to our allies."

* * *

><p>Through the rain, it became harder to make out distinct figures. Hyman was fully aware of this. Yet he had spotted a woman wearing white approaching the castle, it didn't take a whole lot of brain power to know that it was the cleric. Not far from her was an all too familiar thief… the traitor Julian was also returning. He smiled, his time of the day would been well spent after all. The escape attempt had failed.<p>

True, it hadn't occurred quite as early in the day as he had originally planned, but no matter. He, and the other Soothsires, would likely be soothed by the screams of the cleric and the traitor.

The thoughts of the torture danced in his head for a moment, and he gazed straight at Julian. Imagining the regretful expression he'd have as Hyman tortured him to death gave Hyman a sadistic thrill. The thrill would be even greater when he saw the expression first hand, and-

Hyman blinked. As the figures drew closer, he noticed that Julian and the cleric weren't bound, nor did they seem to be moving against their will. He also noticed that the ones with the two were-

"Chief!" One Soothsire pointed to the distance, having spotted the same thing Hyman just did. "Those aren't-"

"I can see that, you stupid-" he cut off the lesser bandit, then trailed off himself. For a moment, he wondered where these men had come from, but dissuaded the thought in the same moment. "Kill them! Now! I don't care about the cleric."

"Huh…" Julian stiffened as a mass of Soothsires moved forward. "Thought they'd realize what was going on sooner then that…" He took a dagger out, not that he was honestly capable of fighting his old crew. A thief wouldn't fight straight-forward anyway, he approached much more slowly then the others in the army.

Lena felt her stomach churn at the reality that corpses were about to be piling up… and she without her Mend staff to treat anyone. She turned to the other present wielder of a staff. She had not yet learned the name of the Father yet, but she sensed a discomfort in him in regards to what was happening, even as he brought his staff out. She had no staff of her own, she was incapable of doing anything.

With the Soothsires charging, one of the knights mounted on a horse grabbed Lena by the shoulder and pulled her back behind everyone else before charging.

Lena gawked at the battle, which she couldn't do anything about right now. Soothsire bodies began to build up, but more then once, an axe succeeded in tearing through the armor of a knight. The Father brought his staff up, knitting the torn flesh back together, and Lena could not help him in his task, which was hers just as much as his.

There weren't any Soothsires still in the castle. Everyone had emptied out for the task today, there was no threat of reinforcements.

Hyman watched the battle unfold, and mentally cursed at the lack of Navarre's presence. If that swordsman had been here, the battle would have been won before one could honestly say that it had begun.

He clenched his teeth in rage as more Soothsires fell, some with limbs missing, others with parts of their bodies chopped open. How were they… were they so stupid as to not target the curate? Without that old man, they'd have likely killed quite a few of them by now.

One Soothsire did try to attack the curate, but was stopped by a regally dressed boy. The Soothsire was put on the defensive against the boy who looked much, much weaker then the bandit. The exchange between sword and axe was short, Julian managed to saunter behind the bandit and stab his knife into the bandit's shoulder, followed quickly afterwards by a fatal stab from the boy.

After several minutes, the Soothsires were all defeated, save their chief.

Hyman grunted, acknowledging the fact that every one of his boys that had stayed at the Soothsire castle were now dead. He shook his head, apathetic and uncaring to the fate of other Soothsires. He glowered at the small army as he stepped into the rain-drenched battlefield.

"You fools must all have a death-wish, coming to the Ghoul's Teeth like this. We've dealt with you pampered sorts before, make all the progress you can, these mountains still belong to the Soothsires."

"Not for much longer." Abel said, taking his sword in hand and approaching the Soothsire chief. Hyman scowled at the knight as both began to adopt fighting stances. Hyman scanned around, the others with the knight were ready to join in on the fighting as well. Individually, they would have been nothing to him, he was sure of that. All of them together? He wasn't sure.

If only Navarre hadn't been sent out…

"Hey, we're back!" Norne called, breaking the concentration of several present, Hyman included. He focused his eyes beyond the interlopers in Soothsire territory to see two archers, a scarred, seemingly recently wounded man, and a Pegasus Knight approach.

"You're safe." Cain noted, genuinely surprised as he eyed Ogma's wounds, and the strain on the mercenary's face. Navarre must have been fiendishly skilled to inflict an injury like that… but it seems that they defeated this vaunted swordsman that Ogma had had a previous encounter with. "All that's left is this one, then the Ghoul's Teeth is behind us."

"Really?" Caeda tilted her head and grinned. Marth turned and looked at her quizzically, like there was some joke she had just made that he didn't quite catch. Hyman's grip on his axe tightened at Caeda's tone, doubtless he was angered that she had regarded him as if he was just some dog to shoo out of the path. "Let's let our newest recruit deal with him."

"Me?" Julian looked around nervously, checking the dagger in his hand. He glanced at Hyman for a second, who also seem mildly confused, then turned to Caeda. "W-wait, you can't seriously be saying that I should… ah!" his words were cut off as he saw the approach of a figure behind Caeda.

A swordsman was stepping through the pouring rain.

Blood splattered the man's clothes, clinging to the fabric more tenaciously then the sluicing rain water. He was indifferent to the red liquid that covered him, and simply continued his approach. An aura of death permeated him, an aura that seemed to unnerve all present on this battlefield.

His eyes were open, revealing icy cold orbs that were wholly committed to whatever his objective was. Not once did they flicker or waver, not for the smallest fraction of a fraction of a second did his eyes glance to the side to indulge in some idle curiosity.

The sword in his hand, too, was committed to its goals. Another swordsman's blade might whisper of previous battles, of the numbers slain on its edge… this one was silent, simply waiting mutely for battle.

Hyman's eyes widened in shock as he recognized him, relief suddenly flowed through him. "Ah, it seems my… secret weapon has arrived." He smiled, then pointed a finger, "Navarre, your employer commands you to kill them all."

Navarre didn't move, even as several members of Marth's army bared their weapons threateningly. Caeda still seemed at ease, standing right next to Navarre. Hyman raised an eyebrow at Navarre's lack of movement.

"Navarre, did you not hear me? Your employer commands you to-"

"You've been outbid for his services." Caeda said, turning to Navarre, who had come to a stop right beside her. "The Soothsire chief has gleefully committed too much murder to be allowed to live, Navarre." She spoke slowly, Navarre began walking again, until he passed Marth, and stood across from a shocked, and at this point, horrified Hyman.

"You… you can't be serious." Hyman's mouth hanged open as his heart pounded in realization, and denial, of what just happened. "No… Navarre, think of all the money I have. Gold from a lifetime of raiding… do you truly believe that some wench has something more valuable then that?"

"The value of life means more then gold and jewels." Caeda said, "Navarre isn't as completely heartless as you thought he was."

Hyman took a step back, but Navarre dashed forward. The bandit chief's eyes widened in terror, and that terror was one of the last things he ever felt. Not slipping or losing any traction on the wet ground, Navarre came up to his former employer, and slashed past him. Hyman's abdomen was ripped open, and he fell to his knees. He hadn't even have the strength to make one final threat at anyone present…

Navarre sheathed the Killing Edge as Hyman fell, blood pouring out of his gut. He tilted his head up, letting the rain wash down his face, not bothering to turn and confirm Hyman's death. Several of the soldiers stared at Navarre in awe. Even Jagen, who had experienced a lifetime of war, seemed somewhat shaken by the skill Navarre displayed in that single attack.

"Don't worry about him." Caeda said, coming up beside Marth on her Pegasus. For a moment, his thoughts weren't on Navarre, but on how she could take to the air on such a drenched creature. "Navarre is cold, but he's loyal to his employer, and I doubt anyone could outbid what I offered. You can trust him in our ranks."

"Are you sure?" Marth looked straight at Caeda for a moment, who nodded her assurance that Navarre would be loyal to the cause. Turning to the swordsman, Marth walked up to Navarre, nodded in recognition to the lethally skilled man. Malledus' face creased disapprovingly as Marth got near the man. "You will… aid us in our fight?"

Navarre, who still had his back to the army, turned to the prince. "You need only name your target." His hand gripped the hilt of his sword menacingly, then turned and began walking to the castle.

* * *

><p>After a battle in the rain, slipping into what had once been the Soothsire castle was a blessing. Though the uplifting effect was stifled somewhat by Navarre's presence. The myrmidon could sense disapproving eyes on him, but he paid them no mind.<p>

The castle was old, but not decrepit. It was a fine place to spend a night in. Though many rooms were… unsettling, some filled with bones, others filled with corpses. Julian explained these to be the remains of Soothsire victims. The entire army, save Navarre, were disturbed by the sheer amount of corpses in these rooms.

The entire structure stank of death and depravity. The Soothsires were said to be some of the cruelest and inhuman bandits in recent years, and the sights they saw more then added credence to that story.

If anyone had some hidden reservation about just walking in and killing the Soothsires, a quick look around the castle left them knowing that the Soothsires deserved death, even under the most forgiving mindset.

Rain pelted the windows, and seemed to add a sense of gloominess to the castle. Some of the soldiers might have, deep in their hearts, preferred to have spent the night out in the rain, and not in a castle where inhumanity after inhumanity had occurred at.

There was much meat still in edible conditions in the castle. Though Julian had to confirm that it was animal meat, and not parts of humans, before anyone would dare touch it.

After such a miserable, rain-soaked day, a meal was greatly appreciated. Malledus proved an able cook, and many of the soldiers were happy to eat indoors, out of the rain. They all ate hungrily, plates filled with boar, ox, and chicken meat, except for Navarre, who slowly picked at his food, seemingly having little appetite.

"I sensed you are discomforted, sir." Lena said as she finished his food. She had been privileged to eat with Marth, Caeda, and Jagen for tonight, and had since learned exactly who Marth and Caeda were. After they had sought sanctuary in the castle, Julian had found Lena's Mend staff and returned it to her. Shortly afterwards, he had located the castle's vault, where the Soothsires had kept splendor that rivaled the vault of Talys… though would have faltered when compared to what Marth remembered Altea having. It had been decided to use the money to finance Marth's army.

Jagen, the one Lena had addressed, didn't look up from his meal, that he was eating slowly.

"Are you skeptical about that man?" She turned to look at the rest of the group. Everyone was eating in the same room, Lena and the three others were simply eating in a more secluded part of the room. Her eyes focused on Navarre, who had already put his plate away, despite the fact that the swordsman had barely eaten anything.

"He… has already been let into the army." Jagen noted, he turned his head slightly, focusing his eyes on the myrmidon in question. "Though against my better judgment, and most likely, against the better judgment of many of the others as well."

Lena put her fork down and stopped eating for a moment. "Yet he is not evil-"

"I don't know what other word you could use to describe him." Jagen said, "Navarre is being neither manipulated or controlled, nor is he under some manner of possession. Navarre has, throughout his life, committed evil acts. Without feeling or remorse. He chose to do these things."

"But he doesn't live for it." Lena said. "His deeds have been atrocious and grotesquely immoral, I do not dispute that, and do merit some form of punishment, but he did not revel in his deeds. He does not appear to have ever enjoyed them."

"I wonder if he's capable of feeling any form of positive emotion." Jagen said quietly, "Navarre seems to be almost emotionally dead. He does not possess any honest integrity, and, as you said, he has committed atrocities. We may be… in a position where we need all the allies we can get, but I cannot condone accepting the help of someone with such nonexistent morality."

"He is better then bandits." Lena countered. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that he kills with purpose, but he does not kill for sick amusement."

Marth began to listen to the paladin and the cleric who were contesting Navarre. He looked over at the myrmidon, unsure himself as to whether he had a place in the army. Had it not been for Caeda, Marth most likely would not have never let the man in.

This was not a time to be picky about who to let into the army, not when their numbers were so few, but someone who had 'nonexistent morality', as Jagen put it, he could not be enthusiastic about accepting.

* * *

><p>"Navarre." Ogma said, the myrmidon turned to face him. Ogma crossed his arms, the wounds Navarre had given him today were already gone, courtesy of Wrys and Lena's work with their staffs. "You and I need to be clear on one thing."<p>

Navarre's expression didn't change.

"I don't trust you, and I can't say a single positive thing about you as a person. You may… outclass me, you may be far beyond my skill, but I have no intention of relying on you, or putting my faith in you, in any situation." He took a step toward Navarre, "Do you even remember me? We met before today, you were in the employ of Dolhr at the time. Your employer's asked you not to kill me, because they had something else in mind."

"…yes." Navarre said, "I do remember you. The mercenary who tried to pilfer a Magestone."

"So you remember me. Good." Ogma took a step back, and firmly gripped Navarre's shoulder. Any other person would have yelped at Ogma's hand crushing down like that, but Navarre only narrowed his eyes. "Then let me stress this, Navarre. You may have defeated me with minimal effort on two different occasions, but if you ever harm princess Caeda, if you even approach her or look at her in a way I don't like, I swear, I _will_ find a way to defeat, and kill, you."

"You would need much further training to accomplish such a deed." Navarre said, raising his arm and brushing Ogma's hand off his shoulder. After a moment of staring into Ogma's indignant, almost violent eyes, Navarre walked past the mercenary, the discussion seemingly already over in Navarre's eyes.

"I'm not done talking to you, Navarre, I-" he trailed off as the distance between them increased. "How can the princess not be bothered by his inclusion in our ranks?" he muttered, before spinning on his heel and walking away.

* * *

><p>"It would be much easier to just write Navarre off as 'evil'." Jagen said. "No matter how he may <em>feel<em> about his actions, in the final accounting, he has chosen to do these things. He kills good people, he slaughters innocents, he has made a living out of it. He may give no indication that he enjoys his actions, but neither does he appear to regret them, or put a stop to them."

"Yet he is no more 'pure evil' then anyone else could be called 'pure good." Lena said. "So long as he is not pure evil, there is hope for him. I am sure he will be a good member of the army."

"It is… unfair, to simply write him off as you wish to." Caeda interjected, "He deserves the chance to prove himself. Besides, he has agreed to assist us, and not for selfish reasons."

"Okay." Marth interrupted. "Navarre, no matter what anyone might think of him, is now part of this army. That won't change, unless he commits an indiscretion that can't be ignored." He turned to Lena, and decided to change the subject to other things. "Sister Lena, what are your plans now? You've escaped from the Soothsires now, and…"

"I…" Lena paused, and she realized that such a thought hadn't actually occurred to her. She had originally planned to continue aiding the sick around the Ghoul's Teeth, but with the Soothsires gone, the people could probably handle themselves. "I don't know, sire."

"Perhaps you could journey with us?" Marth asked, the offer caught Lena off-guard, she turned to look at him with taken aback eyes. "It is… a bit much to ask Father Wrys to handle all injuries."

"I… um…" Lena groped for words and found many that she could pick, yet a simple 'yes' or 'no' seemed to remain just out of reach. "You mean, journey with you and your army in your war?" She looked down in her lap, unsure of how to respond. "I… I…"

"There are many people out there who are suffering. Surely you can help them."

It was a tempting offer, and the prince, whether knowing it or not, had said what appealed to her the most. To take her staff out and help the others, it was indeed her calling, and what she had chosen to live for. Her hands reached up and clutched at the fabric covering her chest as she took a breath in. It was no small thing that was being asked of her, it was something that deserved some thought before answering.

"Sir, you are asking me to assist you in a war?" She paused, imagining herself surrounded by battle, suffering, and death. The strife and anguish of conflict, a concerto of violence and brutality… with herself in the center of it all. It was an unsettling image in her mind, and taking the prince up on his offer would result in the image becoming reality. "I'm… not sure, prince." She hesitated, moving her hands to wrap around the Mend staff in her lap. Her staff seemed to almost call for her to accept Marth's offer, and have her take it to places where it could help the anguished.

"Our cause is just." Marth said, "I won't force you, but you can do great good with us. More then you can do just wandering around the continent with that staff."

Lena looked at her Mend staff, yes, it could do much good for the prince and his cause. "I… I'd rather not be part of war. To see people dying, and for others to call it a good thing. I cannot watch people dying en masse, even those who I should be calling 'enemy' or 'evil', and say that it's justified."

Marth's expression, vibrant a moment ago when he made the request, suddenly became disheartened. Lena's eyes went downcast for a moment, she was weighing her options in her head. On one side, decline Marth's offer, and continue to heal across the continent, healing those who lived in distant regions that aren't effected by this war. On the other side, join Marth's army, and heal both in battle, and after battle. After all, the aftermath of war, the aftermath of each individual battle, was where someone like her was needed the most.

There was another reason her heart might urge her to go with the prince. Marth's timely presence in the Ghoul's Teeth probably saved her life. She should find some way to repay him, to journey with him and help with her staff… yes.

"I… accept your offer, prince Marth." She said, "I know I can do much good. If I go with you, I'll find the people under the worst conditions, feeling the worst agony, and I'll be able to help them."

"Thank you." Marth said, for a moment, he turned to the other soldiers, more specifically, to Wrys, eating on the other end of the room. This would be a nice load off of his shoulders. As the army grew, and surely it would grow, it would eventually become too much, far too much for Wrys to handle by himself.

* * *

><p>"Holding up fine?"<p>

Norne sighed inwardly at the question as she took a bite out of the meat on her plate. She chewed, then swallowed the bite, and smiled at the one who asked the question.

"Don't worry, Gordin, I'm over it." Norne said, "I'm a completely reliable member of the Altean army now."

"Well, good." Gordin said, though he was unsure if Norne was truly over it. He was familiar enough with Norne to know that she was the sort of person to hide something to put others at ease.

He was unaware of just how close he was to the mark, but Norne wasn't about to admit her final lingering dissent over killing. It'd probably be quashed for good in the next battle, anyway.

"Um… if you're over it, please stay near me, next battle." He turned to her, "I've heard older knights talk about how some soldiers develop a cocky streak after they come to terms with killing, and end up getting themselves killed. I don't want you to end up like that so, uh… stay, stay near me, and…"

He wasn't blushing, but he _was_ deathly nervous as he spoke. He wasn't quite able to finish his sentence, but Norne seemed to understand just what he was trying to say. He was making an offer to protect her, and the normally blunt and bold girl was at a loss for words.

"Of… course, Gordin." She said after nearly a minute of silence, then failed to be able to summon any more words. Her eyes drifted to Gordin, then darted to the others sitting nearby, none were paying attention to the two. Impulsively, she reached a hand out and laid it on top of his, she grew flustered at her own action, but nonetheless kept her hand on upon his.

"Um… Norne?" he asked as he felt Norne's hand covering his, and was immediately shushed by the girl. She said nothing more, but kept her hand gently on his…

* * *

><p>"Captain."<p>

With the moon risen and most matters of the day attended to, captain Bentheon did not believe he would have any other matters to address, unless the Aurelian resistance made a sudden move under the cloak of the night. He turned around to the one who had called him… a Macedonian scout.

"Report, soldier." He commanded, his tone neutral and professional, hiding the fact that he had been planning on retiring for the night and leaving another soldier in charge of things. "This isn't about the mage, is it? I gave an explicit order to halt that investigation."

"No, sir. This is not about the mage." The scout said with the same neutral and professional tone. Bentheon somehow sensed a graveness in the scout's body language, and offered his full attention. "I was investigating the south, examining the possibility of an Aurelian charge coming from that direction, but found something else…"

"…and what was this 'something'?"

The scout looked to the left, then to the right, then took a step forward and silently whispered his discovery.

Bentheon blinked. A sudden shiver went down his spine as the words took their time registering on him. "Soldier… are you certain of this?"

"Captain, we scouts of Macedon do not report back if we are uncertain. What I just reported is the absolute truth."

"Interesting…" Bentheon turned his back to the scout. He was pondering something in his head, a wheel was turning in his mind, slowly at first, then faster. He raised a hand to stroke his chin in contemplation, his mind weaving together a way to turn this information to his advantage.

It wasn't news of the Aurelian resistance. Bentheon was dismissive of information related to that, anyway. Most leads on the Aurelian resistance tended to be, at best, information too old to tell them anything, or at worst, false information the resistance itself created.

No, this information was far more meaningful then information about the Aurelians. He'd have to send messengers out and inform his superiors of this development. He would… make it quite clear that it was due to his efforts that this information was attained, but would also stress that if the information was false, it was the fault of an incompetent scout, not him.

He dismissed the scout, and moved to his private area. The area he slept in had once belonged to some Aurelian noble, who had died several months ago. This fort had been one of the last permanent structures that the Aurelians had used before the Aurelian army became less of a credible army, and more of a resistance.

Immediately he lighted a candle and pressed a sheet of paper on the table in the room, and dipped a quill pen in ink.

_My righteous masters…_

The message began, addressing the Manaketes of Dolhr. He was well informed in regards to how he should address the Manaketes, even in a letter. The Dragonkin certainly did like humans who understood the pecking order.

_Your servant, captain Bentheon of Macedon, bears news. For quite some time, the invasion of Aurelis has been progressing with all haste, but a new development has risen. My scouts have identified someone approaching Aurelis from the south. Normally I would not be so foolish as to think this deserves your attention, but my scouts have identified who is among these from the south._

_The descendent of Anri, the one that Dolhr is tearing the continent apart trying to locate… is here, in Aurelis. I shall be combating him soon. If all goes well, and I have little reason to suspect it won't, I should be able to give him into your hands in just a few days._

He pushed the paper away. He purposely did not suggest any reinforcements be offered. If an operative of Dolhr came down, that operative would take command, and Bentheon would be denied any honor or prestige for the capture of the prince. He knew that Dolhr would come to at least investigate, and determine if there was any truth in what he said. If his information was false, he would be beheaded, if his information was true, he could only be awarded if he had the prince in his custody by the time Dolhr had arrived.

Gaining favor from the Shadow Dragon was something many, _many_ sought to achieve, it was a vicious struggle. More then once, Bentheon had heard tales of someone getting killed in their sleep when it was merely rumored that he had acquired something that would have pleased the emperor.

The less people aware of what the scout had just reported to him, the better. Easier to let the information be strictly between him and Dolhr until he had the prince. It had been fortunate that no one else had been in the room when the message had been delivered.

The opportunity that had just fallen into Bentheon's lap was the single, greatest way to gain prestige that anyone could have. It surpassed even what Jiol of Gra had achieved two years ago with the Falchion. It was, honestly, a struggle to not chuckle at his good fortune.

Dipping the pen into the ink again, he pulled another piece of paper to him. Just to be on the safe side, he would send multiple messages. Since you couldn't go a day without the Aurelian resistance striking somewhere, there was too much of a risk that sending just a single messenger out would result in the message never reaching Dolhr.

He started to write again, a good… five letters should be enough. The Aurelians always seemed to be able to strike anywhere they wanted, but their numbers were not infinite, quite the opposite. The Aurelians who could still fight were few in number, and though few Aurelians ever fell to Macedonian steel these days, even on Aurelian dying was a devastating loss to the Aurelian resistance. At best they could intercept two letters, but no more then that.

His pen pressed to the new piece of paper, and he began to copy the message of the first letter.

* * *

><p><strong>Fun fact. Back in FE1, Navarre was a mercenary, because the myrmidon class didn't exist at the time. He became a myrmidon for FE11, Shadow Dragon.<strong>

**I'm betting you all know that, but I always found it funny that in Chapter 3 of Shadow Dragon, where you recruit Navarre, one of the houses in that chapter warns you to be careful around mercenaries, despite the fact that you won't encounter enemies of the Mercenary class until chapter 7. (Or possibly 6x, don't really remember the enemy selection of that Gaiden chapter)**

**Please review.**


	11. Entry to Aurelis

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The plains of Aurelis were… not as they once were.<p>

Once upon a time, they had been prosperous fields of grass unlike anything any other nation could know or lay claim to. From the dirt of Aurelis sprouted grass that horses grazed on and insects innocently nestled under. The grass was where the people of Aurelis made their homes. Horsemen tended to their horses, farmers raised their crops, it was a simple, peaceful, life.

Herds of wild horses once galloped with pride and swiftness across these plains. Their manes tossed by the wind as they cut past the fast plains, seemingly untamable creatures.

From the time of the evening chill to the time of the morning dew, from the time of the morning dew to the time of the evening chill, this was life in Aurelis. An easy, simple life that the people were content with.

Just about every nation had had a trade deal with Aurelis. No nation seemed to be able to breed horses with the strength, loyalty, stubbornness, and speed that the Aurelian horses had, and the other nations wanted these proud stallions. Aurelis could make its ends meet with just the income from its deals with lands like Altea and Grust.

It was not to say that Aurelis had been a perfect nation. There had been bandits in the past, and more then once a noble had grown to abuse his powers, and there were those who were discontent with the lazy, uneventful life on the plains. Yet these blemishes alone couldn't deny the fact that Aurelis was a nation that had always seemed to enjoy peace and good fortune.

When the end came for the peaceful plains of Aurelis, it came quickly.

It had been shortly after the invasion began, Macedon had set fire to the oceans of grass, the pride of Aurelis. Both to flush Aurelians out of hiding, and for the sake of sowing terror.

They succeeded at both objectives when they set the plains on fire, and let all the beauty and serenity vanish under the violet, violent flame. Aurelians did indeed flee the plains as the fire spread, and the plainspeople could only shiver in fear as the Macedonians approached.

Yet… it ended up a pyrrhic success for Macedon. The terror of the Aurelians felt quickly transformed into hatred, and a burning desire for vengeance in the heart of every individual who called Aurelis their home. Unknowingly, Macedon might have awakened a beast…

Captain Bentheon and general Emereus, the ones who were handling both the invasion and the occupation of Aurelis would never publicly admit any concerns, indeed, they would deny any fear of an Aurelian vengeance. Yet secretly, they knew that they had to be relentless. If they stayed their hand for even a full hour, the Aurelians, despite their now low numbers, might mount an offense the likes of which Macedon had never experienced in the nation's history.

* * *

><p>Through the shadow of the night, Macedonians cut through the plains of Aurelis.<p>

They were running across the remains of the plains that the Aurelians once flourished on, cobble and dirt thrown up by the feet of those on foot, and by the hooves of the mounts. They trampled what grass still remained, and crushed the flowers that had stubbornly rose after the flames. Under the night's dark cloak, the Macedonians were heading for their destination. Their destination being well beyond the borders of the nation of Aurelis.

One of the soldiers on horseback was a messenger that Bentheon had personally ordered to be sent out. He was surrounded by an entire regiment of Macedonian soldiers, such was the value and importance of this letter, which the messenger wasn't even privy to the contents of.

They stopped at an old Aurelian fort under Macedon control. It was being used as a sort of check point for Macedonian units passing through the area. For tonight, it would be their bed. Discretely, they were let into the fort. Since it was a covert operation only the stationed head of command at the castle, and a few trusted aids, would be aware of their presence.

The commander let them in the inner keep of the castle, and told the other soldiers stationed to not disturb the inner keep even in the case of an emergency, no matter how dire.

The messenger and his escort relaxed after nearly a full day of nonstop movement across the nation of Aurelis. Captain Bentheon had woken them up early, and they had been moving across Aurelis from the crack of dawn to the dead of night. Wine and choice meat were greatly appreciated, and the soldiers enjoyed the luxury, which had been pilfered from Aurelis.

With any luck, they'd be out of the nation before the sun reached its peak tomorrow.

It was a mistake.

A grand miscalculation on captain Bentheon's part, to give the messenger this much security as he attempted to leave the nation and move to Dolhr. It was also a mistake to give no indication as to why a simple messenger was so well defended. It had served only to pique the interest of the Aurelian resistance.

…and the Aurelians had made their move.

Unbeknownst to Macedon, agents of Aurelis were already inside the fort.

There was no telling whether this was a vital information that could be used to their advantage, or simply a dead end, but regardless, Aurelis had targeted this message. The other messengers would flee before the net could fall, but the one in this fort was already ensnared.

Prince Hardin of Aurelis was placing much hope on this information being vital. So much, in fact, that gaining the contents of this message was being placed in the hands of his four most trusted and most reliable agents.

Wolf, Hardin's right hand man, and the most trustworthy and loyal person Hardin knew. One of the best soldiers a person could have in any army. The Macedonians didn't know his name, but they knew his face. He was an example to follow to the Aurelians, but the avatar of death itself to the Macedonians.

Sedgar, tactful, friendly, and utterly loyal to the cause. Trustworthy and valorous, one of the resistance's best fighters. He was considered approachable and understanding by the other resistance fighters, and he could inspire confidence in ways that few could. A simple talk with Sedgar could fill the bleakest Aurelian with confidence and hope. Sedgar was ready to fight to the bitter end for the cause.

Vyland, proud and loyal. Tales were spun of this man's ferocity in battle, and his unshakable faith that Hardin's cause was right and just. He was a passionate soldier… perhaps sometimes _too_ passionate, but his skill, valor, and competence spoke for themselves.

Roshea, young, brave, idealistic, though perhaps somewhat naïve as well. Eagar, well-trained, and loyal, he was a shining example for the rest of the youths in the resistance. Hungry for victory, and resilient in the face of set-backs. His firm loyalty to prince Hardin, and his idolization of Wolf, Sedgar, and Vyland, was well known.

A single Macedonian soldier patrolled one of the castle's torch lit halls, oblivious to the four intruders in such close proximity to him. The soldier walked on by, not noticing Wolf peeking out from behind the pillar.

The torches illuminated Wolf's face, but the only Macedonian nearby was too unobservant to check behind him. With the soldier's back to him, Wolf reached an arm out into plain sight and made several small hand gestures. These distinct movements of the hand and fingers allowed Wolf to speak to his allies without making a sound.

At the gesture's command, Vyland and Roshea revealed themselves, and silently charged at the soldier. Despite the armor the two were wearing, the only sound was a single, small, almost inaudible click from Vyland when he was closing the distance.

The soldier didn't seem to notice this small click, and the two Aurelians were upon him. Roshea's left arm clamped over the man's mouth to prevent any unnecessary noise, and Vyland's fist rammed into his gut. The soldier, now only semi-conscious, was dragged to Sedgar, whose sword soundlessly killed the Macedonian.

The corpse was appropriately hidden. Wolf nodded his approval at the ambush, gesturing with his hands again to wordlessly give the message that no other Macedonian seemed to be present.

One Macedonian was dead… every Macedonian death was a cause for celebration to Aurelis, but Wolf and his companions had to be careful. Too many patrols and guards mysteriously disappearing would only ignite suspicion and awareness from Macedon. They wanted Macedon to be completely unaware of what had happened long after they had succeeded in their mission and left.

The four crept along, darting like shadows, seemingly undeterred by their armor. Vyland's boots occasionally made compromising clicking sounds. Unlike the others, he wasn't used to stealth, and was undeniably the weakest link in the chain in this operation.

Slowly, they were making progress to the inner keep, most scouts and patrols they dodged. Others they had no choice but to discretely dispose of, hiding the corpses in places that the other Macedonians wouldn't likely investigate until the stench of the deceased began to drift through the air.

Larger, multi-manned patrols could not have been disposed of without someone noticing. These units of guards were carefully avoided. Undoubtedly, the four could handle them in a straight fight, but not without the entire fort hearing the sound of battle. This was a stealth operation, and the four were… valuable to the resistance, getting killed or caught in this operation was something that could not be allowed.

In time, they reached the door to the inner keep. The door… it wasn't being guarded at all. For a brief moment, Wolf raised an eyebrow at that fact.

Of course, Aurelis knew that the message they were trying to intercept was covert, but the complete lack of guards did seem somewhat odd. No matter, it just made it easier for him and his companions. It wouldn't be the first time Macedon had pulled a rather… surreal tactic that didn't seem to have any real intelligence to it. Most likely, Macedon thought that the patrols that had been so easily slipped around would be enough to prevent an intruder from reaching the inner keep.

Wolf crept around, taking several minutes to scan the surrounding area, affirming that there wasn't a patrol or stationary guard nearby. No one was near enough to spot them.

He paused and listened. The only sounds he heard came from behind the gilded doors. He turned to his companions and motioned for them to approach him. Soundlessly, Wolf's hand gripped the doorknob and turned…

A simple creak of the door could have compromised their stealth, but this door didn't make the slightest groan as it moved. Slowly, Wolf opened the door to a mere crack and peered into the room. There were, indeed, people in the room, and no one he could see was looking at the door. Good. With a cautious, but unafraid hand, Wolf opened the door enough to let all four of them inside.

The room was quite splendorous, though it was crafted from Aurelian hands, not Macedonian hands. Powerful carved sculptures of stone, and golden statues that heralded the heroes of Aurelian history, lined the room. Proud, thick stone columns held the roof up, and the room offered the most exotic soft animal skins to rest upon.

To Wolf, it was all unsightly. He had no taste for images and icons of wealth. He hadn't had any taste for it before the Macedonian invasion, even less so now.

At the same time, a part of him was annoyed that such wealth was being wasted on the Macedonians. Especially since the wealth, however wasteful and tacky, rightfully belong to Aurelis.

Wolf and his allies moved in, the Macedonians busied themselves with the splendor they so obviously loved, oblivious to the presence of the four Aurelians. The group broke apart, moving to different areas of the room, surrounding the Macedonians.

The Macedonians were strong in number, but apparently weak in perception, they hadn't noticed the Aurelians at all. The outcome of this encounter was obvious. Wolf raised his arm… then brought it down. He raised it up again, then down again. A third time, it rose…

When his hand came down for the third time, the Aurelians sprung. What happened next could only be described as a bloodbath. Among the Macedonians that were in the room, two-third of them were dead before they could even widen their eyes in shock.

Vyland, the passionate one, found it a challenge to bite back a war cry as he attacked. The others were more used to stealth, and were able to do this silently and efficiently. Vyland rarely took part in operations that weren't hit-and-run raids, and this was foreign territory to him. The only reason he was present here, was the simple fact that he was among Coyote's four best men.

The four darted like shadows. The Macedonians didn't even know what hit them, they never even saw the faces of their attackers. In mere moments, the Macedonians were dead.

"Good." The word came quietly as the ambush ended in success, it was the first word Wolf had spoken in the entire operation. He wiped the blood off of his sword without any clear emotion, then sheathed it. Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea made mirrored movements, removing blood off of their weapons before they began to move the bodies into the corners of the room. With any luck, it would be tomorrow morning before anyone realizes that something was wrong.

None of the enemy had managed to even grab their weapon before they died. Instead, they fell motionless still holding goblets and forks in their hands, not the honorable swords and lanced that a soldier should be holding as they died.

The commander of the fort was also killed in this sudden ambush. With any luck, that would disorient Macedonian forces in this area for a time. Perhaps the resistance could make a foot hold in this region, unless the message they were sent to intercept reveals something that required their immediate attention.

Wolf moved to a Macedonian that wore a much lighter, looser outfit. There was a small bag on the soldier's belt, Wolf quickly ripped the bag off and opened it. His hand fished out a letter, still sealed in an envelope, he recognized the seal of a high ranked Macedonian authority.

"That's what we came here for." Sedgar noted, putting his sword away, but holding his bow firmly in his hand. "Perhaps the information in there will finally let us turn this invasion around."

Roshea's eyes brightened at the sight of the envelope. Like Sedgar, Vyland, and even Wolf, he was putting a lot of hope in the contents of this letter. With five messengers being sent out, each with a sizable escort, and great lengths having been reached to keep the message a secret, it was clear that _someone_ wanted _something_ to be delivered without it becoming public knowledge.

Perhaps the letter would reveal some overlooked secret that would allow Macedon's army to finally be routed. Alternatively, perhaps the letter revealed where a high-ranking general of Macedon would be staying for the next few months, and Aurelis could strike a critical blow by killing this general.

Or maybe, as Sedgar somberly realized, the letter would reveal an occurrence that would doom the Aurelian resistance. That message could be the key to turning the situation around for Aurelis, or the message could be what would deliver the resistance to the maws of the underworld.

To Roshea's disappointment, Wolf put the letter away without even breaking the seal, and impassively turned to walk back to the door they entered from.

"We're leaving."

* * *

><p>"…and this scout is trustworthy, I presume?" Emereus, the one who headed the occupation of Aurelis, arrogantly sat on the throne of what had once been the royal palace of Aurelis. Now, the palace was a Macedonian base of operations.<p>

"My scouts are never wrong. I have already sent messengers out, general Emereus." Bentheon sat in a nearby chair in the room. Once, it had been the chair of one of the nobles that held court with the king.

No Macedonian commander could do much of anything in Aurelis without Emereus' consent. When Bentheon had released messengers to Dolhr, he had been swiftly called to answer to Emereus, and was forced to reveal the contents of the message he had written.

Emereus' fingers dug into the delicately crafted ivory arm rests of the royal throne. For a moment, he looked very uncomfortable and… scared. His face was growing wrinkled from the stress of living in a nation that wanted him dead.

He was not an inspiring general or leader. Quite the opposite. He was a coward, and even the most understanding and tactful eyes would see that. He kept himself in the most well-guarded area of the castle, the throne room, and coordinated the soldiers for the purpose of defending his life more then anything else. He wore armor so thick, it seemed that no weapon forged of iron, steel, or silver could get to him.

Emereus was paranoid, prone to fearing for his life, and easily overreacting. Some of the Macedonians snickered behind his back over his past… lapses in judgment. Who could forget the time that he had managed to interpret the sound of a rock a little Aurelian boy had thrown at the castle as an 'attack', and ordered everyone to take defensive positions? The only thing that kept him from being mocked more openly was his volatile temperament. It took little provocation for Emereus to sentence someone to execution.

In comparison, Bentheon was more competent and calm, through he was cruel and unforgiving to those under his command. Despite being a field commander of the Macedonian invasion, he was never at the front of any charge, rather, he stayed in the back. A competent commander he was, but he had an undeniably arrogant, petty, and cowardly personality. He would, and a number of times, had, allowed a hundred Macedonian soldiers to die before he would as much as risk getting a toe stubbed.

Bentheon had joined the military strictly for the sake of power and authority. It is for this reason that the inability to squash the Aurelian resistance once and for all was proving so irksome to him. The slowness of this final stage would reflect on his overall record.

"We have enough to deal with, with just the Aurelians, Bentheon." Emereus said, his face creasing with dread and worry. "They seem to be worming themselves into more advantageous positions everyday. If we allow the slightest break in our focus on them-"

"All due respect, general, I doubt dealing with Anri's shrimp will take more then a few hours." He spoke calmly, contrary to Emereus' discomforted tone. "He fancies himself commander of an army capable of taking us on. It should take little effort to break such foolish delusions, and crush him under our heels."

Emereus paused, not wanting to take any risks when the Aurelians could come knocking at every hour of every day. Nor did he want this new army to reach him. He nodded at Bentheon, slowly. "Then get it done. Immediately. I don't want him getting anywhere close to the palace. With Aurelian attacks capable of coming at any time…"

"Of course, general." Bentheon arrogantly rose before his superior had dismissed him, "The only organized foes he's ever fought before were the soldiers of Gra, who were too spread out in their little invasion to properly clamp him down. My soldiers, and my tactics, will do what Gra failed to do."

"I'm expecting a report of success, captain." Emereus said. His threatening glare at Bentheon was answered with an arrogant smirk from the captain as he left the throne room.

* * *

><p>The soldiers of Macedon were normally spread thinly over Aurelis in an attempt to combat the Aurelian resistance, which seemed capable of appearing anywhere in the nation. It was a… rather futile strategy. The idea of being able to spread the soldiers out in a way to watch every corner of Aurelis was good on paper, but failed miserably in practice. All it did was open up the spread out Macedonian soldiers to Aurelian ambushes.<p>

Despite the amount of Macedonian soldiers who seemed to disappear during their patrols, the present leaders of Macedon were too stubborn to see that this strategy was so poorly thought out. Emereus insisted that it was necessary to keep hold over all of Aurelis, and he'd rather see hundreds of Macedonian soldiers die then admit that there was something wrong with his tactics.

Yet today, one section of Aurelis was oddly devoid of Macedonian soldiers.

A small piece of Aurelis was now not under the stranglehold of Macedon. It was a fact that the people of that area clearly noticed. For a brief span of time, they could leave their homes without fear. Yet few dared to do so.

It was strange, and the puzzling move was something that Merric had caught wind of. He stepped out of the house he was dwelling in and pulled his cone-shaped mage hood up over his head. It was a telling, instantly recognizable piece of headgear, but with no Macedonian soldiers in sight, he could do it fearlessly for this moment.

It was like the entire occupation had forgotten about this particular region. This would give the Aurelian resistance time to build themselves up in this region if Macedon did not return quickly. The resistance always seemed ready to utilize any possible hole Macedon offered, Merric couldn't understand what the Macedonians thought was worth the risk.

The apparently recalled soldiers were now up at the gates of a fort that Merric could see in the far distance. Their superior seemed to be briefing them about something.

But what? Did they manage to receive word of a large scale Aurelian raid?

A large scale raid would be completely unprecedented. At the very least, Merric had never _heard_ of an exceptionally large Aurelian raid occurring since the Aurelian army went underground. With so many alert and ready Macedonians clustered in one place, Merric wondered if Aurelis would even look at it as a feasible target. A heavily fortified base such as that would likely just be passed up.

Merric's nose seemed to catch the metaphysical whiff of approaching danger. Reaching into his robes, his fingers grasped his tome. Wind magic. He had the sneaking suspicion that he would be needing it. Very. Soon.

* * *

><p>"This is Aurelis." Marth took a breath in at the sight before him. He remembered a time long ago, back in Altea, Elice, with bright, enthused eyes, had read him stories about the life on the grassy plains, green fields of life that stretched across the nation.<p>

Those stories were _then_, before Dolhr's return as an acting force. The things his eyes saw, was _now_.

The plains of Aurelis, the fields that once held so much life, had been reduced to fields of lifeless dirt and ash. Only a few plants and flowers defiantly rose from the burnt landscape. Dead, burnt trees that didn't support a single healthy leaf were sparsely spread around the fields.

Jagen and Malledus stood near him. The two men seemed far less shaken by the sight, but it would be a lie to say that they were completely unmoved. Jagen, for one, had seen plenty of horror and atrocity and mass murder in his life. He had seen the aftermath of bandit raids, assassinations, and riots. Yet this, the barbarism committed by authorities who lacked a conscious… such an action would have never been allowed in Altea.

Marth sighed. Knowing that what he was seeing right now was only the cusp of what Medeus' return had done to the world.

"Marth?" Caeda came up to him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. She looked at the ash in front of them, and shook her head. The lifeless sight disheartened her.

"I wasn't expecting anything like this." He whispered, sullenly glaring across the landscape that reeked of death and cruelty. He knew that Aurelis likely wasn't in good conditions, but he wasn't expecting a tortured, burnt wasteland that had to have once been filled with the life Elice had described to him. "The people who would do this without even blinking is what we're trying to fight against. We're about to face a trained army for the first time."

Caeda nodded, she wondered what had become of other nations who had rejected a life under Dolhr's thumb. Her thoughts drifted to what might have happened to Talys had her island nation been significant enough to draw attention to it. Talys certainly didn't have any real power, they were backed into a corner by a mere pirate attack. Talys was a crafty nation, but it could do little when directly assaulted by an enemy.

"We should get moving. A Macedonian force is here, somewhere."

"Marth, wait." Caeda's gentle hand on his shoulder became a steel grip. "Maybe… we should try to avoid Macedon for now. Get in touch with the Aurelians first, and-"

"No." Marth cut her off and shook her hand off of his shoulder. "We can't be slinking around in the shadows. We may have few numbers, but we'll show the world that we're unafraid to have our presence known. Why would the Aurelians want to join hands with us if we try to go around our enemy and avoid confrontation?"

Caeda's eyes went downcast. She was… suddenly frightened of combat. Not because of any danger she might be in, but rather…

Marth had trained and trained and trained with his knights, but Caeda was still worried. Who knew what subtle differences there were between an Altean knight's style of fighting and a Macedonian knight's style of fighting? He might have been… too used to a style that the enemy wouldn't use.

The 'what ifs' and 'buts' were starting, and they hadn't even encountered a single Macedonian soldier yet.

"Malledus." Marth called as he walked away from Caeda. Malledus, who seemed to have been talking to Jagen, turned to Marth in acknowledgment. "Notify everyone else. We're moving."

* * *

><p>"Sir." A Macedonian soldier came up to Bentheon. "An army has been spotted coming from the Ghoul's Teeth. They are crossing the Ash Fields as we speak, they do not appear to be Aurelians."<p>

"Good." Bentheon said, mounting on his horse and taking his lance out. It was a unique lance he wielded, called a 'Ridersbane'. Many lances were built for the purpose of striking and killing the enemy. This one was different. The unique build and weight of the lance, made it more suitable for striking the enemy's mount then actual enemy soldiers.

Aurelis was home to more horseback mounted troops then any other nation, Bentheon always carried the Ridersbane with him, though he had, truthfully, rarely used it. He knew that the approaching army had more then its fair share of cavaliers. Surely it would be a bloodbath of steeds and their masters falling together.

Bentheon entered into the formation. Not in the front of the unit, but in the back. The elite soldiers were also in the back. He kept the incompetent ones out in front, ones such as Matthis.

This was a first for Matthis, actually preparing for battle. In the past, his duties were centered almost entirely on carrying low-importance messages around and trying to look intimidating… and failing miserably at the latter.

Just like every other soldier that had irked captain Bentheon, he had been pushed to the front-lines, in the hope that he would die. A lot of Bentheon's annoyances would probably disappear today, the one day that he knew an attack was coming.

'An army, not an Aurelian army, will charge our positions soon' was literally all that Bentheon had told them. For the first time in a long time, the Macedonians were preparing for a battle that they knew was going to happen ahead of time.

By the time Matthis had been drafted into the army and sent to Aurelis, the Aurelians had already retreated and begun their guerilla resistance. He had not yet tasted actual combat, and the war-hating man hoped he could be recalled before he'd have to. His hope was that someday a person could ask him 'You were in the war?' and he could respond with 'Yeah, but I didn't see any action'.

He thought back to when he was still living in Macedon with his sister. A well meaning girl, his sister, though one prone to nagging and lecturing. Those traits only got more pronounced when she became a Sister in the Macedonian clergy. Once, he would roll his eyes and tell her to pipe down, because it was a truly exasperating habit of hers, but now, her constant carping was a part of his old, safe life that he missed.

She had left the nation just shortly before he was drafted. In hindsight, it had almost seemed to be some sort of prelude to how almost everything he knew about his life would be torn from him. He could only wonder why his sister left the nation, he knew she had had some kind of unpleasant experience with the upper crust of Macedonian society, but…

He closed his eyes and shuddered as he heard Bentheon's voice.

"All troops, move out." Bentheon shouted, urging those in front, Matthis included, to start moving forward. "Gut all of the approaching invaders save their leader. Bring their commander to me. If the enemy commander is killed with the rest, it's executions for you all."

Matthis let out a shaky breath as his horse began to carry him onward. He was literally in the front of the Macedonian formation. In just about any other formation, the present commander should be in Matthis' position, but Bentheon stayed behind everyone else.

He _had_ been marginally trained as a knight of Macedon, but he still had no feel for the lance. The weapon felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar in his grip, and his grip was shaking. Fear and terror were together in him as the eve of true battle was approaching.

His horse was galloping, taking him straight to war. The horse was proud and stern, but he was quivering. Today would be his death.

* * *

><p>The march was… quiet. This would be the first day they fought against an enemy that was trained and coordinated, everyone seemed to be mentally preparing for today's battle.<p>

Navarre was somewhat isolated from the rest of the army, behind everyone else. Ogma kept making nervous glances back at the myrmidon, perhaps fearful of a sudden breach of contract. Someone like Navarre right behind him had to be on Ogma's list of worst nightmares.

Yet Navarre paid the discomforted man no mind. He concentrated his senses to examine the area around him. He heard… galloping. Horses.

Off in the distance, there were figures moving across the dust and ash. Cavaliers were approaching, and the hooves were kicking up clouds of dust. There was no doubt what they were heading toward.

Navarre's eyes narrowed as he soundlessly unsheathed the Killing Edge. Cain was the next to notice them, well after Navarre. The knight's eyes flared in realization, and he pointed to the distance.

"Macedonians!"

* * *

><p>Once the words were uttered, the battle began.<p>

Matthis knew that this was his end. He was at the head of a pack going straight for what had to have been an elite army that despised Macedon unconditionally. He'd be dead in seconds. For one last time, he thought of his sister.

_Lena. What I would give to hear your voice just once more…_

In what would be his final moments, he grieved for the days of peace and safety he once had. Lost forever the day he had been drafted into the army.

A red knight came at Matthis. The Macedonian pathetically jabbed his weapon, and the red knight effortlessly knocked the lance out of Matthis' hand. The red knight's sword caught Matthis on his chest and tore him off of his horse.

Matthis landed on the dirt ground with a massive crack on his chest armor, but was otherwise uninjured. He lifted his head up to see the fight beginning, and reflexively pulled himself back, trembling as he saw Macedonian cavaliers being fatally ripped off their saddles.

He had a new reason to tremble as one of the enemy soldiers came up to him. He tried to pull himself away, shaking in fear as Ogma approached. Rather then kill him on the spot, Ogma pinned Matthis on the ground with his foot, then swung his sword to kill a charging Macedonian. Both the soldier and the horse died from just a single sword swing from Ogma.

With that Macedonian dead no one else was coming at them, and Ogma turned to Matthis, who was struggling under the mercenary's foot. He pointed his sword threateningly at Matthis. Matthis cowered, squirming in a desperate attempt to free himself.

A war was brewing inside Ogma's head, to kill or not to kill. The Macedonian he had under his foot was helpless, there would be no honor in the deed. Yet let him live, and he may try to strike from behind. The latter possibility was far too much of a risk, he decided to kill the soldier.

Ogma raised his sword above his head as Matthis' closed his eyes tightly and began to make a whimpering sound, Ogma began his swing-

"Wait!" Ogma's sword stopped just short of Matthis' face at the command of a female voice. He turned to see Lena running up to him, her face revealed bitter disappointment in the mercenary. "Shame on you, Ogma. He's helpless, and we don't know if he's even had a real part of this attack on Aurelis."

"Sister Lena, he's part of the Macedonian army. We have to-"

"No, Ogma." She started to argue with the mercenary, as if there wasn't a battle going on all around her. She knelt down beside the Macedonian knight, "Just because he's part of the enemy army doesn't mean-"

She paused, her eyes widened and her mouth suddenly hung open as she looked at the soldier's face. Without even thinking, she reached a hand out and put it on the knight's cheek. "Matthis? Is that you?"

Matthis had his eyes shut tightly, still expecting the death blow, and did not respond to his name being called.

"It's me Matthis. Your sister. It's Lena."

He flinched with his eyes still closed, then cautiously opened them, at first they fearfully focused on Ogma, but then moved to Lena, and his eyes widened in shock. For a moment, he believed he had gone insane, and that there was no way he could be privileged to be with family again. Then he looked at Lena's eyes, and knew it was her. For a moment, he just stares at her with his mouth hanging open at the unbelievable coincidence that his sister had, by some miracle, been associated with this very army.

"L-Lena… what are you-"

"What are you doing here, Matthis?" Lena asked as Matthis began to sit up, eyeing the mercenary fearfully before returning to Lena. "You were always so against violence, Matthis, so why-"

"I was drafted, Lena." Matthis said frankly, starting to calm down. "I didn't want to go, but when they came to me to have me join, they made it quite clear that the penalty for refusing would be death."

"Oh…" Lena seemed somber for a moment, then suddenly took on that expression she always had when nagging Matthis in the past. "If you're going to fight, fight for something you believe in, and with people who actually care about you, Matthis. Not a nation that gleefully torments, tortures, and kills, even if the nation is the one we call home."

Matthis sighed as he began to stand back up on wobbling legs, still shaking from how close he had come to getting killed. "You could always be relied on to know what to do in a situation like this."

"I can tell you haven't been treated well in the Macedonian army…" she looked over Matthis' face, which had clear signs of weeks, maybe months, of extreme stress. It couldn't have been the Aurelians that did something like this to him. Someone like Matthis couldn't have been treated sanely in the Macedonian army, which had been growing increasingly crueler as the months went by, if rumors were true. "The Altean army will accept you, Matthis. They're good people, they'd understand any problems you have."

He sighed again. "All right, I guess." He turned to Ogma, who shrugged. "If I really have to… to fight, I might as well fight for the heroes."

"Yes." Lena smiled, "And you'll be safe as long as you're fighting for the right cause."

"Alright." Ogma interjected, breaking up the moment between siblings. "Lena, you have duties with your staff. And… Matthis," he crossed his arms as he turned to the recent defector, who gulped at Ogma's expression. "Just pick up your lance and follow me for now. You two can talk later."

* * *

><p>The battle was ongoing.<p>

Navarre darted forward. His sword gleamed with sunlight as he began his work. The cuts and slashes of his swordplay were almost dance-like, but what they resulted in was far from graceful. The Killing Edge unsympathetically sank into its target, sending disembodied arms flying and felling the proud Macedonian horses.

In the moments that he wasn't attacking, he stood almost perfectly still, waiting for his enemies to attack first. Though at times, he would dart to a new target if the Macedonians seemed to be staying away from him.

Everyone was killing their fair share, though it seemed that everyone's performance fell short compared to Navarre's. It was humorless work, but they were winning. If the present Macedonian commander didn't change his tactics, the battle would be lost.

Marth was starting to feel drained, the lances of the Macedonians were proving quite hard to get past the reach of. They fought with their lances quite differently then Cain, Abel, and Jagen had when training with him. Which was to say, the Macedonians were less skilled, but the cruder lance jabs were very different then what he was used to, and it was throwing him off.

He… might have been skewered by now, had it not been for Jagen, his bodyguard, who had trained enough cavaliers to be used to such undeveloped lance jabs. If these were Altean squires, Jagen would have had the most critical diatribes ready for them, but seeing as they were his enemies, he simply exposed the flaws in their tactics by killing them.

"I should have expected as much from such worthless forerunners." Bentheon mumbled as the first wave of Macedonians, those he wanted to die anyway, were dying en masse against Marth's army. Those were soldiers with either unimpressive combat skills, or those who managed to fail on the most simple of tasks. In some cases, the soldiers dying had committed both. By far the worst offender was Matthis.

"Elites." Bentheon addressed the soldiers who formed the protective circle around him. "We're retreating back to the fort, we'll meet them at the gates. Leave the others behind, they'd never be good for anything else then filling body bags."

The elite soldiers nodded, and followed Bentheon as he pulled back and retreated. The front waves, oblivious to the abandonment, continued their attack.

Half-baked though they were, their numbers were something else, Jagen had to admit that fact as he killed another Macedonian knight with his lance. Though he strongly doubted that the prince would be defeated, there was a clear risk that someone might die on these untrained lance thrusts.

The elderly knight took a deep breath in as another regiment of Macedonians came up. The first to approach the prince would die on his lance…

Marth killed another Cavalier and prepared himself against whoever his next attackers would be. He found these lances to be far more exhausting to defend against then he expected, and he was breathing hard.

He felt his hair being tossed by the wind… he ignored the cool sensation on the back of his neck as he prepared for the next fight, but the tug of wind persisted, and was growing stronger.

The Macedonians weren't oblivious to the sudden wind, and they halted several paces from the Altean army. The wind's strength continued to grow until it reached the point that it would make a person lose their balance when just walking around. Then one soldier's eyes widened as he noticed a vague distortion in the air. Multiple distortions.

At first, it looked like the air itself was blurring, but the distortion quickly took a clearer shape. Strange, ethereal blades formed of non-physical energy, they hung in the air for a moment, then suddenly started moving… right for the Macedonian soldiers. The blades slashed through them, several were corpses before anyone could realize the lethal danger these blades of air represented.

More and more blades were spawning in the air, descending on the Macedonians. The knights desperately tried to call out to Bentheon for either instructions or aid, unaware that he had departed several minutes ago.

In mere seconds, the Macedonian waves had been decimated, and the blades of air dissipated into nothingness. Corpses were everywhere. Though the leader and his most well-trained soldiers had retreated early, the battle had still been won.

Though, it was a rather peculiar victory. Before anyone might have attempted to celebrate, the question of where those blades had come had become pressing to the fledging army.

"I hadn't expected you to be what the Macedonians were running around about." A voice spoke up, a number of curious eyes snapped in the direction the voice had come from, weapons ready. A man in a blue robes was approaching, but stopped at the sight of weapons being bared, he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. Then with one motion of his left hand, he swiped his cone shaped hood off of his head and revealed his face.

"Merric!" Marth gasped in recognition, an old friend from Altea. "Then all that was… you're a Wind Mage. What just happened was you, wasn't it?"

"Of course." Merric said in a light-hearted tone as Marth's soldiers began to relax their weapons, Merric revealed a magic tome in his robe. "This spell isn't just any old wind tome, though. This lovely little number is called Excalibur, given to me straight from my teacher. I've been declared 'successor' to the spell."

"I see." Marth said, his eyes drawn to the spell in Merric's hand. Truly, the spell was much stronger then anything Merric, occasional show-off that he was, had demonstrated to Marth back in Altea. "What were you doing in Aurelis?"

Merric shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, maybe I was looking for _you_?" Merric's expression changed to one of irritated exasperation. "There's a rumor that the Aurelian resistance is hiding a member of the royal family from another nation. I thought it could have been you."

"I heard about that rumor. Back in Galder." Marth said, "I… think it might be Elice."

The mage's eyes brightened at the mention of Marth's sister, but then shook his head. "Well, let's give the resistance good reason to think that we'd be good allies before we worry too much about that."

"You… will fight with us?"

"Naturally." Merric said with that streak of smugness he occasionally had. "Would be a shame if you didn't get to see just what a Wind Mage is capable of."

* * *

><p>More then half of Bentheon's soldiers were likely dead by now, he knew. The soldiers whose battle prowess and competence had impressed the captain were still here, but the others who the captain had no patience for were gone. He held no sympathy for them, in fact, he felt truly liberated to know that they were gone and that he was rid of those who couldn't even handle the simplest of orders. He had no need for such snares, and with any luck, they managed to take one or two of the enemy soldiers out.<p>

Bentheon had gotten a good look at the prince's soldiers. He surmised that the most dangerous enemy soldiers was the aged knight, and the long haired swordsman. He had confidence that his elites, who excelled in training, and had each gutted a few Aurelian resistance fighters, would be an able match for the two.

He, with his Ridersbane in hand, would ride in the back, watching as the prince's hope to join up with the Aurelians was cut short. The prince would be brought to him, and prestige beyond his wildest dreams would be his when the boy was delivered to his superiors.

They were at the gates of the fort that Bentheon was using as a base, each soldier ready to strike down the prince's allies. Bentheon turned to the distance, he could already see them approaching. They looked mildly strained, but it seemed that none of them had been killed. It would seem that the front waves truly were useless.

A quick scan through their numbers confirmed beyond any doubt that not one had fallen in the first phase of the battle, and-

He blinked. There was a man in a robe among the enemy that was not among them earlier. He gritted his teeth as he recognized the form of a mage. The same mage that had been reported in the past, it would seem that he had come out of whatever hole he was hiding in and joined the prince's army. Bentheon shook his head, a mage might be cause for concern, but it would take only one respectable blow to silence him. He didn't know much about mages, he had to admit, but he did know that someone who was only wearing simple cloth robes could be killed with one efficient lance jab.

His eyes drifted to a soldier among the enemy who seemed to be wearing a Macedonian uniform. A defect? Pathetic. Surely it would have been better to die as one of Bentheon's men, then to receive death at the captain's hands. Bentheon examined the features of the defect, the hair, the fearful face, the shaking grip on the soldier's lance-

"Matthis." He breathed. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Matthis off on the side of the enemy formation. He couldn't even succeed in following the simple order of getting himself killed, could he? No matter. This merely meant that Bentheon could be there to see the soldier die.

He and his horse backed up as his elites moved forward. No sense risking himself until the battle had nearly ended.

The enemy was closing the distance, he began to issue orders. Let the enemy come to them, eliminate the most dangerous enemies first, do not let the enemy reach the captain, incapacitate the prince and bring him to Bentheon alive.

Bentheon took in a breath as the enemy continued to close the distance, then let it out as one of his enemies reaffirmed his grip on his weapon and charged.

* * *

><p>The battle began once more. Bentheon's soldiers followed his orders to the letter, holding a tight formation and not letting the enemy through. The enemy tried, but could not break through Bentheon's defensive formation. At first.<p>

Merric's Excalibur summoned blades of arcane wind to rend the Macedonian soldiers. Several of Bentheon's men fell before his eyes, he gritted his teeth as the wind blades of Merric's spell dissipated.

"Kill the mage, immediately!" He ordered, several soldiers moved to obey his command. His soldiers hastened to the mage, but they were intercepted. Some were killed by the axe-men in Marth's army, others by Abel and Draug. No one managed to even get close to the mage.

Bentheon hissed, but decided against squandering further man-power with the mage until some of the more orthodox enemies had been dealt with. Draug had placed himself directly in front of Merric, it would take too many resources to eliminate the heavily-armored knight, resources that had to be used to hold the line.

Navarre leapt in the air and cut his sword just once as he came back down. The single sword cut beheaded two soldiers. Another one of Bentheon's elites attempted to run Navarre through on his lance, but Navarre easily evaded the charge, and his next slash killed the Macedonian's horse right out from under the soldier.

Elsewhere, Caeda, being covered by Castor, plunged down into the horde of enemies. Her lance slashed through several soldiers, and Castor's arrows silenced those who tried to attack her from her unguarded sides before she ascended back into the air.

She made several more swooping runs. Every time she returned to the air, she turned her head to Marth, just to make sure he was safe.

The Macedonian elites were dying, the situation was falling apart for Bentheon. Nearly half of the soldiers who he declared to be exceptionally skilled were dead, and the pile was growing. He focused all of his attention on the prince, who was fending off several Macedonians all at once. His last orders to his men still standing, he began to slink off, circling around to reach behind the enemy.

His men had seemed to be capable of holding them off for a time, but the difference in skill soon became apparent, completely eradicating the enemy was no longer feasible. Yet if Bentheon could simply seize the prince, then success would be his. Reinforcements from a nearby Macedonian base should be able to handle the prince's army from that point.

The prince was fighting off four Macedonians all at once, and Jagen was preoccupied on the side with another three. Neither saw Bentheon's approach from behind, and if Jagen tried to interfere, Bentheon still had his Ridersbane.

Caeda was readying herself for another swoop, when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bentheon. As Marth was fighting off several Macedonians, Bentheon was charging at the prince on horseback, Ridersbane in hand. Almost reflexively, Caeda thought back to the nightmare she had when they were going to Galder, the image of Marth skewered on a lance.

"B-behind!" She suddenly screamed. "Someone! Behind! Kill him!"

Her voice sounded almost hysterical, and for a moment, no one seemed to understand what she was trying to tell them. Gordin was the first to turn around and see Bentheon approaching. Immediately understanding what Caeda was trying to say, he stepped away from the battle with an arrow on his bowstring.

Bentheon was just about to reach the prince, who still seemed oblivious to Bentheon's approach as he killed the last Macedonian knight. The captain was about to strike a non-fatal, but disabling blow to the prince that would allow easy capture, but stopped short, and bellowed in pain as Gordin's arrow sank into his shoulder.

Marth and Jagen both turned around as the sound of Bentheon's pained yell. Marth, without even pausing to notice how close he had come to getting ambushed, immediately took a step forward and inflicted a gash on Bentheon's chest. Unable to go through with his attack, Bentheon backed away as blood began to flow freely from his wounded chest.

He reached his free arm up and grimaced as he ripped Gordin's arrow out of his shoulder. It was time to retreat, he knew, as Navarre and Darros finished off the last of his soldiers.

He bade his horse to retreat, beginning to move around his enemies. His horse galloped away, putting distance between its master and the enemy. Bentheon was already putting his next plan together. He would petition Emereus for aid in the form of soldiers and supplies and wait for them in a far more reinforced position. Next time, he would succeed-

An arrow suddenly flew right in front of him, missing his head by a few narrow inches. Impulsively, Bentheon turned and swung his lance at Gordin, who was nary a meter away from him. Gordin jumped back, and he landed with his back to the trunk of a burnt tree.

"Gordin!" None yelled in panic at the sight of Gordin backed into a corner. Within a second, she had shot an arrow in Bentheon's direction as several soldiers began to move to kill Bentheon.

Bentheon simply blocked Norne's arrow with his lance. He should have simply continued his retreat, but he pressed his attack, perhaps hungry for revenge over the wound to his shoulder and the unraveling of his secondary plan to capture Marth. He thrust the Ridersbane in Gordin's direction, he missed the archer's head and the lance sunk into the wood.

Though the attack missed, several soldiers of the Altean army stopped in their tracks, unsettled with how close Gordin had just come to getting killed.

"One of you… _will_ die today." Bentheon seethed through gritted teeth as he ripped his lance out of the burnt wood. The unraveling of his tactics seemed to have wounded his pride, and that pride demanded blood of the enemy as its compensation.

"That…" Gordin tried to back away, but he couldn't get anywhere with his back to a tree. He might not have even been able to move if the tree wasn't there, with the distance dependent archer having an enemy right in his face, he felt a truly paralyzing fear. Bentheon was specifically wanting to see to it that Gordin was the one who died today, and he could do it if he managed to strike Gordin just once. "That… won't discourage us, we… we'll still fight to defy you."

"Defy us to your hearts content, you will _never_ defeat us." Bentheon readied himself for another thrust, but then had to turn to block a second arrow from Norne. Norne was already placing a third arrow on her bowstring as Cain and Abel also moved forward to reach Bentheon. Bentheon tried to move back and ready himself to sink the Ridersbane into their mounts, but to no avail. Abel deftly slashed at Bentheon with his sword, and sliced into the shoulder of the arm that was holding the rein of the horse. Cain's sword sliced into the arm that was holding the Ridersbane… it sliced the arm clean off.

Bentheon roared in pain, and then an arrow from Norne sank into his chest. With a pained grunt, he fell from the harness of his horse' saddle and onto the ground.

Norne immediately moved to put herself between Gordin and Bentheon, ready to fire another arrow. The protective gesture was far from necessary, with Bentheon missing one of his arms on top of multiple wounds applied to him, there was little he could do at this point.

The battle was over. Malledus was able to safely approach Bentheon as the Macedonian captain staggered and struggled to his feet.

"You've lost, Macedonian." It was neither arrogance or hubris, but a simple recognition of the fact, though Malledus did eye the defeated man dismissively.

"This is Altea's first true victory." Marth passed Malledus and stood several paces away from Bentheon. "More will follow."

"Alt…Altea…" Bentheon grunted as he clutched at the arm that had been sliced off just below the elbow. Despite the pain he was in, he managed to make a weak chuckle. "Oh, Altea… guh… when was the last time I… I…" he breathed hard as his chuckling died away. Talking was painful, merely taking in breath seemed to bring him agony. He could only wonder what organs of his had been damaged. He took his last chance to laugh and spit in his enemy's face.

"We… ungh… we don't call it, Altea, anymore…" he managed a smile as Marth's eyes widened. Bentheon made what would be his final laugh at the prince's ignorance of… recent events. The hand that held Marth's Rapier began to shake, but Bentheon continued to talk.

"My… message has already… been sent out. Macedon, Dolhr… everyone you call enemy… will know of… your… re…turn…" he laughed without humor, then fell to his knees. The blood loss was getting to him, he was getting dizzy and disoriented.

With his life about to end in mere seconds, Bentheon turned to Matthis, who had survived the battle, and hissed at the most useless soldier he had ever known. The knowledge that Marth's army would have to put up with him… Bentheon would take that amusing piece of knowledge with him to the underworld as a souvenir. After another moment, he slumped to the ground as the blood loss claimed him.

"Good riddance." Norne narrowed her eyes at the corpse. She was normally uncomfortable with killing, but that discomfort apparently disappeared when Gordin was in danger. She turned around to Gordin, immediately her hands clamped down on his shoulders. "Gordin… are, are you okay? Are you-"

"Y-yes, Norne. Just…" he took in a deep breath as he tried to calm down. "Just… a little rattled. That's all."

Norne's hands tightened on his shoulders, hard enough to make him grimace. "You… you…" her voice began to break, and for a moment she almost looked to be on the verge of tears. "Could have been… killed, just like, back in Talys." She recalled the pirate that had managed to knock Gordin down, and would have killed him without Norne's intervention.

Suddenly, the idea of continuing the war without Gordin seemed unbearable to her. She came in closer to him, but stopped the second before it looked like she would try to embrace him. Gordin, unsure of how to respond, and flustered at the fact that their faces were practically touching, brought his hands up and gently placed them onto her shoulders.

"I'm… I'm fine Norne, really. He didn't hurt me at all." He was feeling increasingly awkward, and oddly, he felt as though his body was heating up. He… might have wanted to do this in a more private setting, but to his fortune, everyone else was busy with other, post-battle matters.

Merric was speaking with Malledus. It was clear that the tactician recognized the mage, and they were telling each other all they knew about recent events. Though neither truly knew all that much. Merely what had been heard back in Galder from Malledus, and local hearsay from Merric.

Matthis was already talking to his sister. Being informed of all that she had been through lately. In particular, her close call with the Soothsires, and Julian's rescue of her. He turned to talk with Julian, but despite the fact that the former Soothsire had saved his sister, he seemed to have an inherent dislike for him, judging by Matthis' body language.

Marth looked at Bentheon's corpse. His Rapier had returned to its sheath, he seemed calm, but there was an anger growing in him. "We don't call it Altea anymore." He repeated. He was tempted to kick the enemy's corpse in the ribs, but ultimately turned away.

Jagen was… unnerved at Marth's obvious anger. The last time he had seemed so angry was when the knowledge of Gra's betrayal had really sunk in, those two years ago. The prince passed Jagen, heading for the gates of the nearby fort.

* * *

><p>When the battle ended, the army moved to the fort that Bentheon had died at the gates of. Marth took a temporary residence in the castle's keep. He sat down, silently fuming over Bentheon's last words.<p>

Caeda was sitting beside him. She was absolutely certain that Marth had been only an inch away from death today. Though it had ended well, she felt certain that the close call could have been avoided if the battle hadn't been fought. She could have, _should_ have been more forceful when urging Marth to try and find the Aurelians before they fought any of the Macedonians.

Her dream on the ship… it had made her fearful of contact with enemy troops, but…

What she saw in that dream didn't perfectly match what had actually occurred today, but it had been close enough that she wondered if her dream had been less a representation of her worry for Marth's safety, and more of a vague sort of future vision.

Marth was oblivious to the thoughts going through Caeda's head. He didn't even notice that the girl was much more somber then usual, he was sullen about what Bentheon had said. Though he had to admit that he didn't precisely know what was going in with Altea, he still…

"An excellent first foray against a Dolhr Alliance unit, sire." Jagen said as he walked into the room. He leaned his lance against a pillar and moved to one of the nearby chairs. "With more victories like that, the Aurelians will surely seek an alliance with us."

"Yes." Marth said quietly, his expression unchanging. "I suppose they'll want an alliance with… Altea."

"Is something wrong, sire?" Jagen asked, noting Marth's expression and tone, it seemed as if something had disappointed the prince when today had been an all around success. A reunion with an old Altean friend, the complete decimation of the Macedonian force in this small area…

"He said that it's not called 'Altea' anymore." Marth said, tapping his fingers on the table he was sitting at. His face tightened with a concealed rage at the thought of Dolhr defiling his country with a false name. In a moment, his tapping fingers balled into a fist.

"I fear too much has happened in the two years we have been absent." Jagen noted. Bowing his head, contemplating what had happened to Altea in the time that the prince and his knights were gone. It was the nation founded by the man who defeated Dolhr's emperor eons ago, any nation that opposed Dolhr would likely be treated mercifully compared to how Altea would be treated.

Jagen, in a way, had it easy. He had no precious person in Altea to worry about. He had no wife, no children, no siblings, not even a personal squire. Still, for the sake of king Cornelius, and prince Marth, he was worried for his homeland.

"We have too little information to go off of right now, sire." Jagen said after a moment of silence. "Perhaps the Aurelians will be able to tell us more, but first we have to find them."

Marth sighed and looked up at the elderly knight. "How would we find them, Jagen?"

Jagen paused for a moment, thinking of the best possible answer. "I had some words with Merric on this subject. The Aurelians have an underground resistance that seems to be nearly impossible to contact directly. Our best chance is, most likely, to destroy as much of the Macedonian presence across the land as possible. The more we rout, the greater the chance that the leaders of the Aurelian resistance will notice us, and seek us out."

Marth nodded. "Then it seems that our next move has been decided."

"Cutting a swath through the Macedonian force in Aurelis?" Jagen pondered. He weighed the risks of being Macedon's most foremost threat against the possibility of getting into contact with Aurelis that much sooner. As a small army, it would be better for them to be darting around as fast as possible. They certainly didn't have the manpower or strength to hold out if they ever fell under siege. There was little that they could afford to have go wrong. Yet, was there any alternative? They were here in Aurelis, and Macedon would likely know exactly who had killed those Macedonian soldiers. There was little choice but to keep fighting. "Yes, prince Marth, it had already been decided."

* * *

><p>"You've gone through more then enough under this… Bentheon." Lena said as she, her brother Matthis, and Julian sat at a table in one of the castle's side rooms. Matthis had just finished telling the two about his… term of service. One death threat after death threat from his superiors for his incompetence. Lena, who knew that her brother was far from a confident man, was remorseful that she couldn't have helped him out of his situation sooner.<p>

"I can't even count how many times they threatened to throw me in the Court of Miracles." He folded his hands on the table and sighed.

"Court of…" Julian raised an eyebrow. He recalled all the slang terms and rumors he had heard in his life, and could honestly say that he had never once heard of something like that before. "What's the Court of Miracles?"

"It's… Dolhr's court. It's where your failings are presented to the Manaketes of Dolhr, and they will pass sentence on you." Matthis shuddered at the thought of his failings being presented to the Manaketes. Even the cruelest human ruler was lax when compared to Dolhr, if the stories he heard about the Court of Miracles was true.

"Why's it called the Court of Miracles, then?" Julian asked.

Matthis took in a deep breath and shut his eyes. "Because it's a miracle if you get out alive."

Julian swallowed at the words, "Guess the Manaketes don't kid around. Gotta scare the message of obedience into the troops one way or another."

"I've never heard of anyone being judged innocent in the court. It's more like just handing you over to the Manaketes to let them kill you." A shiver went down Matthis' spine. How many times had he been threatened to be sent there in the last month alone? He didn't know exactly how the Manaketes killed 'useless' humans, and he suspected that the most horrific idea his mind could create was more tame then the real deal.

Julian nodded, and Lena herself seemed a little shaken by Matthis' light description of the Court of Miracles.

Their conversation shifted to other subjects of discussion. Things more pleasant and personal, such as their lives, and their preferences on certain matters.

Julian spoke to Lena a bit too casually for Matthis' taste. More then once, he made a comment or question that resulted in the cleric having to turn her head to hide a sudden blush.

Matthis' eyes narrowed. Lena saw the movement in her brother's face, and immediately knew that Matthis didn't approve of Julian spending time around her. It was rare for an honestly stern expression to ever be worn by Matthis. Yet she was certain Matthis would come to appreciate Julian's personality. She had only known Julian for a few days now, but had already grown comfortable with the former Soothsire. Surely Matthis would as well, eventually.

* * *

><p>Gordin gulped hard in another side room. Norne was proving to be a little… clingy, tonight. She had made it quite clear how scared she had been to have almost seen Gordin die today when that Macedonian captain had pressed him against that tree, and wasn't leaving Gordin alone for any reason.<p>

She had actually asked Lena and Wrys to come and check him for injuries, of which there were none. None of Bentheon's attacks had actually managed to strike him, it took her a while to realize that he was actually unscathed.

After that, he had spent the hours after the battle with Norne in one of the insignificant side rooms. The two were sitting side by side with their backs to the wall, with Norne leaning onto Gordin, her head resting on his shoulder, and with one of her arms wrapped around his.

The girl had succeeded in flustering him and leaving him at a loss for words in the past with her exuberant personality, but it had reached the point that he was used to her personality. Eventually, as he became accustomed to her, he could talk to her casually, and was actually more comfortable and content with her then he was with any of the others. Her actions and words stopped getting to him like they used to. Yet what Norne was doing tonight… it was foreign territory to him, and he… didn't like it. She wanted to stay with him tonight, and he didn't have the heart to even try to talk her out of it.

He was thankful that she was content to not say anything. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to process even the simplest of words. So they just continued to sit together, completely wordless.

Eventually her head started to nod down as exhaustion and fatigue set it. She yawned, but rather then move to a proper bed, she rested her head on Gordin's lap, and sleep momentarily conquered her.

As she dozed, Gordin was left to look at her face in his lap. He had known the girl for two years now, but it was only now that he noticed… she was really quite pretty.

He blushed even as he acknowledged the simple fact. Norne was a… pretty girl. His head turned up, tearing his eyes from her face as his heart seemed to almost begin bouncing. He felt embarrassed from the sudden moment of attraction.

Norne couldn't possibly want to return any feelings. If she had any feelings, she would have conveyed them by now. He knew her boldness, she'd say it if she felt the slightest attraction.

This was hardly the time to approach anyone with such an inclination, anyway. Yes, he quickly convinced himself to toss the sudden feeling aside. She wouldn't return it, after all. There would be no point.

And yet… he found himself succumbing to the temptation to look down at her face again. Norne was… she was… he felt embarrassed just using a word as tame as 'pretty'.

* * *

><p>Aurelis was covered in dirt these days. What was left of the grassy plains was a sight that could dishearten even the most firm of hearts. Many of the nation's boons were linked to those fields, and now that they were gone…<p>

The nation had seen little rain lately. Under the baking sun, the dirt had turned into what seemed almost like powdery dust that the wind could easily turn into a cloud that could choke a man. Perhaps if some rain came, the plains would, eventually, return to life.

For now, Wolf and his companions forced thoughts about what had become of their nation out of their heads. After successfully escaping the Macedonian held fort without being detected, they had been traveling for a full day. It was night again as they reached their destination. Several minutes were expended to be sure that they weren't being followed, and that no Macedonian scout was observing them. Wolf had particularly reliable eyesight, even in the darkness of the night, and he confirmed that no one was either watching or following them.

They discretely entered into a small, dilapidated fort that was only a mile away from the royal palace of Aurelis. It was a gloomy, decayed structure that seemed abandoned, it looked to be unstable, and perhaps unsafe to enter.

Yet it's foundation was far more credible then any would have presumed by appearance alone. Vyland wondered, not for the first time, how much of the fort was actually unsafe, and how much was completely stable. The resistance had worked hard to make safe, sturdy pillars and walls and ceilings merely _look_ to be in a state of extreme disrepair.

One might suppose that a good rain would completely flood the building, but in reality, very little rain could seep in. Had Macedon thought this place was worth investigating, they would have been quite surprised with that they found.

The four moved to the fort's inner keep. It contained none of the frivolous icons and wasteful riches that irked Wolf. Only one torch was lit, the room was rather dark and under lit, but there was enough light to make sure that you wouldn't trip over anything.

There were only three other people in the room. One of them, a man with a turban, was sitting down, studying a map. The man was known for his resolve, strength, and valor. He was the leader of the resistance. Prince Hardin of Aurelis, more frequently referred to as 'Coyote'.

The two other individuals were standing up beside Hardin. One of them, an elderly man dressed in royal fineries, was the king of Aurelis. He was prince Hardin's older brother. A virtuous, caring leader, but he knew nothing of warfare, when Macedon brought war and battle to Aurelis, the king had had little choice but to let his younger brother take the reins.

Comparing the two directly, it was hard to believe that this was Hardin's sibling. He looked to be decades older then Hardin, but brothers they were.

The third and last member in the room was a woman. She, like the king, was dressed in an outfit fit for a member of a ruling house. Her blonde hair might have been stunning in full daylight, but here, her locks seemed almost somber.

This woman was the royal person that the Aurelians were rumored to be harboring. Though not Aurelian, her nation called Aurelis 'friend'.

Everything about her was closely guarded. Though a rumor of her existence had seeped out, the only thing the public, and Macedon, knew was that the resistance was hiding a member of another nation's royal family. Those who had an ear for rumors had yet to even determine her gender.

Only Hardin, his brother, and the four Aurelians who just entered the room, were privy to her name. Resistance fighters knew her only as 'The Goddess'. Members of the resistance were told purposely misleading and contradicting things about this princess of another land. This was done so that if they should be captured, Macedon couldn't be able to comfortably say any information they receive is reliable.

"Coyote." Wolf said aloud as he and his three companions fell into a kneeling posture. Hardin looked up from his map. "We intercepted the message as you requested."

Wolf, without rising, took the letter out and held it in his hand. Hardin rose, approached Wolf, and took the letter. Hardin walked back to his brother and the princess, and swiftly broke the letter's seal. His hand took out a piece of paper written by a Macedonian, and he began to read.

A silence set in as his eyes darted across the letter. His expression was neutral, offering no clue to the letter's contents, even the perceptive Wolf couldn't read Hardin's expression when the prince of Aurelis was guarding it. None of the four Aurelian soldiers would have been able to see his expression anyway, they had their heads bowed. After reading, Hardin offered the letter to the princess, her expression was similarly unreadable, as was the Aurelian king's after her.

"Wolf, Sedgar, Vyland, Roshea." Hardin addressed his most reliable and trustworthy soldiers, "Sharpen your weapons and your reflexes. We have… much work ahead of us."

"Coyote?" Sedgar raised his head from its bowed position, one of his eyebrows raised. "Forgive my boldness but… what was that letter's contents? What does it offer us?"

Hardin paused for a moment, then raised his head, looking through one of the windows of the inner keep. He looked into the night sky, to the stars, each star, in a way, represented a bleak day of fighting Macedon. One could picture a cloud coming to cover those stars with the sweet promise of this war turning around.

"Hope." Hardin answered.

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><p><strong>I think it's probably been obvious for a while now, but I'm pushing for GordinNorne with this story. Yeah.**

**I was quite excited when writing the beginning and ending of this chapter, which were also the parts of this chapter that were the easiest to write. I get the feeling that I'm going to enjoy using the four Aurelians in this story.**

**Note: I don't believe the four become 'Wolfguard' until after the events of Shadow Dragon, so they'll never be referred to with that title in this story. Rather, expect them to instead be referred to as "The Aurelians" or "Hardin's men".**

**Please review.**


	12. Meanwhile, Elsewhere

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>The moon was climbing, offering a paltry amount of light to the desolate countryside. The night sky was cloudy, hiding the stars behind an aerial blanket. Only the full moon, which someone on the ground could swear was bloody red tonight, could pierce through the blanket.<p>

It was a simple land. Half of it seemed comprised of flat, albeit rocky, plateaus and valleys, the other half, mountains that ended in spiky peaks.

There was an odd beauty to this land, but living in it demanded much. Water was scarce, springs and rivers were practically nonexistent, and the ground seemed to reject the seeds from which crops would sprout. The ground seemed too devastated to support plants. Bandits were not a problem here, but the land itself was a much greater threat. A harsh land that gave the strongest of individuals who lived on it only just enough to stay alive. Those of weaker spirit the land devoured. The decayed remains of those too weak to last were spread thinly about the landscape. Few beings could make a living in this land.

Few beings, besides Manaketes, could wrest a living from the land of Dolhr.

Dolhr was home to little signs of civilization. Most who lived in the land made their homes in the caves and crevices. Only the most elite were actually allowed to sleep in the comfort of an actual building. It was somewhat odd to think of this country as the Empire that had brought nearly the breadth of the continent under its heel. A land that seemed so obviously behind the times with such a brutal style of living…

Several old forts dotted the nation, most of them had been built in the ancient war that the hero, Anri, had fought in. These buildings were crumbling, effectively worthless things.

Only two buildings in the nation were actually used. The Resurrectory, a temple crafted by Manakete hands, where a… very special staff was kept. Humans were disallowed entry, the penalty for arrogantly strutting into the temple, for whatever reason, was a fiery death.

The other building was Dolhr Keep. The seat of power for the Dolhr Empire, and the dwelling place of Emperor Medeus, the Shadow Dragon.

When Medeus had first returned, the Keep had much activity going on inside it. The closest thing to a festive atmosphere that one could find in Dolhr, and it had passed. Now that the celebratory time of Medeus' return had come and gone, the Keep had gone quiet. Silent, in fact.

Now, after nearly two years, something had come to light that necessitated action by Dolhr. Dolhr Keep was once again active, but this time, it was far from celebratory. Rather, it was a sense of urgency, and a need for action, that was sweeping through the keep.

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><p>The torches were never put out in this dark, foreboding place. Several cloaked figures always tended to them, ensuring that the flames never flickered. Even now, a cloaked man was by a torch, an aged, decrepit face was illuminated by the flickering light as the figure fed wood to the brazier to get the dwindling flame to return to its old glory.<p>

After getting the flame to blaze once more, the cloaked man walked away and knelt down. His lips moved, but no words came out. He looked almost as if he was in prayer, a prayer directed at his emperor.

To most humans, there was… something unsettling about this place. A vague sense of unease would creep into you the second you stepped into this building. Worming straight into your heart. Only those humans who lived in Dolhr could feel comfortable here.

Something… evil, was biding its time here. Waiting for its revival and return to the world to be finally, truly complete. The entire keep seemed to radiate pure hatred, and at the core of this hatred was the Keep's master.

Normally, the floors of Dolhr Keep were walked only by Manaketes, and the most elite of the humans who accepted Manaketes as their masters.

Today, others were present. Medeus had summoned the leaders of the nations that comprised the Dolhr Alliance to come so he could speak to them. It was an unprecedented occurrence. Though each leader had spoken to Medeus before, this would be the first time they, as a group, would appear to the Shadow Dragon. It was quite clear that something had happened that required their attention. Something… urgent.

Already, the leaders of Gra, Grust, Macedon, and Khadein had arrived. So too had the servants of Dolhr who handled the occupation of Anri's realm and the holy kingdom of Archanea.

The various vassals, servants, soldiers, advisors, and aids that directly served their rulers had escorted their leaders to Dolhr Keep, but they would not be granted an audience with Medeus. Instead, they were left to wander through the keep. They were safe in Dolhr Keep, provided they did not do anything… unbecoming, or speak out against Dolhr or Medeus.

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><p>Two men slowly walked down a hall in Dolhr Keep. Two men of clearly different ages. One was older, with a thick beard, and wore heavy armor, with an eye patch covering his right eye, he carried a lance with him. The other was younger, with blonde hair and an attractive face, he also carried a lance.<p>

The men were Grustians. The older was General Lorenz, the younger was General Camus. The two most elite members of Grust's army.

Camus, otherwise known as 'Camus The Sable'. He was claimed by many to be the most able warrior alive. The conquests he had led in the name of Grust, yet at the behest of Dolhr, added credence to the claims. He was the commander of the Sable Order, Grust's most elite force. The Sable Order laid claim to some of the most well-trained soldiers in the continent. Grust's overwhelming military strength was credit almost entirely to the Sable Order.

Lorenz was a man of peace, even when part of the nation of Grust, who happily served as Dolhr's lapdog. Many troubling thoughts were tossed, turned, and analyzed in his head every day. Here, in Dolhr Keep, he could not force these thoughts out of his head.

Behind the two men was another three. Belf, Robert, and Leiden, Sable Knights with absolute loyalty to Camus. They walked behind Camus and Lorenz, offering no words.

On the other side of the hall, approaching the Grustians, was another two men. Dolhrians. These two were specifically involved in the occupation of Archanea.

One of them was named Heimler. A quiet man who kept his opinion closely-guarded from all but his Manakete masters. He rarely spoke, but when he did, he tended to have a fair amount to say. In the nation of Dolhr, where one must exhibit the strength to dominate your brethren or die, Heimler had always excelled. A noted favorite of his Manakete masters.

The other was Dejanira, also known as 'Dejanira The Bloodcleaner'. The man had an infamous joy of shattering the resistances that tried to liberate Archanea. His joy in slaughtering Archanean resistance fighters was… unsettling to non-Dolhrians. His lance was clean of blood, he cleaned it after every kill, even when in the midst of battle. It was a small behavioral quirk that was rooted in arrogance. The arrogance that compelled him to have his weapon clean and shiny before the next kill.

Most Dolhrian humans went around in rags. These two dressed in fineries fit for a noble. It was testament to the favor and prestige the Manaketes had offered them for their obedience and excellent performance in battle.

Lorenz noted both men and stiffened slightly.

As the two groups neared, Dejanira began talking, more to Heimler then the Grustians.

"The Archaneans may believe themselves the ones to oppose Dolhr, but we are not ones to be brought down easily." He smiled, thinking of the amount of Archaneans who were now deceased. Many by his own hand. Such a memory would be a subject of shame and regret for many, but not to a Dolhrian human like Dejanira. No, it was a prideful thing for him. "They have risen against us, time after time in an effort to take back their land. And each rebellion, crushed. There can be no doubt of Dolhr's superiority over the land of Archanea now."

Heimler slightly turned his head in Dejanira's direction, but said nothing, merely continuing his walk. Dejanira seemed to take it as his cue to continue talking.

"We are the humans of Dolhr. We are those who acknowledge the true rulers of this world. As their champions, we will blot out this continent with our numbers. What better blade could our masters have then us?"

Dejanira smiled smugly, while Heimler simply nodded. The two groups passed each other, Lorenz might have been content to have continued walking, but Dejanira's words seemed to compel him to respond.

"You remind me of general Gouber, Dolhrian." Lorenz noted. Dejanira and Heimler stopped in their tracks and turned to Lorenz, Camus, and the Sable Knights, who had also stopped. Lorenz stepped toward the two, "He, too, was a human who believed he served the true masters of this world, and what became of him?" Lorenz turned away, his expression neutral. "Skewered on an Archanean lance. Failing in his task of bringing Archanean rule to an end. He died, and was forgotten."

Heimler said nothing, but Dejanira scoffed, "How someone as weak as Gouber gained any recognition in Dolhr, I shall never understand. He was always too weak to be worth _my_ notice. That incompetent idiot earned his death in the Archanean siege."

Lorenz's eyes narrowed at Dejanira. "You of Dolhr treat deceased comrades as if they were jokes. And your masters? They make you seem like humanitarians. The nation of Dolhr is heartless beyond comprehension and contempt."

"Heartless?" Heimler asked aloud. Dejanira had been about to respond to Lorenz's words himself, but the normally wordless Heimler had chosen to speak instead.

Heimler speaking at all tended to be cause for at least mild shock, and Dejanira bowed out, allowed Heimler to speak.

"If only we of Dolhr were even more so. We give those beneath us no mercy unless they can prove useful. We are the Dolhrian humans, the chosen few who embrace the true masters of this world. Raised on strength and obedience, casting the weak and inefficient out. Dolhr is comprised of the strongest. Only the strongest. No nation stands a true chance against the empire. Those who defy us will learn what price there is to be paid." Heimler inclined his head away from Lorenz, and to another one of the Grustians, "Do you not agree, Camus The Sable?"

Camus focused his eyes on Heimler, but said nothing. He knew that Heimler was speaking of a… certain incident. A time when Camus felt the brunt of Dolhr's treatment to disobedient servants.

Heimler spoke no further words, but his brows furrowed in aggravation at Camus' silence. Before any other words were spoken, Heimler began to walk away. As the inferior of the two, in both rank and ability, Dejanira had no choice but to simply follow after him.

"Could any human truly wish for a life under Dolhr?" Lorenz thought aloud as Heimler and Dejanira left. The humans of Dolhr baffled him, but he supposed that those who had lived their entire lives under the Manaketes couldn't envision a life that lacked such brutality. He turned to Camus, who was standing right beside him. "Tell me, Camus, do you believe that Grust has any future under Dolhr?"

Camus turned to Lorenz, neither face or eyes betraying anything Camus thought or felt. He spoke calmly. "So believes our king, King Ludwik. That decision was made long ago, Lorenz. There is no reason to think of it any further."

Lorenz narrowed his eyes again. Camus, the eternal loyalist. He, and the rest of the Sable Order, were ready to stand beside their king in doing something that was so obviously a mistake. Lorenz turned to Belf, Leiden, and Robert, who all nodded in agreement with Camus. Those three defined themselves by Camus… if someone had Camus' loyalty, then that person had theirs.

Without any further words, Camus began to walk once more. Lorenz followed him in silence. He should have known that speaking to Camus on this matter was pointless.

The two continued to walk with the three Sable Knights following behind them. Lorenz could only sigh.

* * *

><p>Palla was surprised to find herself in Dolhr Keep, the seat of evil.<p>

For political purposes, Minerva had journeyed to Dolhr Keep with Michalis. Naturally, Palla, Catria, Est, and Merach had accompanied her. Orridyon had come as well, but in support of Michalis.

For the moment, Palla was by herself. She had… wanted a moment alone with her thoughts. She didn't get many occasions where she could think about all that had happened. Most of her time was spent worrying about her sisters or the commander. Merach… was someone who she could confidently say could take care of himself.

This was the first time since Macedon joined Dolhr that she had even seen Michalis. There was once a time when, even though she supported Minerva, she still had the utmost respect and loyalty to Michalis. Now…

He was an excellent leader, tactician, and king. If only his perspective on what was best for Macedon was more in line with Minerva's perspective…

Palla could not say that she had lost all of her respect for him. He still had traits that she honestly admired, but it was hard to look past what he had done, and what he had become. Dolhr seemed to have rubbed off on Michalis, he was becoming colder, crueler… he may have joined Dolhr with a noble intention, he couldn't possibly achieve his intentions now.

While Palla still recognized Michalis' positive traits, Catria had come to vehemently despise their king, and refused to acknowledge him as the king of Macedon. The issue with princess Maria seemed to be the last straw for Catria.

Merach believed that Michalis himself was not at peace with what he did, Palla was not sure what to think, but Catria clearly felt that Michalis didn't feel the slightest remorse for Maria's plight.

It was… vexing, to keep Catria under control. In these two years of fighting against their better judgment, Catria was growing into an increasingly bitter and angry person, it was a troubling development to Palla. If her personality continued to flow in that direction, Catria might end up as petty and violent as the Manaketes of Dolhr. Freedom from Dolhr's chains might be the only thing that could stop this shift in personality.

How often had it been, that Palla had grown terrified when Catria mocked or insulted a superior? How often had it been that Palla had been forced to try and defend Catria from a superior's wrath?

Many times, the only reason Catria had been spared was because of Merach, who could interject on Catria's behalf with the calmness that Palla couldn't have in such occasions.

As for Est… she was much more respectful to superiors. The girl had concluded that she had to be as respectful as possible to ensure princess Maria's safety. Though she was more then happy to confide in Palla her disgust in having to do so.

A normally innocent and carefree girl, Est shouldn't have had to have gotten involved in something like this. Being surrounded by people who would kill her for trite failures… if only Est had never enlisted. The nation of Macedon itself was still relatively peaceful, if she had just continued life as a simple commoner.

The commander, princess Minerva, must have, in Palla's opinion, been in the worst possible position among the Macedonians. Her younger sister a hostage, her older brother a willing member of the Dolhr Alliance, her trusted soldiers and loyal bodyguard reduced to mere pawns. Minerva herself also a pawn. Doubtless Minerva-

"Get out of the way, human."

Palla snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of a hoarse voice. She turned to see a Manakete standing near her.

She gasped at the cloaked, hooded figure before her. Many of the Manaketes seemed to have the same face to her, but this one seemed more distinct. Cold, inhuman, green eyes that seemed to pierce right into her soul, combined with a chilling ashen skin pigmentation made this particular Manakete terrifying to behold.

Immediately, she knew exactly who this was.

"M-Master Morzas…" She was required to always refer to a Manakete with the title of 'master'. She would prefer not to address them with any respectful terms, but disrespect on her part might put Minerva into an even more uncomfortable position. She could not... do that to the commander.

Morzas. She had never met this particular Manakete, and she had hoped that she never would. He ruled what was left of Alt-

She caught herself halfway through the word. Merely uttering the words 'Altea' and 'Anri' could get you executed. In front of a Manakete, she was somehow frightened to even piece together the word in her mind.

Dolhr was very tight in its control of… the land Morzas was ruling. So tight, in fact, that Palla didn't know exactly what Morzas was like as a ruler. Yet she did know the body count, and found her skin crawling just from her proximity to Morzas. The death toll was catastrophic, and Palla did not want to know what Morzas' precise methods were.

"Your kind is as deaf as they are useless." Morzas said with a chilling tone. "Move. Or I shall make an example of you."

With most other superiors, human superiors, Palla was sometimes amused at how easy it was to talk circles around them and find little loopholes in their orders. With Morzas in front of her, it seemed to take all of her will-power to simply keep herself from shivering.

_I… I'm afraid of him. He's just… standing there, and…_ she gulped, continuing to regard Morzas carefully, studying the Manakete. Those cold, heartless eyes narrowed on her, and a panic shot through Palla as she realized that she hadn't done what this murderous despot commanded.

Obediently, Palla stepped aside. Morzas shook his head and took a breath in. "It seems I am the last 'leader' to arrive. A shame." He seemed to grunt, then opened the door that Palla hadn't realized she had been standing in front of just a moment ago.

Palla leaned against the wall, her eyes intently watching the door close behind Morzas. She held her breath, waiting for the sound of Morzas' footsteps to slowly fade away, only letting her breath out when she could hear nothing more of the Manakete.

A hand she forced not to shake went up to her forehead. She was surprised to feel no warmth. The encounter with Morzas had seemingly sucked it all out of her, she felt…cold. Her body surrendered to the fearful shivering that she had kept herself from doing when Morzas had been right in front of her.

She didn't even notice that she was breathing hard, even as her hand fell off of her forehead and onto her heaving chest. Suddenly, she was growing more worried about the commander. If a merely high-ranked Manakete could do this to her, she could only shudder at what coming face to face with Medeus could do to a person.

"Palla?" Palla almost jumped at the sound of her name. She turned to see Est, Merach, and Catria walking up to her. "Did something happen?"

"N-n-noth-" Palla stopped as she noticed her trembling voice. She took a deep, long breath in, composing herself, and turned to Est. "Nothing happened. I just… came face to face with one of Dolhr's worst." She turned back to the door Morzas had left through. Her trembling had stopped, she was in control of her herself once more.

"Did he hurt you?" Catria asked, already knowing that it was a Manakete. She glared at the door Palla was staring at. Catria would, of course, hunt down the Manakete against all sense and sanity if she believed that one of her sisters had been harmed. "If he did, I swear I'll-"

"No." Palla assured his younger sister, "He didn't. He just… something about him was frightening." She took another breath in. "Morzas… the leader of the occupation of Altea."

Merach blinked, shocked by who Palla had encountered, but more shocked by what Palla had just said. "You know what just saying that name can do to you." Merach warned, noting Palla's use of the name 'Altea'. "Not even the Manaketes use that name. It is… similarly dangerous to say 'Anri', unless you are a Manakete."

Palla's eyes widened, but then she nodded. She remembered the warning they had all been issued when their lances were bent to Dolhr's whim. Execution for any lesser individual who as much as muttered 'Altea' or 'Anri'.

"A… momentary lapse in judgment, Merach. It won't happen again." She stopped leaning on the wall and took a second deep breath in, completely calm once more. "He said he was the last leader to arrive… the commander and king Michalis are probably just waiting-"

"Don't." Catria hunched with a sudden anger, "…call that man a king. He's nothing but a simple pretender." She seethed, breathing heavily, posturing in a rage.

Palla didn't even blink at Catria's sudden anger. The mere mention of Michalis seemed to set her off. It was somehow disheartening how Catria, who once held great respect for Michalis, now despised him so utterly.

Moments like this were, unfortunately, common, and not surprising in the slightest. Most of the time, Palla could wait until Catria's anger passed, but inside Dolhr Keep, Catria had to remain silent, otherwise there could be trouble. The Manaketes wouldn't care about anything said against Michalis, but it would only be a matter of time before she started insulting Dolhr, which would only succeed in getting Catria killed.

"Until the commander tells us otherwise, Catria, king Michalis is our king." Palla said, Catria's eyes widened in shock, and she gritted her teeth.

"I will never call him _my_ king." Catria clenched her hands into fists, then crossed her arms. "He's done a good job at destroying all the respect I used to have for him. He doesn't have a single upstanding-"

"He has upstanding traits any sane person would admire." Palla said flatly, Catria's anger seemed to briefly shift into confusion. Est seemed similarly confused. "He is a cunning tactician, a shrewd leader, and he knows how to work at his goals. There are things about him that, even now, the _commander_ wants to emulate, Catria."

"Palla-"

"King Michalis is the commander's brother, remember? Speaking so hatefully of him might be hurtful for the commander."

Catria looked away for a moment, then turned back to Palla, "The commander has to be disgusted to be related to a man like-"

"_Catria_." Palla said with an obvious unspoken warning in her voice. "The commander is upset and disappointed with king Michalis, yes, but I doubt that she… hates him." Palla shook her head. Privately, in her mind, she was surprised that she was dealing with mixed opinions regarding Michalis. "Hold your tongue when speaking of the commander's brother. Our input is not necessary. On _any_ matter."

'Our input is not necessary' was practically Palla's catchphrase. A reflection of her faith in Minerva's judgment and reasoning. The only time Palla ever went by her own best judgment was in an occasion where Minerva was not there to offer her feelings on the matter.

Catria bowed her head and backed off. She was fuming, clearly, but she was at least not saying anything that would be potentially dangerous.

The middle sister of the Whitewings was certainly not subtle. She had been quite clear in expressing the fact that she wanted to see Michalis die. In fact, she had told Palla and Est, many times, that she wanted to be the one who killed Michalis. The words did much to frighten Palla, who knew that Catria was underestimating Michalis on a considerable level, to believe that she could ever defeat him. Even the commander stood little chance against Michalis.

"I know the commander doesn't want to fight for Dolhr." Est suddenly said, drawing Catria's almost astonished gaze. "I think… if she could, if we didn't have to worry about princess Maria, we'd be fighting for Aurelis, with Macedon's best interests at heart. The Aurelians have the strength to fight, from what I hear, they've been gaining ground and getting themselves out of the position they've been. I think the commander would be open to an alliance between herself and Aurelis."

Palla's eyes widened as Est offered her opinion of what she felt the commander should do.

"Est…" Palla said, the surprise evident in her voice. "I… I'm impressed you figured all that out." And she was quite honest there. Est wasn't unintelligent, but planning rebellion was far from her strong suit. For a moment, Palla was proud of her youngest sister, who practically beamed from being commended, yet Palla's pride vanished quickly. "But… Est, I don't think it would work out so well."

"Huh?" Est asked, tilted her head in confusion. "Why not?"

Palla shook her head. "I'm doubtful that the Aurelians would accept us."

"What?" Est had honest shock in her voice. "Why? We'd be fighting for the same thing, wouldn't we?"

"Yes Est, but-"

"I'm afraid the Macedonian invasion of Aurelis would squash any attempt we could make to join with the Aurelian resistance." Merach said, knowing exactly what Palla was getting at. "Two years of fighting Macedon has likely hardened their hearts against us."

"But… the Aurelians know of the commander, the Whitewings, and you, Merach. They know we abandoned a Macedonian force one time during the invasion, maybe they think we're not really that loyal."

Palla knew exactly what Est was talking about. Minerva, the Whitewings, and Merach had all fought for the sake of subjugating Aurelis. In one particular skirmish, their superior was an arrogant Macedonian named Ruben who laughed in Minerva's face over the hostage situation with Maria.

Ruben had been less interested in actually conquering Aurelis, and spent more time entertaining himself with butchering the innocent plains folk, and kidnapping any woman that caught his eye. Minerva had been repulsed by the fact that this man was a Macedonian at all.

When word had come that some of the resistance's best fighters were approaching, Minerva had ordered Merach and the Whitewings to withdraw. Minerva enjoyed watching Ruben's demise from an aerial viewpoint. She had actually been impressed, and, as she confided in her four soldiers after that battle, a little intimidated by the skill of the Aurelian resistance.

There had only been three resistance fighters present at the battle. Coyote, the resistance leader, and two others, a man with purple hair and a man with red hair. They were outnumbered, outmatched, and outmaneuvered by a fifty to one margin, and they still made a mockery of Ruben and his soldiers before they killed him.

"The most optimistic thing to expect is for them to consider us cowards who abandoned our allies." Palla said. "They probably paint all Macedonians with the same broad brush. Our entire nation is 'evil' to them, especially we, who are so high in the Macedonian army."

Est's eyes fell to stare at the floor. What she felt was a good suggestion had been completely cut off as a viable idea.

A moment of silence set in.

"For now, let's talk less, and move more." Merach said. "We wouldn't want anyone to… overhear any plans for rebellion. Unlike princess Minerva, we aren't really protected by king Michalis."

Merach began to walk off, the Whitewings exchanged a few glances, then followed him. Palla's thoughts returned to the commander, who was surely about to meet Medeus. The leaders wouldn't see him at least until all the leaders were available.

Something so urgent that Medeus had gathered all the leaders of the nations under Dolhr? Perhaps, perhaps this would be just want the commander needed.

No, she would not get her hopes up, at least not until she knew what the Shadow Dragon's message was.

* * *

><p>Slowly, for his joints pained him, Albertus, the prime minister of Gra, found himself moving through one of the Keep's hallways. While Jiol had gone to meet with Medeus and the other leaders, he simply wandered. He was allowed to wander free through the Keep, but he tended to prefer rooms and areas with little to no occupants. His presence here was more for political purpose, to say that the leaders of Gra were here. From what he heard, the representatives of other nations that came with their leaders were soldiers, not strictly thinkers like Albertus.<p>

He could only sigh at how the last two years had gone. Gra had just gotten worse and worse, but no one could do anything about it at this point. The majority of the military of Gra was in quite blatant denial of the truth, that the nation was growing empty and soulless. A mere pawn in Dolhr's game, and the single most expendable pawn the empire had.

There… had to be some soldiers who resented the choices Jiol had made, but there was nothing they could do now. The time when anyone could have acted had come and gone. Gra was too firm under Dolhr's heel now. It would take a miracle for something to happen that would give the soldiers of Gra the courage to other throw Jiol.

His legs stopped carrying him anywhere, he stopped and began to do what he did best. Think. He thought of how more and more bright young nationalistic lives were happy to enlist and follow a man such as Jiol. The lances and swords that should have been trained for virtue were instead now trained for atrocious brutalities that no man should be proud of committing.

King Jiol. The other nations, Grust, Khadein, Macedon, and even Aurelis, Archanea, and what remained of Altea, called him 'The Traitor King'. Or, more simply, 'Backstabber'. Few leaders wanted to have dealings with Jiol, or confide in him on even the simplest of matters. He would take even the smallest things to Dolhr's attention, in the hopes of currying favor.

Despite Jiol's best efforts, Gra was by far the least of the Dolhr Alliance. The least reliable military, the least resources… Dolhr itself had little love for the nation. Yet Jiol seemed to be in denial, and considered himself and the nation of Gra as an indispensable servant to Dolhr that the other nations couldn't possibly replace. Even now, he hid behind his retrieval of Falchion and his murder of Cornelius when others questioned his use to Dolhr.

Gra was falling apart. His heart ached for his land, but there was nothing he could do. The power to change his country rested completely in king Jiol's hands.

Which was to say, the power to change his country was in the hands of Dolhr.

He pined for the old days. He remembered when Gra had virtue, strength, and a warm friendship with Altea. The last time he had attended a union meeting between Gra and Altea, Albertus had spoken with Malledus and Jagen, two men of similar age and with similar beliefs. He wondered what had become of them, they surely thought of him as Jiol's co-conspirator, he didn't hold it against them. He secretly wondered if this entire situation could have been avoided if he had pressed his side of the argument harder when Gharnef had come to Jiol. If only Jiol had resisted, then… then King Cornelius might still be alive. Archanea, Macedon, and Aurelis would have never gotten involved.

With his eyes closed, he felt the pain of the knowledge of the fact that the days he yearned for were gone forever.

He entered a new room. A large dome of some sort, and heard voices. There were others in the room, he looked to the distance to spot a man who seemed aged, but was quite a bit younger then Albertus. That was Orridyon, one of king Michalis' servants, something of a second in command, in fact.

This was a Macedonian, and he was repulsively blind in following his king. His allegiance was completely unconditional, and irrational. There was likely nothing that could sway his loyalty to Michalis. Albertus had only heard stories about the man, and was not interested in ever meeting him. Orridyon was a perfect representation of what Albertus didn't want to see in a soldier. Loyalty was a desired trait for a soldier, admirable and something to be emulated, but blindness was not something he ever enjoyed seeing. A soldier, no matter how loyal, should still know how to think for himself.

Orridyon seemed angry, and was in an argument with several mages. Albertus recognized them as Khadein mages, those who swore allegiance to Gharnef. Some swore allegiance to Gharnef out of a desire for power. Gaining Gharnef's favor gave you access to… rewards that most mages would kill just to look at, as Albertus had been told. Others who swore allegiance to Gharnef had made their vows of loyalty out of fear. It was amazing what rules of morality some people broke to keep themselves alive.

For a brief moment, Albertus contemplated listening to the conversation, but then shook his head. He had a strong suspicion that they were merely arguing about whether Michalis or Gharnef was a better leader.

Anyone in the Dolhr Alliance knew about the… three way rivalry between Grust, Khadein, and Macedon. King Jiol of Gra may fancy himself as Dolhr's favorite servant, but that prestigious position, as of right now, was a toss up between three other nations.

King Michalis of Macedon, Dark Pontifex of Khadein, both powerful leaders that had done much to find favor in Dolhr. King Ludwik of Grust, on the other hand, was matchless against the two, it was Camus The Sable who kept Grust on par with Macedon of Khadein.

Ludwik, and Camus, along with Michalis, seemed content to simply try and undermine their rivals. Gharnef, on the other hand… Albertus had no proof, but there were whispers that Gharnef was plotting a dark deed on his enemies.

Rather then allow himself to be sneered at for being a member of the nation ranked lowest in the alliance, Albertus chose to duck out of the room. Let Orridyon and the Khadein mages continue their passionate, and inane, argument.

* * *

><p>The lifeless wind made an eerie wail as it traveled into the deepest part of the keep. The throne room. No human, no sane virtuous human, could honestly claim to be at peace here.<p>

Xemcel, the Hand of Medeus, was Medeus' most reliable and efficient servant. He served as Medeus' eyes and ears outside the keep. In essence, the avatar of Medeus' will, Xemcel defined his entire life by his loyalty to Medeus.

He stood by Medeus throne, here, in the inner keep. The room that Medeus had his throne in was hardly spectacular in design, though it was amazingly huge. Large enough for dozens of Manaketes to take their true form in without being even remotely cramped.

Without any words of complaint, he waited. Motionless, he waited, he would not move until his emperor gave the order. He seemed almost a statue situated by Medeus. Not even his eyes moved to sate idle curiosities, and it was like he had no need to draw breath.

"It is time." Medeus said. Xemcel nodded in obedience and motioned at the door to the room. Two human servants rose from their bowing positions and opened both sides of the large door. A creak was heard as the door swung, but none already in the room seemed even mildly irked by the sound that couldn't be ignored.

Several figures walked in. Some wearing royal tapestries, others in thick armor. A few wore robes more appropriate for a mage.

Those who walked in the room came forward before Medeus' throne. Some of them kneeled down. Others did not. Xemcel felt rage billow inside him at the defiance some exhibited by continuing to stand, but offered no physical cues to any feelings he had.

"King Ludwik of Grust." Xemcel recognized the first kneeling figure. He was king of the nation that lays claim to one of the most powerful militaries in the continent. Yet, Ludwik was a weak-willed and fearful man, and it had taken little to convince him that the safest route was an alliance with Dolhr. Just a few hints at what Dolhr could do to a man that had but mildly irked the empire, and he practically sold his nation to Medeus.

Had it not been for the strength of his nation, the Sable Order in particular, some of the most elite knights in the continent, Dolhr would have already seen the nation destroyed.

Ludwik was a sickly man, and was easily cowed. As he knelt down, a weak cough escaped his trembling mouth. He seemed to be terrified, merely talking with a lesser Manakete frightened him, and now he was in the presence of the supreme ruler of Dolhr, and that ruler's greatest servants. It was obvious that he was petrified. He continued to kneel, and could not control his fearful trembling.

"King Michalis of Macedon." Xemcel noted one of the figures who didn't kneel down. A prideful figure who had led the army of Macedon to great conquests after joining Dolhr. He had earned the name 'King Michalis The Great' for his ability to always achieve the most overwhelming victories. Relentless in his pursuits, merciless in his dealing of his enemies, and he had… such ambition.

His ambition was only a minor nuisance to Dolhr. No nation had a true way to oppose the Shadow Dragon.

"Princess Minerva." Xemcel turned to the one standing next to Michalis. Minerva growled under her breath as Xemcel addressed her. Had it not been for her effectiveness as a soldier, she would have been publicly executed a long time ago, along with the soldiers who swore loyalty to her. She didn't even need to speak for Xemcel to see that the woman was clearly disgusted to be in this room.

Her lack of loyalty meant little to Dolhr. A mere threat to princess Maria's safety was enough to get Minerva to do anything a superior officer wished her to do.

And… there was little Minerva could do, anyway. The Manaketes were… overwhelmingly powerful. Against Xemcel, she was a mere insect. Before Medeus, her power was practically non-existent. Even if not for princess Maria's dilemma, Minerva simply would not be able to successfully mount a rebellion. She may have believed otherwise, but Xemcel knew that it would take little to bring her under heel.

"Khozen." Xemcel said to a figure that was kneeling like Ludwik. This was one of his own, a Manakete. Khozen had ruled over Archanea since it had fallen to Dolhr. As a ruler, Khozen's will was cruel, unforgiving, and murderous. Somewhat impatient for a being several centuries old, but still a true Manakete, and the first among those gathered before Xemcel that he looked upon favorably.

Kneeling next to Khozen was Volzhin. Xemcel knew the man, a human born in Dolhr, who embraced a life as a servant to the Manaketes. Volzhin had the highest rank a human could achieve in the Dolhr Empire, but he was still beneath any and all of the Manaketes.

Xemcel didn't bother speaking Volzhin's name. He only nodded at the human. That alone was a rare honor, for a simple Dolhrian human to as much as be acknowledged someone as high-ranked as Xemcel…

"King Jiol of Gra." Xemcel's brows briefly furrowed in aggravation as he caught sight of the king of Gra kneeling down before the throne of Medeus. Jiol, and Gra, had proven utterly useless in their time under Dolhr. Jiol had succeeded in killing Cornelius and retrieving Falchion, but beyond that, the nation had never accomplished anything.

Jiol seemed to believe that opportunities would just fall into Gra's lap. That assumption just resulted in Grust, Khadein, and Macedon being able to swoop in and take every opportunity for glory that Gra might have had.

The army of Gra may have had some slight skill, but the nation was more of a hindrance for Dolhr then anything else. Xemcel secretly wished that handing the Falchion to Medeus had failed to preserve Jiol's life. The only reason the nation continued to exist was simply because Medeus considered it a waste of resources to send anything at Gra, at least until the entirety of the continent was under his control.

Oh, how he wished to rip Jiol apart, piece by useless piece. Even worms would be too proud to feast on what Xemcel left behind.

Restraining himself, and keeping a neutral tone, Xemcel simply moved on to the next figure before him.

"Morzas." Xemcel identified another kneeling figure. Yet another Manakete, this one controlled the remains of Anri's kingdom. Xemcel heard the reports of how Morzas handled the nation he ruled. Broken resistances, unprovoked slaughters, mass public executions.

Morzas was much harsher in ruling then Khozen was, but Xemcel believed that Morzas stayed his hand too frequently. Anri's kingdom deserved worse… much worse, then what Morzas was doing to it. Morzas was being… soft. Merciful. On some level, Xemcel was shamed that he was of the same breed of Manakete that Morzas was.

"Dark Pontifex Gharnef." The last figure Xemcel took notice of was also arrogantly standing. Though, unlike the others, one could say that Gharnef had good reason to be arrogant. The Dark Pontifex's tome, Imhullu, made him completely impervious to any and all attacks. He could not as much as be scratched, he could even be itched. There was no need to manually channel the spell, the invulnerability was a… passive effect. Gharnef would act without fear, knowing that he could not be defeated.

If it weren't for the fact that Xemcel, Medeus' second in command, was a Manakete that was… unimpressed by magic, Gharnef would have tried to take over the empire already. The man did a remarkably inadequate job at hiding his power-hungry aura.

Gharnef, the current ruler of Khadein. Khadein was one of the more prominent nations under Dolhr, and Gharnef clearly had the ambition to rule all. Xemcel knew that Gharnef was biding his time, waiting for a chance to strike Medeus.

Only an amusing little plan of rebellion. Xemcel believed that Gharnef was a man who had precious little insight and delusional ambitions. Let the Dark Pontifex think himself clever for plotting in the shadows, it was Dolhr, it was Emperor Medeus, who held the true power.

"Good." Xemcel made another scan of those present, assuring himself that all the leaders of the nations that swore allegiance to Dolhr were present. "We have much to discuss today."

The pawns who fancied themselves rulers of nations had been gathered. Xemcel backed up, allowing Medeus to ready himself to talk.

Medeus reclined on his throne, tilting his head toward those before him. His eyes narrowed at the figures. Their disdain of him, their desire to see his rule ended, was something that he could almost literally taste. They swore loyalty to him, but he knew each one wanted him to be done away with. If one of them had the power to challenge Dolhr, he could rest assured that they would rebel.

Yet they didn't have that kind of power. They never would.

"You…" Medeus spoke up. "Each a ranking member of the Dolhr Alliance, which exists under the Dolhr Empire." He emphasized the word 'under'. "It is… necessary for you to hear of a new development."

He spoke quietly and emotionlessly with his deep voice. Yet it was also clear that he thought of them all as a form of life that was beneath him. Even Khozen and Morzas.

"Someone who I had suspected to have become irrelevant has returned. In Aurelis."

Those present exchanged a few glances, but spoke no words.

Medeus motioned to Xemcel, who took a slip of paper out of his robes. Xemcel held the paper in his decrepit, aged fingers, and with a nod of permission from Medeus, began to speak.

"Anri's whelp has returned. A Macedonian captain ascertained that it was the runaway prince. This captain attempted to capture the prince, but our scouts have confirmed that this captain and his men were completely slaughtered shortly after the letter was sent."

No one as much as murmured at the news, for fear of 'speaking out of line', though a few looked around uncomfortably.

"Gharnef." Medeus addressed the Dark Pontifex. "You still have the Falchion in your grasp?"

Gharnef stepped forward, a lipless grin on his face as he revealed Falchion to be on his person. The golden hilt, combined with the blade, forged of Naga's tooth, generated an immediate hiss from Khozen and Morzas.

Medeus, with some effort, stopped himself from making a similar animalistic snarl at the weapon. "Very good, Gharnef. See to it that he, that the fool's descendent never gets his hands on that weapon."

"You have my word… Emperor." Gharnef said with a rather sarcastic tone. Volzhin turned to the Dark Pontifex and snarled, but made no further action.

Medeus' eyes narrowed at Gharnef's tone, but did nothing more. Gharnef had no way to actually _use_ the blade, Marth was the only one capable of using it. A proper heir wielding the Falchion was the only thing that could give Medeus pause, so long as Marth and the divine blade were far away from each other, he feared nothing.

He turned to address all present before him. "Marth must never be allowed to lay his hand on Falcion's hilt, he must never attain the power to challenge Dolhr. You will find him, and you will kill him."

A moment of silence set in. Everyone took their order in, and everyone, save Minerva, nodded their head obediently. Minerva's mind seemed to be… elsewhere.

"Emperor Medeus." Jiol spoke up. He formed his words slowly, carefully, he had barely escaped execution the last time he was here, he did not want to give Medeus a reason to seek his death once more. "There… there is no compensation for a live capture?"

"I want him gone." Medeus said flatly. "Whether brought to me alive or already deceased. It makes no difference. Too much of a desire to capture him alive is what allowed him to escape last time."

Medeus did not mention that it was Jiol's army who failed to capture the prince. The unspoken words were heard by all, Khozen and Morzas turned and glared at Jiol scornfully.

"Be gone." Medeus waved a dismissive hand. "You have my command. Find Anri's repulsive spawn, and kill him. Bring me his head served on a shield. Succeed in this, and you will earn a place by my side to your dying day."

Medeus turned to Xemcel, who immediately motioned to several guards in the room. At once the most elite of the human servants rose and escorted the leaders out of the room.

The doors closed behind them. Medeus silently growled at the idea that a descendent of Anri was fighting his empire.

"If he's in Aurelis…" Xemcel began to ponder aloud. Medeus inclined his head toward his most worthy servant, letting him finish what he was thinking out loud. "He wishes to ally himself with the Aurelians. I doubt that would even give him a fighting chance against the empire, but… it would complicate things slightly." He turned to Medeus, and fell into a kneeling posture. "My emperor, if it be your will, let I lead an assault into Aurelis. I shall kill him and return with his corpse."

Medeus pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, Xemcel, I have an alternative duty for you."

"Emperor…?" Xemcel raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Surely you… you don't have faith in the abilities of human nations."

"I do not. Yet it matters little." Medeus noted, Xemcel grew confused. "If they kill him, the last true threat to the empire is finished. If they fail…" he trailed off, and a grin covered the Shadow Dragon's human face. "The prince could prove quite useful."

"Useful?" He could do nothing to hide his confusion.

"You shall understand, when you return."

"I have a task ahead of me." Xemcel said, a statement, not a question. He bowed his head, waiting for his order.

"Yes." Medeus said. "Gharnef has something that, if left alone, could be cause for concern. Go to Gharnef, have him take you to his 'specimen'. Report back to me with what you uncover."

Xemcel nodded, accepting his order. Medeus waved his hand again, and Xemcel rose, then turned and left the throne room.

* * *

><p>"King Ludwik." Camus made a respectful bow as his king came across him, Lorenz, and the Sable Knights. "Was the reason for this meeting something we are privy to?"<p>

Ludwik's eyes darted around, taking note of his surroundings in their entirety. He let out a deep breath, thankful that, in the meeting, Medeus had never directly spoken to him. He turned to Camus. "Prince Marth… has returned. All of the Dolhr Alliance, Grust included, are going to be scrambling to find him. It is in our best interests for we to be the ones to deliver him to Dolhr. Whether he's alive or not is of no consequence."

Lorenz's single eye looked to the side. Perhaps frustrated with how Ludwik was going along with Medeus' desires, but he said nothing, even as he folded his hands behind his back to hide his clenching fists. Camus merely nodded.

"Grust's forces are the finest on the continent. We will succeed, sire." Camus said. Robert, Belf, and Leiden all saluted.

"It's time to leave." Ludwik said, still exhaustingly scanning around, he seemed to fear that a Manakete could attack him at any second. "I… cannot compose myself here. We are returning to Grust."

* * *

><p>"Commander." Palla was relieved to see Minerva unharmed after the meeting with Medeus, as were the others. There was no telling what could have happened when Medeus came face to face with someone so publicly slanderous to his authority as Minerva. The Whitewings and Merach approached her, and Palla noticed something odd about Minerva's eyes. They seemed rather distant, lost in thought. "Commander, did something happened in the throne room?"<p>

Minerva did not say anything, she merely motioned for the four to approach her. They huddled around the princess as she began to speak.

"Prince Marth of…" she paused for a moment and looked around, making sure no Manaketes or Dolhrian humans was close enough to hear her. "Prince Marth of… Altea, has come out of hiding. He is in Aurelis as we speak."

"The Altean-" Catria's eyes widened in shock. She was unsure what this meant, but it had Minerva thinking, so it had to mean _something_ for them. "What… does this mean for us? Can we turn it to our advantage?"

"I hope…" Minerva murmured. Forming a plan in her head. "Merach." She started to stare at the ground. "Go to Aurelis."

"Commander?" Est asked aloud, pulling her head back in surprise. Surely Minerva wasn't telling Merach to go and put an end to Marth's resistance. "What… are you-"

"Merach." She repeated, forcefully, dispelling any shock anyone had and gaining their undivided attention. "Go to Aurelis and get a good look at prince Marth and his army. And the Aurelian's army. If… in your best judgment, you deem them skilled enough, we will get into contact with them. We… cannot risk putting anything into their hands, especially Maria's rescue, just because they're brave enough to stand up against Dolhr. They must also have the strength necessary."

Merach, who was familiar with Minerva, raised an eyebrow at her odd insistence on staring at the ground and not looking him in the eye when giving the order. No matter, surely she was just relieved to think that she might have found like-minded individuals who might be able to save princess Maria. Simple relief would explain any sudden uncharacteristic behavior.

"As you command." Merach said, "I shall go to Aurelis, determine the prince's strength, and return alive." Merach nodded, then backed away. "I shall leave Dolhr ahead of you, and head to Aurelis immediately."

Minerva nodded, still refusing to make eye-contact with her bodyguard. Merach hoped that the next time they met, he could happily tell her that the prince was exactly the person that Minerva was waiting for. Strong, tenacious, noble, a caring heart, everything Minerva would seek in an ally.

"Do not return until you can see the prince's army for yourself. If you cannot avoid direct contact with them, fight your hardest. Your life is… important, Merach."

"Your concern fills me with the courage necessary to live. I _will_ survive, and I will bring back to you word on his abilities."

Minerva nodded, and Merach turned and walked away.

It took considerable effort for Minerva to keep herself from trembling. She couldn't… couldn't look Merach in the eyes as she gave that order. She may have said _Go and check his abilities_, but what she actually said was _Go and get yourself killed_.

If Merach survived a fight with the prince's army, then she doubted that he had the strength Minerva needed in an ally. If the plan she was only partially hatched in her head was to work, Merach would have to die. The prince had to be stronger then Merach. They had to be able to be able to defeat Merach, and the Whitewings, and maybe even Minerva herself, before an alliance could truly be considered. She could only afford the strongest of allies, and Merach would have to be forced to test their skill, and if they were what Minerva sought, the consequences would be fatal for Merach.

_I'm sorry, Merach. But this is for the sake of Macedon… and Maria._

She swallowed hard as Merach disappeared from vision. It might have been the last time she ever saw him… alive. If Marth proved capable, it would be a pyrrhic victory. She would lose Merach, her bodyguard, the one who had protected her since her childhood.

"I hope he comes back." Est said, placing a hand on her chest and closing her eyes, "I'm not sure if I could see them as allies if they… kill Merach."

Minerva bowed her head, slightly pained by Est's words, but kept it hidden. She put one hand out of sight of the Whitewings and clenched it into a shaking fist. No matter the outcome, she would be dismayed and grieved.

Catria was smirking, but not saying anything. Palla knew that Catria was probably giddy with the chance to turn her back on Dolhr. It was… nice to see Catria smile, but it was far from an innocent smile. She was getting excited at the chance to kill Dolhr, and those who would fight for the empire to the end. Michalis had to have been one of the foremost on Catria's list…

"Commander?" Palla asked, not continuing until Minerva turned to her. "What of King Michalis and Orridyon? What was their reaction to the news? If your brother sends his Dragoons after the prince, then-"

Minerva shook her head. "That's just a chance we'll have to take. We just have to hope that Michalis doesn't do that. The Dragoons _and_ Merach? I don't think much could stand up to that." Minerva, honestly, had failed to take such a thing into consideration. Suddenly, she was growing worried that this wouldn't work out, but hid the sudden doubt before any of the Whitewings could spot it. She feared that she was going through with a horrible, horrible mistake in judgment. "I imagine that Michalis has already left the keep and is on his way back to Macedon. I can't ask him his plans now."

Palla's eyes went downcast for a moment, but then shook it off. "All I can do at this point is hope, I suppose."

"Yes." Minerva wasn't sure what, exactly, she should hope for. "Come, it's time we left Dolhr. I do not wish to be here a moment longer then necessary."

* * *

><p>"Albertus!" Albertus turned around at the sound of his name being called. Jiol was coming up to him. "Albertus, the emperor's news to share… Marth has returned.<p>

"Prince Marth?" A sense of surprise and shock rushed through the Prime Minister. He had long ago concluded that Marth had resigned himself to the life of an exile and recluse, or had died anonymously on some ruffian's axe. He sighed, then smiled. Jiol didn't seem to notice, Albertus was relieved at the continued survival of Cornelius' son. It was like a sign of hope.

"He's in Aurelis right now. That accursed whelp… if only they hadn't deceived me those two years ago." Jiol took in an angry breath. One misreading of the situation had nearly forced him to face Dolhrian justice. Jiol blamed Marth for that close call, and had wished death on the prince ever since that day. "If I could present him to Medeus…"

Albertus narrowed his eyes. Already, Jiol was entertaining thoughts of the glamour or splendor he would attain should he succeed. "If he can survive, king, he'll eventually come to Gra, seeking vengeance. If it should come to that, I doubt that Gra's military would have any chance to stop him."

Jiol looked at Albertus straight in the face. The Prime Minister wasn't sure if Jiol realized that Albertus was looking forward to Marth's retaliation, but at the moment, he didn't care. After glaring for a long time, Jiol turned away. "It's time to get back to Gra. Our soldiers will double their training, and we'll be shoring up our defenses. If he someday comes to Gra, we _will_ be ready."

Albertus doubted that all the preparation in the world would save Jiol. Men like Jiol… they eventually received the judgment their actions warranted.

* * *

><p>"Master Khozen." Dejanira reflexively lowered into a kneeling position as the Manakete came to him. Heimler made a mirrored position.<p>

Volzhin stood behind Khozen. He did not stand right beside Khozen, and look as if he was the Manakete's equal, he was careful to not make such a mistake. With his hands folded together, he looked more like a unquestioning aid and yes-man, and not the Dolhr bishop that he really was.

Heimler bowed his head, making no effort to ask what the meeting with Medeus had been about. He would be informed of the contents of the meeting if it was necessary for him to know. A human didn't last long in Dolhr by asking questions simply to sate one's curiosity, and if it truly began to eat at him, he could simply ask Volzhin.

"Heimler, Dejanira." Khozen addressed both of the kneeling humans. "We are returning to Archanea. Immediately. We may have more to fight then the same resistances and rebellions in the future."

Heimler and Dejanira both stood up, not asking what Khozen was getting at. The Manakete walked on past them, muttering curses under his breath, all three humans obediently followed.

* * *

><p>Morzas was walking through Dolhr Keep unattended. It had been pleasing to see the Emperor again, but now he was about to return to the land that the 'hero' had founded. His pace was of average speed, passing Dolhrian soldiers and Manaketes alike. By the end of the day, he imagined the sounds of anguished screams and grieving cries would resonate on his ears once more.<p>

At one point, he passed two aged men. Impulsively, Morzas turned around and took note of the two. Jiol and Albertus, they must have been leaving as well. His eyes narrowed in frustration. The incompetent Jiol and the pacifistic Albertus, perhaps he might consider letting Marth live just long enough to kill those two. He truly hated them both, and it went well beyond his natural predisposition to hate humans.

Mildly irritated to have simply passed by those two men, Morzas turned and continued his walk. Gra… such a useless nation. He'd enjoy hearing of its demise. Especially since the nation had a loose connection to Anri.

* * *

><p>"Dark Pontifex, is our time here at an end?" One of the mages of Khadein asked as the decrepit figure of Gharnef walked up to them. Gharnef nodded.<p>

"What an… interesting development, I have been informed of." Gharnef's lipless mouth smiled. Already his mind was ablaze with ways to turn this information to his advantage. He contemplated both Marth and the divine blade, Falchion, as the wheels in his mind were turning.

The mages present knew better then to ask what this 'interesting development' was. Only A select few individuals back in Khadein were ever allowed to know exactly what the Dark Pontifex was thinking.

Gharnef began to chuckle to himself. He raised his hands, preparing to Warp himself and his subservient mages back to Khadein…

"Gharnef." The Dark Pontifex's hand froze the moment before he was about to cast the spell. Slowly, his arm fell back to his side and he turned. Xemcel was approaching him.

"Does the Emperor have some other matter for me?" Xemcel didn't act on his own urges, everything this Manakete did was for the sake of Medeus. Many of Gharnef's plans had been frustrated by Medeus working through Xemcel. It had long since reached the point that Gharnef wanted to do away with the Hand of Medeus.

"Yes, he does." Xemcel said, "He wishes for me to see your 'specimen', and report back in regards to what this 'specimen' is."

Gharnef twitched in minor aggravation. He had gone to great lengths to keep that a secret, but some hearsay seems to have reached Medeus. Reluctantly, as if he were a sullen child, Gharnef nodded. Folding his arms behind his back, he turned to the mages, "Return to Khadein on your own. I will return later."

The mages exchanged a few glances, but then collectively bowed. One of them took a staff out and began mumbling an incantation. In response to the words, the staff seemed to glow, and in turn, the mages themselves began to shine with a strange light. The light grew brighter and brighter, until eventually they disappeared in a flash.

Gharnef didn't tear his pupiless eyes away from the sudden light. He stared without blinking at the light until it had disappeared, the Khadein mages with it. He turned back to Xemcel. "Lovely little obedient vassals, don't you agree? I've never had one of my decisions contested before." Xemcel's only response was an impatient narrowing of the eyes. Of course, Xemcel was quite familiar with blindly obedient servants. "Let us go, Master Xemcel. You shall see my lovely… specimen."

* * *

><p>The royal castle of Macedon. Upon their arrival, Orridyon had immediately gone to ensure that nothing in the castle had gone awry during the absence. Michalis had moved to the throne room.<p>

It was unchanged since the last time Michalis had been here. The throne, the stable his Wyvern was in. He was pleased that nothing had happened. The Wyvern noticed its masters returned, and its eyes widened in relief. It… disliked its master being gone for long periods of time.

"Welcome back, King Michalis The Great". Someone greeted him as he walked in. Michalis turned his head to see Adeline, the Macedonian archer, in the throne room. "None have been in or out of this room, save me, in your absence."

Michalis regarded the woman for a moment. Over two years she had advanced slowly, but steadily. She was an elite royal castle guard now, trusted with keeping watch on the most critical parts of the castle. If her performance continued at this rate…

"Very good, Adeline." He said as he walked by her, settling himself into his throne. "You have advanced quite far from when you first came here. A mere single more promotion, and you will be like Orridyon. One of my personal bodyguards." That fact was something that would have likely gotten under Orridyon's skin. The aged Macedonian knight disliked the woman. Had disliked her since the day he met her, in fact.

"Yes, sire." Adeline said, offering no clear smile. Duty, it would seem, was everything to her. "I live only to serve you."

That, Michalis wasn't so sure about, but he accepted her answer. One thing he had learned as a prince, and practiced as a king, is that it was wise to doubt someone's words, unless they were a clear loyalist like Orridyon. "Did you see to the issue I presented you with before I left?"

The castle's system of guards and patrols was unchanged since the days of his father's rule. One day, when pacing walking through the castle, Michalis had concluded that it was time to change the positions of both stationary guards and the patrols. Make the watches tighter, prevent spies and assassins from getting in.

Originally, he was going to see to that himself, but then he had been called to Dolhr. So he assigned Adeline the task of evaluating the positions of the guards. He would determine what should be changed when he returned.

"Yes." she walked up to him. "When you were gone, I thoroughly examined the patrols of the castle, as you ordered. I noticed… multiple holes, breaks, and flaws in their design. I took the liberty issued a new system of patrols." She took out a scroll and handed it to Michalis. "I believe it will be more effective then what your father had in place."

For a moment, Michalis was somewhat irked with the woman, his orders to Adeline had simply been to examine the patrols, not issue new ones. Nonetheless, he opened the scroll and examined what she had come up with. After a few seconds of looking it over, he found that what Adeline had instated was actually quite impressive, but…

Adeline stood with her hands folded behind her back. She seemed good at hiding her own opinion, but Michalis could tell that she strongly wished for her patrols to be accepted by the king. It seemed to be more then just a desire to feed a sense of self-importance that made her desire for her patrols to be accepted. Michalis did not care what she felt, but her issues patrols seemed satisfactory.

"This is very good." Michalis said as he continued examining the outline of the castle's new patrols, "You are dismissed, but I may call you back in tonight. Be ready."

"Yes, sire." Adeline bowed, then turned and left the throne room.

When the door closed behind her, Michalis' expression, which seemed relatively pleased a moment ago, suddenly soured. He looked at the new patrols that Adeline had made… and noticed a very glaring flaw in them. There was… a vulnerable break in the patrols around his bed chamber. The break was subtle, but could be easily exploited by a nimble person.

If Adeline missed it, then he had regarded her abilities too highly in the past.

"I wonder…" he spoke out loud, before his voice gave way to mumbling. Something had suddenly struck him. His Wyvern, from its stable, seemed to notice its master's sudden concern, lifting its head up and staring curiously. Michalis briefly considered just reinforcing the patrol around his bed chamber, but quickly shook his head.

"Perhaps… I will simply wait, and see what happens."

* * *

><p>Dolhr-held Archanea was a land of blood. Reborn as a land servile to the empire, though not willingly. And there were some elements that persisted in defiance. Merely a few miniscule embers of rebellion to stamp out. It would take more then just another Archanean rebellion to displace Dolhr's hold on the nation.<p>

Upon their return, Khozen had left to get a report for all that had happened in his absence. Volzhin, who served as his second in command of a sort, was allowed command of the royal palace for the time being.

"Dolhr general Horace, we're home." Volzhin greeted. A man in great armor turned to Volzhin. He seemed unhappy at the sight of Volzhin, but said nothing. His face was too clean, too refined for him to have been a Dolhrian human.

Horace was an Archanean who had defected to Dolhr. He had been a key player in Archanea's initial defiance of Dolhr, and frustrated much of Dolhr's attempts to conquer the nation. Yet, late in the invasion, when Archanea's advantage began to slip, Horace betrayed his nation. The first defector, in fact. He chose to preserve his own life and 'join the winning side'.

At least, that was the official story. Truth be told, there was… a bit more to the man's story.

Horace was the lord of a land that was somewhat distant from the royal palace, but still far away from the border. The knights of Archanea who hailed from that land joined Horace in his betrayal.

"Enjoy yourself while we were gone, hmm?" Dejanira asked the ex-Archanean general, the corners of his mouth arrogantly rising. "Perhaps you went down to the dungeon and said hi to your old army buddies? That archer said the most flattering things about you the other day. He really wants to see you again. Why, he'd just love talking to you right now."

Horace narrowed his eyes at the taunt. He had learned to grow used to Dejanira, and Volzhin's personality, and could restrain himself without much effort. He had similarly little love for Heimler, but Heimler, at least, rarely spoke to him.

"So Khozen is back as well?" Horace asked. Not honestly interested, but a little curious as to where the Manakete was.

_Master_ Khozen." Volzhin corrected. Horace smirked on the inside, but couldn't risk making the actual gesture on his face. He enjoyed irking Volzhin with these… little things that got under their skin. Dejanira and Heimler looked similarly annoyed that he had not referred to the Manakete with the word 'master'. Volzhin took a breath in, taking a professional, arrogant demeanor. "Yes, he has returned."

Horace said nothing more. The less he interacted with these three, the better. They walked past him without continuing the conversation, heading for the throne room. He scowled as they left, clenching his fist. The traitor to Archanea had no love for these… people.

But, he had made the decision to serve the Dolhr Empire, and he was paying the price for serving them. Even if, due to the circumstances, his decision for committing betrayal and offering himself to Dolhr was… more sound then most would have believed.

* * *

><p>Volzhin, along with Dejanira and Heimler, were in the throne room. Their usual place of residence, where they had their meals. They ate some of the… most exotic foods. It was so far removed from what they had eaten before they came to be involved in the occupation of Archanea. And they liked it.<p>

"Exquisite." Volzhin said as he regarded his plate with smoked ham on it. Having lived with the flavorless, uncooked food in Dolhr for most of his life, he had come to truly enjoy the rich, carefully prepared food he was served in Archanea. Food that tickled his taste buds in just the right way… putting this food on his tongue was a great reward for his service to Dolhr.

His second plate was filled with peeled grapes. He also had a goblet filled with his favorite drink, a blood red wine. The goblet he drank from had belonged to the last king, who had been hanged… quite some time ago.

Luxury. He loved it. Throughout living in Dolhr, he never imagined such a refined, pampered way of life. After the food, he could take to reclining on soft, plush cushions as sleep set in. The bed that had once belonged to the last queen of Archanea was for him now. Softer then anything he had laid on before. Though that wasn't saying much, having only laid on the rough dirt and rocks of Dolhr in the past.

Dejanira also enjoyed the food, eating a large chunk of cooked lamb meat. He ate rather raucously, though Volzhin and Heimler did not seem to be bothered by it. Near the Bloodcleaner was a cup of pure water. Nothing like what he had drank back in Dolhr, which was more akin to filthy sludge.

Heimler ate hungrily. Though he, as per usual, did not make any obvious visual cues, he clearly enjoyed the food he was eating. Meat coated with sauce and fine wheat bread. With a cup of fresh spring water to wash it down with.

The three had come to love this pampered life.

Volzhin savored his meal, but every now and then, his mind wandered to other things. Expectations of coming battle… something more then the simple Archanean rebellions that Heimler and Dejanira put down. The other two were not aware of his thoughts, though Heimler, perceptive man that he was, did raise an eyebrow at how Volzhin's eating occasionally slowed.

A door swung open, and Khozen walked in. The Manakete took one look at the food and wrinkled his nose. He had little taste for food, it did not give him an ounce of the same pleasure that these three got.

Khozen looked straight at Volzhin and nodded. The cue that told the Bishop that it was time to discuss some… less enjoyable things. For now, Volzhin put his utensils down and did not approach his drink.

"Dejanira, Heimler." With his elbows resting on the table, Volzhin's folded hands pressed lighting onto his chin. He waited until both men stopped eating and gave him their attention. "What the Emperor told Master Khozen and I… you will both double your training. Starting tomorrow. Breaking down the rebellions of Archanea is not enough to hone your skills with anymore."

"What?" Dejanira almost stood up. Heimler raised an eyebrow, waiting for some clarification for this command. Dejanira might have banged a fist on the table, but he restrained himself, understanding that this had something to do with the emperor's words. His fingers pressed onto the fine cloth that was over the table as he tensed slightly, and asked for an explanation. "What could possibly justify doubling our training? Archanea is under our heel. There is nothing for us to fear."

"There might be now." Volzhin commented, "The prince of… the land of filth, has returned."

Dejanira's breath stopped for a moment as the tension began to depart from him. Heimler's eyes narrowed at the words.

"The land of filth?" Dejanira asked aloud. He pondered for a moment, then realized that there was only one thing that could be referring to. "You don't mean…"

"Yes." Volzhin answered the question before it was fully voiced. "The very same. That elusive scum has returned. And he likely seeks an alliance with Aurelis."

Dejanira stared down at his food, having suddenly lost his appetite. He rested his hands on the table they were eating at and closed his eyes. For a moment, it looked like he was mentally preparing himself, fully committing himself to a future battle. Then, without warning, he suddenly smirked. "It seems that there may be a battle in the future that I'll honestly look forward to."

"Perhaps." Volzhin reached a hand out and pressed a finger onto the rim of a nearby goblet, his finger began to circle the goblet's rim. "But do not underestimate him, Dejanira. That was Gra's mistake when they were subjugating… that land."

Heimler suddenly spoke. "I must begin training. I shall require all the skill that I can achieve, to eliminate this threat to our masters when he arrives."

Volzhin regarded Heimler. Powerful, perceptive, loyal, and not interested in adulation. The same traits could be said of Volzhin, but Volzhin wasn't a 'favorite' like Heimler. Perhaps, due to Heimler's younger age, he was considered more capable then Volzhin. Heimler seemed to have a way to sprout envy in the hearts of other Dolhrian humans.

Heimler stared back at Volzhin with his typical, neutral expression. After a silent moment, Volzhin spoke once more. "I suppose I should get to my own studies." He took two magic tomes out of his robe. One was Balganone, an atrociously powerful spell that he favored. The other was Thoron, which he stole from another Bishop, Bishop Boah, a ranking member of Archanea, who was in the prison at this time.

"Very good." Khozen said, drawing the obedient eyes of all three humans. He was pleased with their readiness to prepare for an inevitable attack. "You will fight for the name of Dolhr. You will kill for the whim of your masters. You will die for the glory of Medeus." He smiled grimly. "For the Empire. For the Emperor."

"For the Emperor." Volzhin, Dejanira, and Heimler said in union.

* * *

><p>Once upon a time, a man of integrity, honor, and valor sat on this throne. Filled with strength, courage, and great heart, he had always led his people and tended to their needs.<p>

The man had served the people, and his nation, well. As had his father before him, and his father's father. This nation had been blessed with strong, righteous king after strong, righteous king.

Until the day that the then current king was slain by the treachery. The throne that had served as the symbol of authority for many, many good people…

…was now filled by Morzas.

The Manakete had just returned to the castle. He reclined on this throne, which belonged to the family of Anri. To his left and right were two Dolhrian humans. Servants and aids, they would follow his orders unquestioningly.

Camus The Sable of Grust once handled the occupation of this land. He was relieved of duty when you failed to properly punish the land for being the nation founded by Anri. All Camus had ever demanded of the people was tribute… a _very_ meager tribute that even the poor would laugh at.

No one was laughing when Morzas came.

It was no great secret that he loved to defile the throne with his presence. To place himself on the throne that had likely existed since Anri's time, there was little that he loved more.

His style of ruling was a cruel one. Brutal, petty, and quick to find excuses to execute others. He didn't care what the crime was, or how slight the crime, and sometimes, he didn't care if they had actually committed a crime. And there was only one verdict that he ever gave. Execution.

Within his 'Court of Miracles', there had never been an occasion where someone had been judged innocent and released.

How was the sentence of execution carried out? That seemed to depend on Morzas' mood. Yet it was always painful, inhumane, cruel beyond comprehension.

And he enjoyed it. He personally resided over the executions. A sadist, he treated the executions like games. He treated them… like torture sessions.

Even now, he could hear a distant wailing, coming from far away. What had once been king Cornelius' private bedroom had become the most… prominent, of the torture chambers. The one Morzas went into the most frequently.

And his first victim, the one who had received the most painful death yet, that person's skull was resting on a small stand near the throne.

"Ah, queen Liza. What an honor to be graced by your presence again."

The skull, which was that of Liza, Altea's queen, and the mother of Marth and Elice, didn't move. He wondered if Liza, in her final moments, thought that defiantly taunting Morzas over Marth's escape offered her the last laugh. No amount of pain he inflicted on her could have made up for those insults, but he did what he could.

"Always the quiet one, aren't you?" Morzas sneered at the skull. "Oh, did you hear? Your son is in Aurelis. Now, Liza, don't be upset, you _might_ see him again. If you're lucky, he'll join you, and mother and son will be reunited… forever." He smiled, showing his teeth, his lips pulled back, revealing enough teeth that his face seemed to be a demented skull.

* * *

><p>Albertus' thoughts returned to what they had been centered around back at Dolhr Keep. What Gra had been reduced to.<p>

After the death of Cornelius and the theft of Falchion, the nation had grown fairly quiet. The biggest occurrence was a few rebellions comprised of those who resented the choices Jiol had made.

Altea and Gra had been close to each other before the betrayal. A few Alteans had lived in the nation, for a variety of a reason. The Alteans, and the citizens of Gra who held those Alteans in high-regard, had revolted against Jiol's rule.

Jiol claimed that he never feared any of these rebellions. Never mind the fact that he immediately petitioned Grust and Macedon for aid in every rebellion. Though the only rebellion that might have really managed to overthrow Jiol was one that had been born from within Gra's army. That particular rebellion was put down by Grust's Sable Order.

"King Jiol." A soldier made a bow as Jiol and Albertus entered the throne room. Jiol barely even acknowledged the soldier, and instead moved to his throne.

Albertus regarded the soldier, and the other Gra knights that were in the room. They were loyal to Jiol, despite all that had happened. Yet many, he suspected, were not at peace about some of the things that Jiol had done. The rebellion that had come from within the ranks of the army had done much to damage moral. It was how Jiol had been so… unfeeling as he executed the mutinous soldiers that concerned many of the knights.

"Soldiers." Jiol commanded their attention as he settled into the Gra throne. "Double your training, and start bringing in supplies, food, water, and weapons. Begin to reinforce the castle's walls, gates, and bridges, make them at least three times stronger. I have… good reason to believe that we may undergo a siege within the next few months."

The soldiers nodded, and several left the room. Albertus shook his head. He doubted anything Jiol did would be enough to stop Marth. Jiol was not a man who could think well under pressure, he could be competent in the preparation, but if and when an attack came…

Rather then hope for victory or defeat, Albertus instead hoped that Marth wouldn't see fit to exterminate Gra down to the last man. Cornelius would have surely seen that Jiol's point of view didn't reflect upon every citizen of the nation, but who knows what rage must have been growing in Marth.

No, Albertus realized as Jiol leaned back on his throne, relaxing himself after the stress of appearing in front of Medeus, whether they would be victorious or defeated was the last thing to be concerned with.

* * *

><p>"King Ludwik." Lorenz knelt down before his king, an open palm over his chest. "I beg you, with prince Marth returned, please let us go to him and request an alliance with him and the Aurelians. Let us face Dolhr with honor intact, let us not shame Ordwin any further. It is not too late to keep Grust's honor."<p>

Ordwin. One of three heroes from the War of Liberation. Ordwin was the one who put Grust on the map, he had fought alongside Iote of Macedon and Anri of Altea to defeat Dolhr millennia ago.

Now, Grust was a servant of Dolhr. If Ordwin could see what his nation had become, and what his descendent, Ludwik, was doing…

Grust had always been one of the most powerful nations in the continent. It never had any real treaties with other nations, outside of trade deals. For the most part, the nation had always kept to itself and guarded its own borders. The nation never attracted much attention either, beyond a few stories regarding the Sable Order that seeped out to the other nations.

Yet a nation so powerful, could still have a weak-willed king. Lorenz was not disloyal to Ludwik, but he could not abide by some of the man's decisions. Ludwik was… competent in decision making, but when the pressure started to build, he cracked. The choice between fighting to the end with honor, or bending his knee to Dolhr, was a perfect example of how Ludwik could falter.

Y-you're requesting me to betray Dolhr." Ludwik seemed to be frightened at the mere thought. "We can't risk that. You know that. Dolhr will destroy us. We're matchless against the Empire."

"But we don't know that, my liege. We surrendered to their rule before Grust or Dolhr had released any troops. We could have defeated them then. Grust's strength is difficult to rival and… I'm certain Dolhr's own strength is less then they'd like the world to believe."

"No, Lorenz." Ludwik said, "We would have lost. What we did was the best way to go about it.

"Sire-"

"No, Lorenz." Ludwik shook his head, still seemingly rattled at the mere idea of rebelling. "Re…return to your duties now. Do not ask this of me again." He gulped. "You never know how much of our dealings that Dolhr is privy to. Besides, if we were to rebel now, they would take…" he trailed off.

Lorenz nodded without reluctance at the reasoning of Ludwik's last point. Dolhr held custody of Ludwik's two young children.

When the alliance between Dolhr and Grust was first made, some in Dolhr were skeptical of Ludwik's loyalty. There were plans to remove him from the throne and place someone else on the throne. Perhaps Xemcel. To prevent from being silently killed off during the night to make way for a Dolhr loyal ruler, Ludwik presented his two children as hostages.

The move kept Ludwik on the throne and allowed Grust to continue to have some autonomy. Though it still remained a pawn of Dolhr, and Ludwik's hands were tied on the subject of rebellion when his two children, Yumina his daughter, and Yubello his son, were being held hostage.

Lorenz heard that king Michalis of Macedon was in a similar situation. A family member being held hostage, thus keeping him unable to rise beyond the status of a pawn. Though the reason as to why that person became a hostage was different.

Rising to his feet, Lorenz begrudgingly began to leave the room. He couldn't see a future for Grust. He knew… the moment Dolhr had defeated all of its enemies, it would turn on the Dolhr Alliance. Medeus ambition was the elimination of the human race, after all. It would likely strike Grust first, the most potent of the nations under Dolhr.

* * *

><p>Everyday, she became more confused.<p>

Maria sat in her cell in Castle Deil. The life of a hostage was miserable… she had coped rather well, all things considered. The soldiers of Grust who watched her were quite clear in expressing their contempt for her. A lot of insults and threats had been thrown her way during the year and a half she had spent here. The soldiers of Grust seemed almost offended to spend their time watching her, many of them were wholly concerned about acquiring prestige, and couldn't see themselves getting it just keeping a hostage. No matter how important that hostage was.

Maria's eyes were dry. Between the death threats the soldiers offered, and her seemingly hopeless situation, she found herself crying frequently. It was almost as if both of her siblings had forgotten her. The question of what Michalis was doing crossed her mind every day. She knew her brother's skill, he should have been able to rescue her by now.

There was no doubt in her mind that Michalis was trying with all his ability to accomplish his goals, and one of those goals would be saving her. Yet, she had been here for so long…

Michalis had told her that 'conditions would be bad', but she had been completely unprepared for the reality. More then once, she had screamed as a rat ran past this damp, dank cell. It was freezing all the time, and it was difficult to get any sleep. Her bed was just a chunk of stone in the shape of a bed. Hideously uncomfortable to lay on, a far cry from the soft, almost feathery bed she had back at the castle.

Her days were filled with threats and abuse, mostly verbal, but the soldiers never missed a chance to make it physical abuse. Her nights were freezing and miserable, shivering on her bed, as the turmoil of the last year and a half compelled her to cry herself to sleep. As the sleep conquered her, she silently called out for Michalis and Minerva.

"Well, well, if it isn't our little princess?" Maria stopped reflecting on the life of a political prisoner and turned to the bars of her cell. There stood Zharov, her warden. Instinctively, Maria's hand went up to her left cheek, which had a large bruise on it. Courtesy of Zharov striking her yesterday. It was far from the first time he had done it. Her warden was an abusive man. Among the Grustians at Castle Deil, he was the most bitter about 'wasting' his time watching her, and he was more then happy to show Maria just how deep his bitterness ran.

If Minerva and Michalis knew what this man was doing, the two would probably kill Zharov before the Grustian could even blink.

Reflexively, Maria shrank away from Zharov, but still glared at him with a defiant face. It was a face that irritated Zharov, but she still insisted on making it, despite knowing the sort of reaction it could generate out of the man. Zharov's brows furrowed at the sight of Maria's face, but he seemed to be restraining himself. For now.

"I'm not 'your little princess'." She said, her voice taking a pitch significantly deeper then usual. "When I eventually get out of here, Michalis and Minerva are going to kill you, you know."

"Oh, please." Zharov's lips flowed into the form of a smile. "I do not fear your siblings. After all, Dolhr is the one who has me watching you. Not Macedon. They have no jurisdiction here. They can't lay a hand on me."

"And Dolhr won't let you kill me, right? Just have to keep watching me, and see someone else get all the respect and power, don't you?" She gave a smug smile. Despite the pain he occasionally inflicted on her, she had made a habit out of taunting Zharov. "Can't kill the person robbing you of the chance to it all, huh?"

Zharov's smile immediately died, and his eyes narrowed in anger. One hand went out and grabbed one of the bars between him and Maria. The speed of the movement was enough to make Maria cower with a fearful expression on her face.

"I would advise you watch your tongue, Macedonian." Zharov warned with a growling tone. "I may not be allowed to kill you, but you've clearly seen that I'm open to finding ways to make you shut up."

"Better enjoy doing it, because it's all you can do." Maria said, readopting her old smugness, "Because Dolhr knows that babysitting is the only thing a _great_ general like you can accomplish. Actually fighting is just too much for you to handle."

In immediate reaction to her statement, Zharov took a key out and unlocked the cell, entering and closing the door behind him.

"You shouldn't have said that." Zharov said, advancing on her.

* * *

><p>Gharnef and Xemcel both silently paced through a temple. The soldiers and guardians didn't make the slightest movement in reaction to them. None of the soldiers moved to apprehend the two, nor did they make any gesture of respect. Instead, they merely stood still, manning their posts.<p>

The guardians had the seeming of statues. Almost motionless, the greatest movement they made was a quick movement of the head to examine an odd sound in the distance. Sounds that never amounted to anything. What one could hear was merely the noise caused by an idle rock falling, or perhaps a mouse scurrying across the floor.

Their eyes were glazed over and devoid of pupils. They did nothing but stand guard motionlessly, there was dust picking up on them. The last time they had eaten? Long, long ago. They had been given the sacred task of guarding this temple, and had been given the blessing of immortality to do it. Not once flickering in their duties, they had stood ready for eons.

The temple, the Fane of Raman, hardly had a fanciful layout. It was simple and to the point. Though one might get the uneasy feeling that the individuals who built the temple were not human. Even Xemcel, a Manakete, seemed discomforted. Not from the Fane itself, but from a presence he was sensing. He could feel a… sensation. Oddly familiar, and something he instinctively despised. Yet he couldn't quite place who or what this presence was.

In time, Gharnef had led Xemcel to the innermost chamber. A few final guards were present, and there was a throne. Upon the throne was a child, a girl, the guards seemed to be focused on defending her.

Xemcel could feel a strange pulsing in him, almost as if he was reacting to something. He narrowed his eyes at the child. He found her to be… repulsive.

"Stunning, isn't she?" Gharnef said as he moved to her, he raised a hand and stretched his index finger forward, beginning to chant.

Closely listening to the archaic words of the spell, Xemcel realized that Gharnef was brainwashing the girl. Conditioning her to follow Gharnef's orders.

The girl's eyes had little color in them, but what color was left seemed to disappear as Gharnef finished his spell. Slowly, Gharnef backed away as the girl bobbed her head down.

"The… nature of her being requires me to manually assert control over her mind over and over again." Gharnef explained, not taking his eyes off the young girl. "Yet so long as she is under my thrall, the guardians will not raise blade or tome against me. Xemcel, do you understand what she is?"

Xemcel nodded. "Fascinating. I assumed that they were now extinct." His eyes were drawn to a small stone the girl was holding in her lap. A white, perfectly rounded stone, it was firmly in her grip. Xemcel realized that the stone was the origin of the pulsing sense he was feeling. "To think that you would have one of _them_ in your control… the emperor will be quite curious."

"She will be a… worthy servant." Gharnef assured, perhaps slightly fearful that Medeus would order the girl's death. She had tremendous power, and, oh, how he planned to use it. "With something like her as a servant…" his voice trailed off as he began to chuckle under her breath. "Ah… irony. To think I am using something so inherently holy to do my bidding."

Xemcel seemed discomforted. "Gharnef, to have… this, under your control… just as the prince is returning… is this coincidence, inevitable, or perhaps a planned occurrence on your part?"

"Perhaps not even I know the answer to that." Gharnef said, his hideous fingers stroking his chin as he grinned. "All I know is that she will… have a role in future events."

Xemcel felt irritation rise in him at Gharnef's vague answer. He continued to stare at the girl, but ultimately moved his eyes away.

"I must report this to the emperor. Do with her as you will, but we will destroy her and you both if she is unleashed against us." Xemcel warned, he waved a hand across his field of vision, then seemed to melt into the shadows, disappearing from the Fane of Raman to begin the journey back to Dolhr.

"Fear not. This girl won't ever travel to Dolhr…" he chuckled, "…not in the near future, at least." He turned back to her, her eyes still devoid of color, and completely under Gharnef's spell. He smiled, his smile stretched across his face. Such… plans he had for the girl.

"Tiki. The last of the Divine Dragons… direct daughter of Naga, the Divine Dragon King, and the holder of the last Divinestone."

His eyes focused on the white bauble Tiki was holding in her lap, and then the Fane suddenly echoed with Gharnef's booming laughter.

* * *

><p><strong>Warning: Long AN here.<strong>

**In the game itself, it seems that Dolhr is immediately aware of Marth's return. Considering the Grust cavaliers in chapter 2. I prefer this concept, where it takes some time for the empire to realize that he's returned. The fact that there were Grust soldiers waiting in Galder almost leads me to think that there might have been a spy in Talys. Which, I have to admit, would have been an interesting idea for this story, but it's too late for that now.**

**This chapter introduces (reintroduces in a number of cases) the characters who will be the main antagonists of the story. Take particular note of Xemcel, and his title 'Hand of Medeus'. Xemcel will be the one running all over the continent, acting as the main antagonist for most of the story, since Medeus can't leave the Keep.**

**Enjoy the references to BS Fire Emblem with Gouber and Ruben. Though, while the BS Fire Emblem chapter with Ruben did technically occur in this story, Minerva and the Whitewings didn't fight alongside Hardin. Minerva and the Whitewings (and Merach) have never actually met Hardin and his men in this story. Also take note that Hardin had Wolf and Vyland with him when he fought Ruben, (purple hair and red hair) rather then Wolf and Roshea.**

**Michalis' nickname of 'the Great' comes from Alexander The Great, who ruled a Macedon that actually existed in the real world. Just thought it would be a nice little touch. (Though that might be somewhat moot, since the nation is called 'Medon' in the original Japanese version. That name might be derived from Macedon, but I haven't really done any research into that.)**

**I once used Volzhin and Dejanira before. A little story called 'Occupation'. It's where Dejanira's 'Bloodcleaner' name comes from, and where Volzhin and Dejanira's love of luxury comes from. In hindsight, I'm a little disappointed that I neglected to use Heimler in that story, but, oh well.**

**Also, Yumina and Yubello, FE3/12 characters, were originally going to have a small appearance in this chapter, and not just be mentioned as the reason Grust couldn't rebel agianst Dolhr. They were to have some minor interaction with Maria, but it ended up getting cut out after I concluded that they likely wouldn't have been kept at the same place Maria was being kept at, even if they were to be removed from the castle by the end of this chapter. So that scene changed from emphasising Maria as kind-hearted enough to strike up a friendship with the two, despite likely believing that Grust was an evil nation that served Dolhr, to illustrating Zharov as a rather abusive man.**

**Gah. Too much talking with bold print.**

**Please review. We'll be returning to Marth next chapter.**


	13. Alliance

**After an unsightly delay due to computer trouble, I'm back with a new chapter.**

**Disclaimler: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>A blistering sun hovered above, thoroughly scorching the dunes of sand. The rays of heat, one could swear, could melt the desert sand. It was a heat that, as the story goes, only mages could bear. It was appropriate then, that Khadein, the desert nation, was called the City of Magic.<p>

The nation modernly ruled by Gharnef, the Dark Pontifex. Ever since Gharnef had gained, and affirmed, his control of the nation, Khadein had not been the benevolent scholarly nation it had once been.

In the past, Khadein could have been thought of as a giant library centered around an oasis. The nation's capital city was built around an exceptionally large natural pool of water in the desert that had been formed into an extravagant fountain. The mages, with the aid of magic, had ensured that the water remained fresh and crystal clean throughout the generations. The water was not the only thing the mages helped thrive in the sand. Some flowers and plants that fared better in more fertile lands were able to defy the ruthless desert and sprout under the watchful eye of the mages.

The mages were able to study their arts and grow to excel at them under the watchful eyes of their teachers. The nation was ruled by Gotoh, the White Sage, a reclusive, but seemingly infinitely wise man. Under him, Khadein grew into a peaceful, scholarly, and wise nation.

That was all before Gharnef rose to power. The wisdom of Khadein remained, but it was hard to see that fact, when one's eyes were drawn to the sand, dyed red with dried blood. The sun baked the land, untended by the former virtuous mages. What plants had lived in the past were now dried up and withered, untended and unwanted. The beautiful oasis in the center of the city no longer supplied pristine water. The fountain had not been cared for, the water seemed to have become a brown sludge, almost as if a curse had been placed on it.

The city of magic was now renowned more for cruelty and decay then wisdom and magic.

Gharnef's style of ruling was harsh and brutal, akin to a Manakete's rule. The Dark Pontifex had, in the blink of an eye, replaced the virtuous, ranking mages of the nation with wicked mages who swore loyalty only to him.

Mages, even those loyal to Gharnef, had a tendency to disappear into the night. While the previous ruler had demanded civility and goodwill from the mages of Khadein, Gharnef gave the mages the freedom to pursue personal vendettas and grudges. The students, who should have had friendly and good relationships with their teachers and rivals, now plotted against them. Gharnef preferred cunning intellect in his servants over all other things, it was a trait that Khadein needed to ensure its place in the Dolhr Alliance. Now perceptive, discerning, and astute mages were the most elite of Khadein. They would have been admirable, had it not been for their utter lack of humanity or goodwill. Each mage of any realistic standing in Khadein was now a wicked and subtle schemer who plotted deep in the shadows, seeking to find any possible way to twist a another's misfortune to their advantage.

Yet no matter what scheme they could craft, they could not take Gharnef's power or position. Even if all of Khadein came together as one, they still could not face Gharnef. He had Imhullu, which rendered him invincible, which in itself was an insurmountable asset. He also had another thing that allowed him his nearly absolute power.

Magical apparatus hidden in a… far, far away place empowered him. A magical engine crafted in an ancient time before Khadein even existed, utilized to supply an almost unlimited amount of power to Gharnef, no matter where in the continent he was. He had Imhullu's power, which allowed him invincibility, and the apparatus' nearly inexhaustible power being poured into him. If one was somehow diffused, he had the other to fall back on. It was a perfect system that prevented anyone from overthrowing him. Imhullu's invulnerability, and the apparatus' raw power.

It was why Gharnef displayed such arrogance. He knew he could not be defeated.

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><p>A female Bishop was pacing in Gharnef's private chamber. She was waiting for her master to return. Her feet carried her around as impatience compelled her to quicken her pace.<p>

The woman, like most of Gharnef's servants, was cold, merciless, and completely dedicated to her master. She was also one of his highest ranked servants, and one of the few ever allowed in this room, though her simple existence was a closely guarded secret.

She stopped walking and began to impatiently tap her foot on the ground. She sometimes wondered if Gharnef purposely waited some time before he returned for the sake of testing his servants. There were many things that the Dark Pontifex treated as a sort of game. The penalty for failing to be a willing pawn when you were unwittingly playing one of his games? Well…

A sigh leaving the Bishop, she returned to pacing. Her master sometimes vexed her, but she would never say it out loud, even if he was so far away.

A small temptation began to poke at her, simply the urge to sit down on own of the room's rather lavishly decorated chairs. For a moment, the temptation was seriously considered, then a bright flash illuminated the room. She immediately turned around as the light gave way to a shadow, which proceeded to meld into the shape of her master.

"Dark Pontifex. Gharnef." The Bishop reflexively went to her knees, her head bowed, a completely and wholly submissive position.

Gharnef glanced at the woman and nodded. One of his most loyal subjects. A woman named Eremiya. Powerful, but a mere gnat before Gharnef, and, before the Manaketes of Dolhr as well. A servant with some slight skill, but an expendable pawn at the end of the day.

"Nothing has happened in your absence, master." Eremiya reported. Even with her existence secret, she knew all that happened in Khadein. The only thing that she, with her utmost effort could not find out, were things that Gharnef wanted to keep hidden.

"Yet much has happened elsewhere." Gharnef said, not yet giving her the order to rise. He walked past her. "Prince Marth of Altea has returned, in Aurelis." He arrogantly referred to the land as 'Altea', despite the death penalty the Manaketes would dispense for invoking the name. "Even a fool can see that he seeks an alliance with the Aurelian resistance."

Eremiya took the knowledge in, but was rather unimpressed. It wasn't the first time that someone of fair standing had appeared to lead a revolt. The rebellions and resistances never amounted to anything. All were crushed, sooner or later. The Aurelian resistance was proving able to continue fighting, but was failing to make any real difference. Her master's planned revolt is the only one she could see succeeding.

"Shall I send my assassins to Aurelis? Crush his defiance before it truly begins?" Having to manually put up with rebellions was something that she knew irritated Gharnef. He had been forced to put down too many Khadein rebellions himself. "I will pour as many of my puppets into Aurelis an necessary."

Eremiya, though a powerful Bishop, was more useful to Gharnef due to the assassins at the woman's beck and call.

Her assassins… the last time they had received a major assignment was when Gharnef had just risen to power in Khadein. Eremiya, on orders from her master, released the assassins to eliminate everyone who could have posed some manner of threat to Gharnef's rule.

Orphans, victims of war, trained since the toddler years to be unquestioning and unfeeling agents of silent death. Armed with swords, axes, bows, and tomes, they were loyal to Eremiya, and through her, Gharnef. An army of assassins who, like Eremiya, the public was not privy to the existence of. The assassins were Gharnef's ace in the hole. Even his elite servants in Khadein were unaware of their existence, which was their greatest asset. How could one prepare against an assassin army when one was ignorant of that army's very existence?

Through the assassins, Gharnef had silenced all who knew of Imhullu's one weakness.

All save one, who had eluded Gharnef. Yet that was a minor inconvenience. Gotoh, the White Sage, the last ruler of Khadein, may still be among the living, but there was nothing he could do to end Gharnef's reign. The items necessary to punch through Imhullu's protection was far away, too far away, Gotoh could not reach them. Though he lived, the White Sage could do nothing.

Still, the mere knowledge that something had not fallen into place as he wished was enough to make Gharnef growl in the back of his throat. Gotoh had realized what Gharnef was about to do… the Dark Pontifex wasn't sure how, but Gotoh had somehow been aware of which night the assassins would act. Gotoh easily killed what assassins had come after him and left Khadein. Gotoh moved to Macedon and fell under Michalis' protection.

At the end of the day, it had undeniably been a victory for Gharnef, but still…

"No." Gharnef said, nipping Eremiya's idea in the bud. Eremiya's expression did not change. For everything, Gharnef had a plan, and whatever it was, it would work. "Your assassins will not be needed for this."

"Forgive my insolent suggestion, master." Eremiya said softly.

"Rise." Gharnef commanded, Eremiya did as instructed. Gharnef walked off, Eremiya obediently followed him.

They walked out onto a balcony. It was possible that Eremiya, whose existence was a well-guarded secret, could be seen, but the only thing an observer would see was a Bishop following Gharnef. There were many Bishops loyal to Gharnef, and she would be disregarded as one of them. This was one of the few places outdoors where Eremiya could move without fear of any knowledge of her existence coming out.

The Dark Pontifex's decrepit hands slid onto the balcony's rail. What laid before his eyes was nearly the whole of Khadein. The Mages he saw did not seem to notice his presence. Most were likely unaware of his return. The Mages walked around, almost like mindless drones, continuing their own duties, and likely, preparing their own plans to seize greater power. Gharnef spoke, seeming to be thinking out loud more then speaking to Eremiya. "I shall enjoy watching the prince struggle against Macedon. Khadein shall make no move for now. I shall see if he is able to survive against his enemies. Perhaps, if he lives, he shall prove useful to me."

Gharnef, however insane he was, was a perceptive man who knew his opportunities. Eremiya noted that Marth's return has planted the seed for a plot in Gharnef's head.

"What use shall he serve for you?"

"First he must prove himself capable of surviving, then…" Gharnef reached a hand down into his robes, wrapping his fingers around Falchion's hilt. "We shall see what the prince amounts to. In the meantime…" a strange look of both amusement and satisfaction flittered across Gharnef's features. "I shall go and have another talk with… him."

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><p>The last few weeks had been witness to some… amazing occurrences in the land of Aurelis.<p>

It began with a simple attack on, and the utter decimation of, a group of Macedonians stationed fairly close to the Ghoul's Teeth. After that, the attacks kept on mounting along a single path going through the nation. It seemed like the ones conducting these bold attacks couldn't be deterred, halted, or even mildly slowed.

Macedon's usual nemesis, the Aurelian resistance, were not the ones committing these attacks. These attacks were coming from another group. Prince Marth, the returned prince of Altea, had made his presence known in Aurelis, and the entire nation had heard of him. Macedon installations were being routed, armies being decimated, and assassins being outwitted.

The Macedonians publicly denied that these attacks were happening, and had gone to great lengths to keep any hard evidence of Marth from leaking out. Yet it was nearly impossible to play down something like this. No Aurelian had failed to recognize that the Macedonian force was greatly… irked. The invasion seemed to be running all over the place, tightening its control in an effort to stop Marth's attacks, and perpetually failing.

Coyote had taken advantage of Macedon's focus on Marth. In the weeks where Marth had seemed an unstoppable juggernaut moving through the nation, prince Hardin had led the Aurelian resistance to great victories elsewhere. Hardin remained cautious and calculated and picked his battles, not wanting the resistance to trip and start making foolish mistakes simply because the soldier's moral had skyrocketed. He chose battles with careful consideration for both the short and long term, battles that were always overwhelming victories against seemingly overwhelming odds.

Aurelis' situation was changing for the better on an astronomical scale, and the catalyst was one Altean prince.

Macedon's control over the nation was breaking, and they were losing ground. What troops met Marth were always decimated. Many more units, regiments, and squadrons were routed by the Aurelian resistance before they could even get close to Marth's army. Numbers were getting depleted faster then they could be reinforced, the only places still firmly under Macedonian control was the Aurelian palace, and the Aurelian border that led to Archanea.

One month ago, it seemed like the Aurelian resistance could maintain its defiance, but no more then that. A single fort filled with soldiers being routed every month was barely worth batting an eye at. Now, Macedon's invasion was crumbling and failing. The Aurelian resistance and Marth's army were both converging on the Aurelian palace, where the head of the Macedonian invasion had made its camp.

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><p>"Why… why… <em>why<em>!" Emereus paced back in forth in front of the throne. He was shaking, breathing hard, even in his most paranoid moments he was not so blatantly stressed as he was now. An armored hand, saturated on the inside from sweat, clutched at his silver lance. "Every force that I send out, the prince annihilates. Some of them get ambushed and destroyed before they even get close to him. Not just the prince, the Aurelians pick now, of all times, to crawl out of their hole and attack me. I… I had this under control, and now, ah, ah!" He let out a shaky breath as his head began to violently tremble. "This can't be happening to _me_!"

"Calm down, general Emereus." Merach said, Emereus almost jumped at Merach's words. The general was looking ragged and out of breath. Merach mentally scoffed at how quick Emereus was to crack under the pressure of this seemingly inevitable defeat. "We still have the palace, and we have made the effort to see that this place is completely fortified. Our guards are in place, and there are no breaks in the patrols. We simply need to stop them when they come, and the defiance of both groups will break."

Emereus glanced at Merach with an unhinged, erratic expression, but eventually gave a shaky nod. "Then… then get to the gate, Merach. Now! Don't let them in, don't let _any_ of them in."

Merach nodded. With a lance forged of silver, just like Emereus', he turned to leave the throne room.

As Merach left, Emereus sunk onto the throne. A shaking hand went up to his sweaty forehead, he hadn't been at peace in days, and spent the hours in worry and concern. Throughout his term of service, he had only been involved in battles where the odds were grotesquely in his favor. Now with the odds for once against him… he had no idea what to do. He didn't know how to react to a fairly even battle, let alone a battle as uphill as this.

His only hope likely lay in Merach. A true elite of Macedon who had been sent here… at the behest of princess Minerva, no less. Merach cited that Minerva had grown tired of waiting for the end of the issue in Aurelis. Emereus had been so relieved to have such an elite that he failed to notice that supporting the war effort was grotesquely out of character for Minerva. He felt that Merach could likely turn the tide in Emereus' favor single-handedly. The man had a level of skill that Emereus knew wasn't in his own troops.

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><p>Merach arrived at the gate. All the soldiers respected his presence, but their unspoken adulation meant nothing to him. His only interest was in examining prince Marth and leaving this nation to return to Minerva's side. He would simply depart in the middle of the battle, and leave Emereus to be killed. With any luck, he wouldn't have to actually get into a fight with the prince's forces. It would be for the best if he did not raise his lance against any of them. He imagined that the chances of a union between prince Marth and princess Minerva would be severely injured if he killed a number of the prince's allies. Perhaps killing just one of Marth's allies would irrevocably cripple an alliance.<p>

"Sir Merach, the enemy will be upon us within the hour."

Merach nodded at the soldier's words. His objective would be achieved tonight. After gauging the prince's strength, he would escape with his life and report his findings to the princess. With any luck, Marth will be all that Minerva could ever want.

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><p>"They've been reinforcing themselves." Sedgar noted. He, his three allies and comrades, along with Coyote, were spying on the palace from a nearby hill. "Seems they're looking to settle the issue with prince Marth all at once."<p>

Vyland peered down at the gates. "Quite the reinforcement Emereus summoned." He turned to Hardin. "Coyote, that's Merach, princess Minerva's personal bodyguard. Looks like how things have gone in recent weeks has been scaring someone over in Macedon."

Hardin was kneeling down to lower his profile. He nodded at Vyland's words. Macedon must be getting worried that its stranglehold on Aurelis was about to be completely undone, if such an elite soldier had been called out. It was a good sign, as well as an opportunity to give the Macedonian elite a message.

Roshea narrowed his eyes. The majority of the Macedonian soldiers were inside the palace. Only a fraction of the enemy forces were outside, but the numbers of soldiers outside were intimidating enough. It would seem that Emereus had decided to pull every soldier in the Macedonian invasion back to the castle, and protect himself with a gargantuan wall of soldiers.

Wolf looked down at the gates, focusing on the bearded man in exceptionally thick armor. That was Merach, this Macedonian had played a part in the early stages of the Macedonian invasion. It seemed he had been called back when the situation began spiraling out of Macedon's control. Wolf's eyes narrowed, he postured, as if he was a literal wolf who had determined his prey.

Hardin began to back away, "We don't move until prince Marth engages the enemy. Understood?" Wolf, Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea all nodded. Hardin nodded back and led them slowly down the hill. In a moment's time, all five of them were mounted on horses, and would silently wait for Marth to come.

The king of Aurelis, Hardin's brother, had taken shelter with the Goddess, the princess of a foreign land, back in the decayed fort. With luck, they should be able to be in a liberated Aurelian palace by the time the moon rose.

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><p>The Altean army was having one final rest before they reached the Aurelian palace. After weeks of battle, Aurelis would likely be freed today. If the Aurelian resistance was going to get into contact with Marth, it would most likely be today.<p>

They had encountered a few resistance fighters here and there during their battles throughout the nation. Yet their discussions with these fighters were brief, and all that had been discerned was simply that Coyote was aware of Marth's progress through the nation.

Marth had heard of the resistance taking advantage of the chaos Marth's efforts had created, and Macedon was fighting, and losing, on two different fronts. The meeting between the prince of Altea and the prince of Aurelis was not far off.

His performance as a tactician and leader was exceptional. One might have wondered why Marth's clear and obvious talents for warfare had not been noticed earlier. He had yet to make a decision that one could even remotely say was a 'wrong' decision.

Yet for all his skill, no arrogance was seeding itself within him. No hubris interfering with his good judgment. And he had a heart that cared for the lives of his troops.

Matthis was a soldier one needed a lot of heart, and patience, to put up with. The circumstances of how the Macedonian had come to be drafted into the army had been explained to Marth, and Jagen took to instructing Matthis with a… _relatively_ gentle hand. His hand still had no feel for the lance, but he was improving. Far from reliable, but just barely competent.

The Macedonian did, at least, get along well with most of the army members. In particular, he had struck up friendships with Abel and Castor in the non-critical, off the battlefield moments. He did not, however, have a good opinion of Julian, and was quickly growing to dislike the thief's obvious fondness for Lena.

Merric had integrated quite well. Friendly, but perhaps too casual with some. His way of talking like he was everybody's pal irritated several members of the army. Especially Navarre. He also seemed to be unable to resist the temptation to show off his wind magic. Wind gales of considerable strength rocked through the army every once in a while.

There had been no particular close calls in the battles. The first battle, when a Macedonian had managed to corner Gordin, was the closest anyone had come to death so far. The archer had seemed a little shaken by the incident, but had recovered quickly. What he had not recovered from quickly, was the moment of attraction he had had for Norne several hours after he had almost gotten killed.

He wanted to tamp it down, force it out, get rid of the feeling that could obstruct his judgment… but he couldn't. He and Norne paired on the battlefield, and Norne spent most of her free time with Gordin off the battlefield. Every moment that he was with her, he felt… burning. He gulped just thinking about it.

Norne hadn't seemed to have noticed it, she hadn't even noticed Gordin's increasing awkwardness around her. He'd like it kept that way. At least until he could sort his feelings out.

No one else was aware of it, the only one he might of confided in was Abel, who was a very tactful, calm, and patient knight. Traits Gordin wished he had.

Gordin had actually heard Cain and Abel, back in Talys, once talk about the possibility of Abel having a girl waiting for him somewhere in the world. Abel had been fairly indifferent to the idea. Cain teased that 'A girl just right for Abel is probably in hiding, ashamed of her very existence.' If someone had said that to Gordin, he wasn't sure how he would have reacted. Abel had simply shrugged in response to Cain. Gordin could only dream of having that kind of composure.

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><p>"Alright." Malledus got everyone's attention. In this final rest before reaching the Aurelian palace, they were all sitting down in little groups. Malledus had stood up, Marth standing right next to him. Malledus raised a hand up as he spoke. "Orders from prince Marth, ready yourself for battle. The palace is only a few hours march from here. We will not rest again until the palace is freed, and with any luck, we are allied with the Aurelian resistance."<p>

Quickly, everyone stood up, Marth turned and walked off.

Malledus cleared his throat and began to speak again. "As soon as princess Caeda arrives, we are moving. You have only a few minutes before we march. Take this time to check over your weapons and mentally prepare yourselves."

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><p>"Caeda?" Marth moved the flap of the tent entrance aside. Caeda was sleeping on her bed, but she was tossing and turning, and had seemingly kicked her covers off in her sleep.<p>

"Ma…" she mumbled in her sleep, turning onto her other side. She was curled up and trembling. From the cold? Or…

"Ma… Mar…"

After the threat to Marth's life that she had seen in her vision had passed, Caeda believed, and hoped, that her dreams would once again be gentle and peaceful.

To no avail.

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><p><em>Marth was leading a charge through a valley, he and his soldiers were putting down all enemies that tried to oppose the Altean army. She couldn't quite make out who the enemy soldiers were. Macedonians? Grustians? Dolhrians? No matter who they were, they couldn't stop Marth's advance. The valley was littered with the discarded remains of Marth's enemies.<em>

_Then, without warning, a massive swarm of enemies appeared from the nearby forts. A calculated swarm of enemy reinforcements had appeared… before the Altean army could understand what was happening Marth was separated from the rest of the army. Separated, and surrounded._

_Caeda didn't seem to actually be in the dream, and she had no voice that could be heard. Yet still, she tried to scream out to Marth. Speaking his name over and over again in a shrill tone as he was slowly being worn down from the barrage coming from all sides. Then, the soldiers all came at him at once…_

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><p>"Caeda!" She woke up at a loud voice calling her name. Looking up through tired, recently open eyes, she saw Marth standing over her bed, staring down at her with a worried expression. "Caeda, what's… wrong? You kept saying my name in your sleep."<p>

Caeda's mind went back to her dream for a moment. Without answering Marth's question, her shaking hands reached out and clung onto Marth's shoulders to pick herself up out of the bed.

"Um…" Marth felt awkward as Caeda got out of bed, still holding onto him. Her head, trembling just as bad as her hands, leaned forward and rested on Marth's shoulder. "Caeda, maybe you… shouldn't fight tod-"

Caeda's head bolted upright, as if Marth's words were some sort of trigger. And they may very well have been. Her trembling stopped in an instant and her face was stern. "I need to fight, Marth. I'll be out there, helping you, nothing is going to stop me from fighting for you."

Marth sighed. Another of her emotional, forceful moments. "If you think you're able to fight, then okay." He… wouldn't want Caeda on the field of battle if there was something even slightly wrong with her, but she'd never accept being told to not participate. She'd find some way to wiggle her way onto the battlefield, and an extra soldier suddenly butting in might make any strategy go awry. "Just… don't push yourself to do more then you can handle. You may want to fight, but you're more to me then just a soldier."

Caeda looked at him, a serious face across her features, and nodded.

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><p>Wolf readied his quiver, painstakingly examining the sharpness of every arrow and analyzing his bowstring at length. He meticulously examined his sword, ensuring that there was no crack or instability, that it couldn't break even if it struck against the hardest armor. Examining his weapons so thoroughly was a habit that had kept him in the best fighting condition possible. It was something that he encouraged Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea to do.<p>

Nothing could be allowed to go wrong today. As he sat saddled on his horse, he felt no fear, nervousness, or anxiousness, nothing that could obstruct his performance. He was ready for this. This Aurelian horseman, cold and merciless to his enemies, was ready to finally oust Macedon from Aurelis for the sake of Hardin.

He seemingly had no qualms about killing, and felt nothing as his foes fell. Wolf was a cold, taciturn, and strictly professional entity to all others, even fellow Aurelians.

Wolf looked around, Sedgar and Roshea were also carefully examining their weapons, as he frequently advised them to do. Vyland, rather then check his weapon, seemed to be tensing in anticipation. He was loathe to admit it, even to himself, but those three were very important to him. It was the entire reason he had, repeatedly, urged them to make sure that their equipment was in the best condition reasonably possible. Though Vyland always seemed to disregard Wolf's recommendation.

Impulsively, Wolf directed his horse to move next to one of his allies. He did not speak at first, but simply tapped him on the shoulder.

"What's up, Wolf?" Roshea asked, somewhat surprised that Wolf had come up to him. They were both mounted on horses, though Wolf's horse seemed more stern and obedient, personally broken by its rider, who would tolerate no defiance from the creature. Roshea's horse seemed to have the same eagerness that its rider had.

Roshea simply sat in his saddle for a moment, confused at Wolf coming up to him. Then he looked at Wolf's face, and instantly knew what this was about, and frowned.

Wolf looked at Roshea hard. Roshea, in the past, had only taken part in stealth operations and small skirmishes that were slanted in Aurelis' favor. This was something bigger then anything Roshea had ever faced. Wolf would never directly and bluntly say it, but he was worried about Roshea.

There was more to it then that. He cared about Roshea just like he cared about Vyland and Sedgar, but there was a difference here, Roshea was younger. The youngest of the four. There had been… more then one occasion where Wolf, and Sedgar and Vyland, had risked an entire operation by going to find Roshea because they simply _thought_ he was in danger.

Roshea was eager to prove himself in battle, and it was no lie to say that the other three could grate on his nerves from time to time. Wolf gave Roshea more space to grow then either Sedgar or Vyland would be willing to. Sedgar and Vyland… would rather Roshea be disallowed from taking part in a battle of this scale, but Hardin had already insisted that all four be present. Wolf had made no direct complaint over Roshea's involvement in this battle, but now his reservations were apparent.

"I want you to be careful." Wolf said, reaching out and grabbing Roshea by the shoulder. Grabbing it hard enough for Roshea's face to twist to a slight pained expression. Wolf read Roshea's face and could see the exasperation at being warned when Roshea felt he could take care of himself just fine in battle. "You… want to prove yourself, I understand. Yet, stay close to me. Do not let that exuberance deprive me of a little brother."

Wolf let go of Roshea's shoulder. He stared into the younger one's eyes for a second.

Roshea seemed taken aback by the tender words of concern. He returned Wolf's stare, focusing his gaze on Wolf's single visible eye, the other hidden behind Wolf's drooping bangs. Words of caution, and a note that Wolf would feel it if Roshea got himself killed. It was a side to Wolf that few would ever see. Yet Roshea had seen this part of Wolf more then once. After a moment, he smiled. "Don't worry about me, Wolf. I don't intend on getting myself killed on the day we free Aurelis."

Wolf nodded. It was a satisfactory answer, but Wolf would still be watching. Wolf's horse trotted away, leaving Roshea to finish examining his weapons.

"I see them." Hardin yelled, "The Alteans are approaching. Ready yourselves."

"Coyote." The four said in unison. Each had a solid grip on their weapon. Vyland only had a lance. Roshea decided he would favor the sword over his own lance today, Wolf and Sedgar both had a bow, but Wolf also had a sword for any emergency close-range situations. They were each saddled on a horse, an Aurelian horse of premium quality.

"We'll approach the Macedonians from a different direction and disorganize them. We should be able to get into contact with prince Marth just before the march on the palace's gates." Holding his Steel Sword in hand, Hardin pointed the blade forward, "Glory to Aurelis! The Macedonian siege ends today. No retreats. No excuses. And no casualties."

* * *

><p>"You, keep moving."<p>

An elderly Sage was being forced along by a Pegasus Knight, a low-ranked Pegasus Knight that was involved in the invasion. She was part of the border guard who had been recalled to reinforce Emereus as Marth and the Aurelian resistance began to make sweeping victories. She ordered the Sage to move forward into position.

Wendell sighed. He was a Khadein sage who had the luck of not being in the nation when Gharnef had seized control. When he learned of what was happening in Khadein, he sought help. He had been moving across the continent ever since he heard the news, a difficult challenge for one not accustomed to hard, solo travel.

He entered Aurelis, hoping to find the Aurelian resistance, but Macedon found him first. Ever since he had been seized a few months back he had been aiding Macedon against his will with his wisdom and insight. Today might be the first time where he would be forced to use his magic for the sake of Macedon.

Wendell had little taste for war and battle. He could use his magic to take part in those very things, but it wasn't what he primarily used it for, nor what he preferred to use it for. He was a man who had spent his life seeking knowledge and understanding, and the grief and doubts that sometimes came with those things.

Magic could be a tool for saving lives, or ending them, it depended upon the one who wielded them. Wendell wanted to instill in others the belief that magic should be used humbly and responsibly, and only when necessary. Humans had to discipline their minds before they could be given the gift of magic. That is what Wendell believed.

He… had gotten mixed results when trying to instill that belief in Merric, among other students. Merric was a fairly responsible student, but too happy to show-off. If Wendell was ever frustrated or vexed, it almost certainly had something to do with Merric.

"Keep moving!" The Pegasus Knight commanded, Wendell stiffened at her harsh voice, but slowly began to move. He could have killed the Pegasus Knight quite easily, but that would only succeed in causing a much larger force of Macedonians to descend on him. If he was to do anything meaningful, he would have to go along with Macedon until an opportunity presented itself.

He could see an army in the distance, headed by prince Marth. The prince was a friend of Merric, he remembered Merric frequently mentioning Marth as a good friend and overall honorable person. Perhaps if he could simply speak to him…

* * *

><p>Merach was ready. He was tensing ever so slightly. Whether he would be able to simply see then depart, or if he would have to fight his way out, would soon be decided. He saw prince Marth's army approaching. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw figures elsewhere. Instantly, he knew who they were.<p>

_Aurelians. _He became slightly worried. They were not individuals he wanted to see here._ Stay out of this. I have no business with you._

His mental request obviously unheard, he saw five figures in the distance. Had they have made the slightest effort to hide their presence, Merach would not have spotted them. They were on their horses, and it was clear that they planned to attack, and they were waiting for Marth to begin his own charge.

_This is… concerning._ Merach pondered for a moment, then shook his head. He had his objective, and would not waver. Looking back at the Altean army, he saw that they were closing the distance. Some of them broke into a charge, unafraid of the sheer amount of Macedonians before them. Merach was impressed by their boldness as the Macedon soldiers looked to him for orders. Then his impression faded, and he took on the false persona of a Macedonian soldier who hungered for victory.

"Attack!" Merach yelled.

* * *

><p>"The battle has begun." Hardin said, mounted on his horse, his sword ready in his hand. To his left, Wolf calmly composed and ready, Roshea itching for the fight. To his right, Sedgar looking forward to liberation, Vyland's lance arm trembling in anticipation.<p>

"Move out!"

* * *

><p>Abel was the first to reach the enemy, weapon in hand. The Macedonian troops surged forward. There was no doubt that the Macedonians had the clear numerical advantage, but numbers had not deterred the Altean army yet.<p>

Abel's sword cut into the shoulder of the first Macedonian, officially starting the battle. He pulled his sword free, letting the soldier fall to the ground, clutching at his wound.

Navarre darted forward, bringing the Killing Edge to the forefront. Soldiers began to die in such number that the piles of corpses was obstructing Navarre's movement. Yet still he continued his emotionless attack.

A member of the Altean army would get injured here and there and had to fall back, but nothing fatal occurred. Wrys lifted his staff to the air, and Lena followed suit, chanting the healing incantation that made wounded limbs became free of injury. A boon that the Macedonian army did not have.

Matthis made his honest effort, but he was clearly the weakest link in the chain of the Altean army. Cain and Barst were forced to stay close to him, practically babysitting the unconfident and unskilled soldier. Matthis' shaky, unconfident lance arm managed to claim a few enemies, but his contributions were fairly negligible.

Arrows flew through the sky, most courtesy of Gordin and Norne, but others came Castor, and still others from Macedonian archers. More then once an arrow landed on the breastplate of Jagen or Draug, but came woefully short of piercing into their chest, merely breaking on the armor. Most of the enemy archers were slowly being picked off by Gordin and Norne.

Gordin was trying to dedicate himself to the battle. Trying his hardest to push any distracting thoughts to the side. He unleashed several arrows, most of which accurately found their mark. Others seemed more wobbly, but seemed to scare the enemies a few steps back anyway.

Close but not too close to Gordin was Norne. She shot her own arrows, felling Macedonians left and right. Her aim was not quite on par with Gordin's, but seemed to be beyond Castor's.

Every once in a while, Norne turned her eyes to Gordin. Gordin was more then excelling, but every once in a while one of Norne's arrows had to be released to kill an enemy that was getting too close to Gordin. She was making a point to not let anyone get near Gordin, an odd protective streak interfering with her ability to focus exclusively on the front.

Soldiers were bleeding their life out on the ground. Altea was advancing with almost unencumbered speed. The splashes of warm blood coated the ground, puddles of the red liquid spilled under the Macedonians.

Jagen's silver lance skewered and impaled the Macedonian troops. He had settled into his role as Marth's on-field bodyguard, and he served with all the strength his aged body could muster. That strength outstripped what many soldiers in their physical prime could produce.

Marth's Rapier easily took down the Macedonians in his way, nimbly piercing through their armor and ending their lives. It was a sobering and solemn thing to do, but he did not relent or pull back. As he fought, he occasionally looked in Caeda's direction, she was fighting well, that look of trembling and uncertainty gone. When things were settled down a bit, he would ask her why she had seem frightened when she first woke up. Marth turned back to the battle, a portion of his thoughts still concentrated on Caeda, but even with more then one thing at the forefront of his mind, he was fighting skillfully and lethally.

* * *

><p><em>Impressive. Truly.<em> Merach watched Marth from a distance. Surprised, but pleased with the Altean's progress. The Macedonians were being coordinated by Merach to the best of his ability, and they seemed like untrained squires before the Altean army. _Short of princess Minerva's skill most definitely, but… Yes. They are exactly what the princess has been looking for. Brave, skilled, powerful, coordinated, yes._

He heard a death cry come from the other direction, and turned to see the Aurelian attack. Coyote had just killed two Macedonian soldiers. The arrow of a purple haired horseman fatally sunk into the throat of a Macedonian who sought to strike Coyote.

The Macedonian force suddenly split into two, some moving to attack the Alteans, others turned to the Aurelians. Merach swore under his breath. It was not the Aurelians he should be observing right now.

And yet… he had to marvel at the Aurelian's skill, much like he was marveling at the Altean's strength. After watching the Aurelians for a moment, he turned back to those he should have been focusing on, the Alteans. His eyes widened when he realized that the Alteans were about to be struck from the rear. One of the border guards Emereus recalled for the sake of aiding the defense was approaching the Alteans from behind. He gritted his teeth, but could offer no support to the Alteans. Appearances had to be kept…

* * *

><p>Merric was handling the rear, and saw the same charge that Merach had spotted. Even if his back had been turned to them, he likely would have realized someone was coming from behind. He could… he sensed the aura of another magic user somewhere nearby. He saw a Pegasus Knight and a Sage. His first reaction was to summon the wind blades of Excalibur before the enemy could get any closer.<p>

Most of the blades went to the Pegasus Knight, but some went to the Sage on the ground. The Sage paused, seeming to stare in awe at the Excalibur blades. Excalibur was a famous tome, and the Sage surely recognized it, but rather then simply gape at the blades, the Sage raised a staff, and seemed to create a barrier that the wind blades dispersed on. A barrier strong enough to negate Excalibur alone noted the Sage as being a man of no small ability. The Sage, an elderly, aged figure, lowered the staff, and stared directly at Merric with wide open eyes. Merric disregarded the Sage, believing he could endure whatever magic the Sage might summon, and turned his gaze up to the Pegasus Knight.

The blades that went to the Pegasus Knight impacted on the white creature. It seemed to simply shrug off the blades. Merric's eyes narrowed as he remembered a Pegasus' natural resistance to magic. Pegasus Knights were occasionally considered to be something of a counter to a magic user. The knight commanded the creature to swoop down, and it was heading straight for Merric.

Merric gulped as the creature descended, its rider holding a lance firmly in her hand. If nothing happened, he'd likely be skewered on that weapon. If the enemy got close, it was all over for him. He had no armor to protect against a lance… and if he died, the rear of the army was exposed. He'd rather a magic user like that Sage not be able to take the army by surprise.

He did the only thing he could think to do. Try and summon the blades of Excalibur once more, this time he would aim more for the rider then the Pegasus. He began to chant for the spell, even as the Pegasus Knight was coming down on him, he knew he didn't have enough time to cast the spell…

Then there was a sudden flash of Thunder magic, but it didn't originate from Merric. The Sage waved his hand, conjuring electricity, which at first Merric believed was about to be shot at him, but instead, the Sage directed his hand upward. The Thunder magic left the Sage, and headed straight for the Pegasus Knight.

Both the rider and the steed let out a unionized shriek as the electricity coursed through their bodies. The Pegasus, which had shrugged off Merric's magic, fell out of the sky from a spell that had inferior power and reputation to Excalibur. The Pegasus and its rider both landed, they had been dead before they had even reached the ground. Somewhat intimidated, Merric turned to the Sage…

"Merric." The Sage said, waving his hand to fan away some smoke that had appeared around him when he had used the Thunder spell. Merric mentally tripped as the fact that the Sage knew his name registered. "And here I was thinking you had blown yourself up trying to show off."

Merric blinked. There was only one person who ever suggested that Merric might kill himself with an explosion when using wind magic. "Teacher? Master Wendell?" Merric squinted across the distance, the aged face and sagely robe seemed to match his memory of his teacher.

"It's been a while, Merric." Wendell said, walking forward calmly, spreading his arms out in a friendly gesture. Then a flicker of bewilderment was apparent on the aged face. "You're the last person I expected to see in Aurelis. Why are you-"

"I was looking for prince Marth." Merric said plainly, "I've been looking for him ever since Gra's betrayal. Turns out he found me, though."

Wendell closed his eyes and took the small explanation in. "I suppose I could have guessed as much." He seemed to sigh and chuckle at the same time. "I came to Aurelis looking for help to return Khadein to what it had once been, but Macedon managed to find me. They've been forcing me to aid them."

"You've been looking for help to restore Khadein?" Merric tilted his head and raised a hand to his chin, a somewhat cheeky smile gracing his face. A distinctive curve of the lips that Wendell was usually mildly irked with. "Well look no further, teacher. This is the Altean army, and we'll probably be with the Aurelian resistance by the time the day is over. Everyone in the continent who could help you is going to be gathered here by the end of today."

Wendell raised his eyebrows and his face relaxed, his lips curling into a relieved smile. "I suppose I'd never find a better opportunity then this." He seemed to be uplifted for a moment, but then sighed dejectedly. "I have no love for war, but it seems I have no choice but to go through with it, if Khadein is to be restored."

Merric remembered Wendell's anti-war lessons. Using magic responsibly, and only when the situation absolutely demanded it. He smiled, "Well, some things are worth fighting for, aren't they?" Wendell stared at Merric forlornly, but then nodded.

* * *

><p>A small Aurelian town was located near the palace. Earlier this month, many soldiers had placed this town under martial law, now, not a single Macedonian was present here. The palace, and the palace's exterior, were now the only places in the nation still under Macedonian control.<p>

Despite its proximity to the palace, it was hardly a town of any great importance. It was just a simple country village, lacking the carefully made rock roads of the bigger, more important commercial cities. Its only real asset were simple farm goods, wheat, grain…

Gordin and Norne had briefly departed the push to the palace and gone to the town under orders from Marth. They were simply there to secure the town before the attack on the palace itself began. There was hardly any need, the two would just check to ensure that no Macedonian soldiers were still present here, then return to the main army.

"Hey." Only one person seemed to be outside. He looked over the archers as they entered the village, seemingly trying to recognize them. He had an odd, fearful expression. "You two aren't… Macedonians, are you?"

"Um…" Gordin stared at the man, he had the general look of a farmer. "No, sir, we're with the Altean army."

The farmer stared at Gordin hard, then relaxed himself and smiled. "Ah, been hearing some rumors about you. Just cut straight to the palace like Macedon wasn't even there. You seem to have everyone's admiration."

"T-thank you." Gordin looked almost flustered at the idea of someone admiring him.

"Since you're here…" the farmer raised his gaze off of the two and squinted, looking in the direction of the palace. "I imagine Macedon has been effectively cornered?"

"Basically." Norne said with a small shrug. "They're pretty much stuck in the palace, and they're still losing ground."

"Ha! This would have seemed impossible about two moons back." He smiled at the thought of a free Aurelis. "Guess I'll be telling everyone the good news. Excuse me…" Without any further conversation, he turned around and began to walk away. He started to mumble under his breath, "Most of us are still too scared to leave our house…" As he walked off, a large red orb bounced out of one of his pockets.

"Um, sir?" Norne called, but the farmer didn't appear to hear her. She took a step forward, knelt down and picked up the red stone. "Sir, you dropped-whoa!" She suddenly shuddered as a sensation went through her body. Her hair stood on end as the red stone tumbled out of her hand. She stared at the rock for a moment, took a deep breath in and picked the stone back up, then felt the strange sensation course through her again.

"Norne, what's wrong?" Gordin stepped forward and grabbed Norne's shoulder, Norne's shuddering stopped.

"Ugh…" Norne shook her head to rid herself of a sudden dizziness. "Gordin, this thing, pulses, or something." She held the red stone in her hand. It was oddly shiny, reflecting the sun's light, but it didn't feel like it was metal. A shiver went down her spine as she continued to look at the stone. Gordin seemed to notice that it was somehow discomforting Norne, he reached out and took it from her. Gordin held it in his hand for a second, then felt a strange vibration shoot through him.

It was completely unexpected, and he lost his balance. His legs wavered, Norne reached out and grabbed Gordin as he began to fall forwards onto her.

"What… is this thing?" Norne asked aloud, looking at the red stone as Gordin was awkwardly leaning onto her. The stone pulsed as if it had a heartbeat. Slowly, Gordin put the stone away and shook his head.

"I… don't want to feel like I'm stealing, but I think it would be for the best if we got someone to identify this." He tried to get back on his feet, but found Norne's fairly strong grip holding him in place. "Um… Norne, could you… um…" He found himself uncomfortable as he noticed how he had come to lean on Norne. So wrapped up in examining the stone that he neglected to see how his head had fallen on Norne's shoulder.

"Oh, sorry, Gordin." Norne pushed Gordin back to his feet. As Gordin got back on his feet, Norne's hands lingered on his shoulders for a moment, then slowly, perhaps reluctantly, returned to her side.

"Well…" Gordin immediately turned around, hiding his discomfort over the close contact, and, hopefully, looking professional and uninterested in what had happened. "Macedon doesn't seem to have any presence here, let's… get going."

* * *

><p>Vyland's lance speared through a Macedonian soldier. The blow was exceptionally powerful, but such was the standard of those Hardin would personally bring with him on an assignment like this. Saddled on a horse, Vyland let the Macedonian corpses pile up.<p>

His blows were powerful, but they were fueled by anger. All the frustrations and resentment in these two years of fighting had eaten away at him, just like they had eaten away at all Aurelians. Macedon was the subject of vehement hatred for many Aurelians, Vyland included. He was known for his ferocity after all, his instincts and passion guided him in battle. He struck, and he struck hard, the blood splashed onto him, creating the frightening appearance of some demonic war beast.

Nearby, Roshea was killing his own share. Vyland frequently turned to Roshea to make sure he was okay. He would disengage from those he was fighting and go to Roshea's side it if looked just somewhat like the younger one was in danger.

"We're getting closer to the gate." Roshea noted as he killed another Macedonian. He stole a precious second to look at the pathway to the gate, which was only a few feet away now. "The Altean army is getting close too."

"Don't get… cocky yet, Roshea." Vyland noted as he killed another Macedonian. "We haven't reached the gates… yet."

Wolf loaded an arrow on the string of his bow and fired. His dead aim accuracy let the arrow sink into the throat of a Macedonian Pegasus Knight that was attempting to descend on the Aurelians. The Pegasus was swiftly killed by Sedgar's arrow before it could attempt to fulfill its rider's last command to swoop down. Wolf's next move was to shoot an arrow into the head of another Macedonian that had gotten too close to Roshea for Wolf to be comfortable. Which… was actually relatively far away.

Far fewer Macedonians had come at the Aurelians, but the Aurelians were also much fewer in number then the Altean army. It proved infeasible for Wolf and Sedgar to keep all the enemies at bay. Wolf pulled his sword out, slaying enemies much like how Hardin was doing.

Hardin fought hard, rarely having encountered this many enemies all at once during these two years of fighting. A Macedonian force this large would typically necessitate a retreat, but not today. Today, the thought of enemy reinforcements and being surrounded and pinned down was not something that went through his mind. Hardin gritted his teeth and led his four men into the wall of the remaining Macedonians.

The ground was littered with Macedonians, Macedonian forces were drastically dwindling in numbers, those who had been outside the palace had only a tenth of their old numbers. It would be mere seconds before the Altean army and the Aurelian resistance met each other.

* * *

><p>Navarre's Killing Edge brought another Macedonian down, to his left was Marth and Jagen. The head of the Altean army had successfully pushed its way to the gates, leaving a mass of corpses in its wake.<p>

"Looks like they're buckling." Jagen noted, swinging his silver lance into another Macedonian's chest.

Marth could see crumpled Macedonian corpses all around, ones that, based on position, were not killed by the Altean army. Jagen saw them as well, the resistance was somewhere… close.

"Navarre, can you see the resis-" Jagen turned around, and his eyes widened. Navarre was darting at a man on a horse, but the man _wasn't_ Macedonian. "Navarre! Stop! That man isn't-"

"Wolf, watch out!" Roshea pointed in the direction of the Altean army. Wolf had already seen it by the time Roshea had pointed. A long-haired man with a blood-soaked sword was dashing at him. The man was part of the Altean army, and hadn't realizing that Wolf wasn't an enemy.

Immediately, Wolf rolled out of his horse's saddle with his own sword in hand. He could non-fatally knock the Altean army soldier away much more easily on foot.

Navarre reached Wolf, and their weapons met.

"Navarre!" Jagen called, all thoughts of battle seemingly forgotten as he saw Navarre about to kill someone who should have been an ally. Considering Navarre's skill, Marth would be forced to answer to the Aurelians for an unnecessary casualty unless Navarre stopped immediately. "Navarre, he's an ally, he's-" Jagen blinked. For a moment he believes that he had just gone mad from his sudden panic. Navarre and the Aurelian's swords were blurring, and Jagen could scarcely believe it, the Aurelian was actually _matching_ Navarre blow for blow. The elderly knight could only gape at the sight.

Eventually, Navarre jumped back, having heard Jagen's command, but remained tense and ready for anything that might suddenly happen.

"Wolf, are you okay?" Sedgar asked, coming up on his horse. Wolf seemed surprised at Navarre's skill, but was otherwise unharmed. He straightened his posture and nodded at Sedgar's question.

Hardin galloped up on his own horse, killing a straggling Macedonian soldier as he reached the scene. "That was an unnecessary scare." He quickly glanced over Wolf and knew that he was uninjured. His eyes moved to Navarre. "We are not your enemies, we are the Aurelian resistance." His gaze turned to Marth, who returned the look, both of them seemed to relax. "Ah, and you are the Altean prince."

Marth walked forward, the battle was not quite over yet, but the Altean army was taking care of what remained elsewhere. "Coyote. I came to Aurelis seeking to offer my support in this fight."

Hardin dismounted and approached Marth with a disarming smile. Navarre and Wolf did not relax themselves even as it became clear that no weapons were needed at this particular moment.

"I gratefully accept your support, Altean prince." Hardin said, "Word has traveled fast through Aurelis. I have heard how you have made a mockery of Macedon throughout the nation."

Marth smiled back, "I've heard stories of you as well, prince Hardin. Few would be able to hold onto their cause and fight like you can."

"Thank you, prince Marth." Hardin's smile dropped. "But the pleasantries will have to wait. We still have a battle to fight." Hardin turned to the gates, precious few soldiers were stationed there, but one of them could perhaps be their greatest challenge today. "The only thing left to determine for right now is who will command between the two of us. I had hoped it would be you…"

"What?" Marth was taken aback by the suggestion. To the side, Wolf seemed irritated at how Hardin was offering command to the Altean prince, but said nothing.

"But… prince Hardin, you understand the enemy better then I do. Surely you are the more qualified-"

Hardin smiled light-heartedly at Marth's trepidation. "I don't think my brother would approve of us nit-picking about who will be the commander of this army." He took in a deep breath.

_Neither would she. _He briefly thought of the Goddess, the princess.

"Prince Marth, take command, and let us remove Macedon, and every trace of its filth from the proud land of Aurelis."

Marth seemed hesitant to take him up on that offer. "Are… you sure? This is your own land we're fighting for. It's more your battle then mine…"

"Make no mistake, prince. I consider judging character to be one of my finest abilities." Hardin took a step forward and clasped a friendly hand on Marth's shoulder, "If I believed your motives for fighting were born of selfish desire or personal ambition, we would not be speaking. Take command, and we shall make our first strike against the minions of Dolhr."

Marth simply stared at Hardin in confusion for a second. He was bewildered at the thought of commanding the armies of Altea and Aurelis all at once, but then nodded. "Very well, prince Hardin. I swear to not do anything to make you feel you have misjudged me."

"You won't." Hardin said, his hand falling off Marth's shoulder. "I'm sure of it."

Marth managed a smile. "I feel I have made a potent ally and good friend today. Our ideals and beliefs are similar, aren't they?"

"That they are." Hardin nodded. "Our friendship, I hope, will be long and unobstructed." Hardin turned around, and looked at his men. "Wolf, Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea. I believe you already know our next order."

Wolf was the first to nod. "We will take orders from prince Marth, Coyote." There was a subtle, almost impossible to notice, trace of reluctance in Wolf's voice. He did not want to accept orders from someone besides Hardin. The other three nodded after Wolf.

"Good." Hardin said. He had caught Wolf's reluctance, but said nothing and turned back to Marth. "These four are my finest men. I have seen their skill first hand, and I have every reason to believe that they would excel in anything you ask of them."

Marth looked over the four. Wolf had not gotten back on his horse, but the other three were still in their saddles. They all waited attentively. "I am sure I need no proof of their abilities."

"Prince Marth." Sedgar moved forward and dismounted off his horse. He bowed the correct distance to a superior. Marth turned to Sedgar as the Aurelian rose back to a standing position. "Your lack of need of proof is an honor, but please…" he turned to the gates of the palace. "Let the four of us handle the palace gates. Give us the opportunity to quell any doubts you may have of us. And perhaps, allow you to see our specialties."

Marth looked at Sedgar, then nodded. "The gate is yours, then."

* * *

><p>Besides Merach, the numbers of Macedon who were still guarding the gates numbered a mere four. All other Macedonians present outside were engaged with the Altean forces nearby, but too far away to reach the gates. The soldiers had looked at their numbers and had been arrogant about this battle earlier today, but the stress of a now nearly guaranteed defeat was clearly getting under their skin. Those near Merach stood in armor, almost as think as Merach's own, holding lances forged of iron.<p>

Humorlessly, Merach saw the approach of both the Alteans and the Aurelians. He had not honestly intended to wait until he himself would be forced to fight, but he lost himself in his examination of the Alteans, and they reached the gates faster then he anticipated. He sighed. Now he would have to fight his way out to return to Minerva… he believed he could do it, otherwise he would be much more vexed then he was right now, but still, he was not looking forward to it.

The armies of Altea and Aurelis was comprised of undoubtedly good people, and fighting his way out would result in at least one of them getting killed. It would jeopardize an alliance between them and Minerva. Remaining here had been a colossal error in judgment, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He watched prince Marth and prince Hardin meet. Merach was not close enough to hear any words, but knew from their body language that an alliance was being made. A strong bond, or a mere alliance of convenience? He could not say. Altea and Aurelis as one… it would create a formidable army, to be sure. Perhaps the first thing that could realistically hope to challenge Dolhr. It was what Merach would be trying to fight his way through.

They were advancing on the gates already. It would seem that the Aurelians were in the front for now. Merach gritted his teeth in frustration. This was… this was not how he wanted it to go. The Aurelians charged, and Merach yelled for his soldiers to counter charge.

That was utterly pointless. Merach watched as all four of the surviving Macedonian soldiers outside the palace were quickly killed and tossed aside. Then, all attention was on Merach.

"I am here at the personal behest of princess Minerva of Macedon. I shall not falter in fulfilling her will." Merach said honestly. His next words were a half-lie. "I have been charged with guarding this gate. For so long as I draw breath, you shall not pass."

He had been charged with guarding the gates, yes, but by Emereus, not Minerva. And he had no qualms about them passing, he had every intention of escaping with his life. Yet he had made the threat, and they reacted.

"You have no right to stand at that gate." Vyland hissed with his lance drawn. "The palace has been home to you, murderous thugs, thieves, and hypocrites for far too long. I won't have you indulging yourself with what rightfully belongs to Aurelis a moment longer."

Vyland charged forward, impulsively breaking rank and heading straight for Merach.

Merach waited, looking as if he would rely on his armor and stand steady, then with a speed that belied the armor he wore, Merach leapt to the side just as Vyland's lance was about to meet his chest. Vyland stopped his charge, his horse neighed as its rider commanded it to turn around. Merach would have struck Vyland, perhaps only to remove him from the battle, but the other three Aurelians charged.

Wolf rode forward, unleashing an arrow at Merach from atop his moving steed, then unsheathed his sword as the arrow flew. Merach batted the arrow out of the air with his silver lance, then stood ready as Wolf and Roshea came upon him with their swords. Sedgar, armed only with a bow, was preparing to offer distance support for his allies. Vyland returned to the battle with his lance. Merach raised his lance as the three close to him converged.

Merach presumed that it would take considerable time for him to feel exhaustion creep up on him. None of the Aurelian's weapons had the punch necessary to get through his armor.

He was technically correct, but one of them, Wolf, did not aim for Merach's armor. Instead, he jammed his sword into the small opening in the armor between Merach's shoulder pad and chest and immediately tore it back out. Merach cringed in pain, just was Vyland's lance hit him in the chest. Breath whooshed out of Merach as his chest armor cracked and he was forced to take a step back.

Merach would have wanted a moment for his mind to fully process what had just happened, but he had to raise his hand, letting the armor on his arm catch Sedgar's arrow that might have otherwise killed him.

He had underestimated the Aurelians. He would not make that mistake again. Holding his lance firmly, he let them come to him. Outnumbered and against enemies of no small amount of skill, all it would take to end his life is one mistake the Aurelians could capitalize on.

Roshea was the first to reach Merach. The youth's sword thrust forward, but Merach's lance knocked it away, clean out of Roshea's grip. Roshea reacted to his disarmament simply by immediately taking his lance out before Merach could strike him.

Merach traded lance thrusts with Roshea. Despite Roshea's weapon being made from inferior materials, he was by no means inferior to Merach. Wolf and Vyland came up, and Merach backed away.

Cornered as he was, Merach decided the best thing to do was become aggressive. He suddenly lunged forward, taking Roshea and Vyland by surprise. Wolf, however, noticed, understood, and reacted to Merach's movement with such a speed one might think that Wolf had known it was coming. Wolf's sword went into Merach's chest armor, where the large crack was, piercing straight into Merach's chest.

Merach suddenly choked with pain, but stayed on his feet. Wolf calmly backed away as Merach swung his lance threateningly, Wolf's sword still jammed into his chest. Merach brought his free hand up and grabbed the hilt of Wolf's sword. He wouldn't dare try to remove it himself. This exchange told Merach that Wolf was by far the most dangerous opponent here.

Roshea charged forward, Merach attempted to intercept the youth with a thrust. The thrust of the lance was unhinged, made unbalanced by the pain Merach was in, and failed to stop Roshea's approach. Roshea's hand went out and grabbed Wolf's sword by the hilt and tore it out. Merach grimaced at the pain as the blade and a large splash of blood both escaped from his chest. Yet Roshea didn't stop there, taking his own lance, Roshea stabbed straight into Merach's chest.

Merach gasped, then took a few steps back. He stared at the lance stabbed into his chest…

_So I… who have sought justice all my life… die at the hands of the just._

He stood mutely as Sedgar placed an arrow on his bowstring and released the arrow, it sunk into the armor protecting Merach's gut, piercing through the metal and sinking into the flesh beneath.

With his life rapidly dwindling, his thoughts turned to Minerva and the Whitewings. It had been his fondest wish to serve Minerva until the princess' dying day, but that looked to be impossible now. He felt… oddly tired, and strangely devoid of pain. He began to fall backwards, and landed on his back, the lance and arrow embedded into him.

Merach's eyes were still open, and he saw Vyland standing over him. The Aurelian, off his horse, wrapped his hands around Roshea's lance. Merach's eyes widened in the understanding of what was going to happen next. Vyland ripped the lance out, Merach should have made a pained scream, but instead only gasped.

"Your time ruling Aurelis is over." Vyland said, pointing the bloody end of the lance at Merach threateningly. "This battle is coming to an end."

Merach smirked. Despite all the pain he was in he managed a weak smile at Vyland's misconception. "Your battles… have not yet… begun…" He wasn't sure if they could even hear his words, but he tried to continue talking nonetheless. "You have… so much… so much… ahead of… you…" He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Vyland's boots slammed hard into Merach's side. "Just lie there and die, Macedonian worm."

* * *

><p>The gates were seized, and now the army was preparing to invade the castle directly.<p>

"Very good." Hardin nodded at the results. A chunk of the Macedonian invasion force was now deceased. He turned to Marth. "I thank you for your presence, Marth. However, the heads of this invasion are still within the palace. There remains one more battle between us and a freed Aurelis."

"I understand." Marth looked up at the palace. Large and intimidating. He couldn't look at it and feel the warmth he felt back at the castle of Altea.

Then he remembered what that Macedonian captain had said. It wasn't called Altea anymore. He turned to Hardin and wondered what Hardin knew about Altea's current status. He also wondered if the rumors were true, that Hardin might have been giving refuge to a princess who had fled her nation after Dolhr conquered it. It might have been Elice…

He shook his head. This was not the time to ask, he would wait until Hardin, and Hardin's older brother, had regained control of Aurelis. The answers, whether good or bad, might distract him in the next battle.

"I'd like to give Macedon as little time to react to what has happened as possible." Marth said after examining the palace at length. It looked to be a difficult place to forcibly take, but Macedon's moral had likely taken a blow. It would give the combined forces of the Altean army and the Aurelian resistance more then enough to seize it.

"So we will begin our assault immediately, then." Hardin nodded. It was a good plan, combining surprise with Macedon's likely loss of moral. Hardin would have done the same in his position. "We should begin as soon as possible. When do we go?"

Marth thought for a moment, "I need a moment to consider how to best use your men in this army. We'll wait ten minutes at the most."

* * *

><p>Jagen paced around, awaiting Marth's order. He was off his horse at this moment, but still held his silver lance. His eyes examined the Aurelian palace, a proud structure, indeed. He imagined it would be a harsh battle to retake it, but neither did he imagine it possible for them to fail.<p>

He suddenly heard footsteps from behind him. He turned to see one of the Aurelians approaching him. It was the same Aurelian that Navarre had accidentally attacked.

"You are…?" Jagen asked, waiting for an identification.

The Aurelian stared at him for a moment, then spoke. "Wolf." He watched Jagen with an expression that seemed wary and guarded. An odd expression, seeing as they were allies. Wolf's weapons were put away, but he seemed ready to take them out with the slightest provocation.

"Wolf." Jagen repeated, committing the name to memory. "I am Jagen, a royal knight of Altea."

"I am next in command under Coyote."

Jagen blinked. "I… would have expected an Aurelian noble to have that position. You are the most elite next to prince Hardin?"

"I am his second. That is all." Wolf said. "Coyote does not care for one's origins."

"I see." Jagen stepped forward. "I serve as prince Marth's bodyguard on the field. Despite the age in these bones, I am one of his strongest soldiers, and one of the longest serving knights in Altea's history."

"There is no hubris in my words when I say that I am Coyote's greatest soldier." Wolf said. "When Coyote gives an order, there is no choice, save obedience. His order is to follow your prince." A small, subtle shift in Wolf's face revealed trepidation at the thought of following Marth orders, but Hardin had spoken, and Wolf would dutifully follow orders.

"So, his order is the world to you. Nothing in this world means anything, as long as you are fulfilling prince Hardin's will?"

"No." Wolf said. "My allies are also important to me. Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea." He closed his eyes, "If anyone should harm Sedgar and Vyland, I will destroy their assailants, and if anyone _dares_ harm Roshea, I will look for his attackers, and I will find them, and I will kill them."

Jagen took the words in, and nodded. "Then you are a loyal man. I look forward to seeing what skill you have that you could use to avenge any attacks on your allies."

* * *

><p>"Oh, one of the Alteans." Sedgar, along with Vyland, came across Cain. Sedgar smiled as he approached the red knight, and extended his hand. "We seem to be allies, now."<p>

Sedgar's hand hovered in the air. Cain looked down at it, then at Sedgar. "…pardon me, Aurelian. After Altea's business with Gra, I find it difficult to trust. You can leave."

Irritation was revealed on Vyland's face, and Sedgar's hand slowly fell to his side. "To not trust is a wise policy. However, you have nothing to fear from us. We have the same enemies as you do, and have the same values." Sedgar closed his eyes. "This doesn't need to be a mere alliance of convenience, friend."

Cain looked at Sedgar "No, it doesn't need to be an alliance of convenience, but I also don't _need_ to set myself up for traitors again." His mind flashed back to Gra's treachery, and what simply trusting a friend had done to the nation. A king murdered, a queen and princess unaccounted for, a prince in exile, the nation subjugated…

"Don't compare us to-"

"Vyland." Sedgar said, cutting Vyland off. Sedgar stepped toward Cain, he had heard what Gra had done, and knew why Cain was so reluctant to offer even the smallest bit of trust to him. Still, he was judging Sedgar unfairly, and forcing Sedgar to pay for Gra's treachery. "I have no doubt that your reservations about trusting those who do not hail from Altea is well founded. Yet if we can't rely on or count on each other over the smallest detail, we cannot work together. You must take this risk…"

Sedgar held his hand out again, Cain stared at the friendly Aurelian hand. He couldn't help but compare the hand with how friendly Gra was just before the betrayal, but… Sedgar possibly had a point. Cain reached out and took hold of Sedgar's hand. They firmly shook, Cain did not put away his personal misgivings of an alliance, but would give the Aurelians the benefit of the doubt for the time being.

"Thank you." Sedgar said, letting go and pulling his hand back. "We'll see what becomes of this union after the castle is ours again."

* * *

><p>"…and that's about everyone in the army." Merric concluded. He flashed a smug smile at his teacher. "Don't know the Aurelians yet, but I'd say that we've got what it takes to take back Khadein."<p>

Wendell's expression was grave. A few moments of staring at it, and Merric's smile dropped. "They are well trained Merric, yes. Yet taking back Khadein will be more then just taking out a few enemy Mages, and you know that. You know what tome Gharnef has, correct?"

"Yes teacher, he has Imhullu."

"And you remember what I told you about that tome before Gharnef took it?"

Merric sighed. "Here's an abbreviation of what you told me. The Mage who wields Imhullu can never be killed or defeated. The wielder cannot even be bruised or scratched. Its power is great, but the cost it demands from its wielder is also great. It consumes the soul, corrupts the mind, and decays the flesh. That is why it is sealed away, where no one can reach it."

"Correct." Wendell nodded, "You took my lecture in, at least. Imhullu has only been unsealed a small number of times to deal with the most critical of crises. The tome's power is addictive, which is why only the most virtuous and strongest willed Mages were allowed to wield it for the duration of that emergency. Imhullu can almost call people to it with the promise of power and invincibility. It can be said-"

"-that Imhullu wields its wielder. Yes, teacher, I know." Merric shook his head, not regretting his somewhat rude interruption. "I know about Imhullu. When I learned that Gharnef had Imhullu, I made certain I thoroughly read everything regarding the spell that I had access to. I know what we're up against, and I say, we'll find a way to take Gharnef down, even if he has Imhullu."

Wendell stared at Merric for a moment, then nodded again. "You know what Imhullu is, but I wonder if you really know what we're up against." He scratched his chin, looking as though he wanted to say something further, but declined. "When the palace is back in Aurelian hands, and presuming I'm still alive, I must speak with prince Marth regarding this. I would ask you to accompany me at that time."

"Of course, teacher." Merric smiled again.

* * *

><p>Roshea sighed as he looked at the palace. He had been tested in a large-scale battle for the first time, and he believed he had excelled. The battle to retake the palace would be no different. He didn't need anyone watching over him… he didn't mind someone having his back, but he scorned the idea of being sent to the less dangerous parts of the battle. He was a soldier of Coyote himself, a true Aurelian elite, he did <em>not<em> shy away from battle.

"Big day for you?" A female voice chimed from behind Roshea. The youth turned around to see the Altean archers, Norne and Gordin.

"You could say that." Roshea allowed himself a little smile at the day's events. He had really made a difference, he felt. "I even took down one of Macedon's elites. And I'm ready to do better."

"Well, good for you." Norne said with a little smile of her own. "Gordin and I just made sure some out of the way village wasn't under Macedonian control. It was actually rather pointless."

"Except for…" Gordin began, his hand going down to his pocket.

"Gordin, don't touch it." Norne cautioned, reached over to grab Gordin's hand before it could get into the pocket. "It nearly knocked you over, I'd rather you not grab it."

"Grab what?" Roshea asked, his curiosity piqued. He took a step forward. Norne looked at Roshea and sighed, letting go of Gordin's arm. Gordin pulled out a large fist sized red stone. Roshea's eyes widened.

"We just… found it in the village. It… it almost seemed to have a pulse. The vibration almost knocked me over." Gordin took a glance over at Norne, the one who caught him when the stone had made him lose his balance. She smiled back at him, forcing Gordin to immediately look away.

Roshea looked at the stone for a moment, then raised his gaze to Gordin's face with an unimpressed expression. "Oh, come on. A pulse? You expect me to believe that this rock has a heartbeat? Let me see that thing…" he took the rock from Gordin and held it firmly in one of his hands. He looked it over for a while, then shook his head. "I sure don't feel anyth-" his sentence was caught off as his entire body suddenly shook as a sudden sensation shot through him.

"Whoa…" Roshea's hand started to hold the rock more firmly. "Now that's just creepy."

""Believe it now?" Norne asked with a slightly smug tone.

"Yeah." Roshea looked over the rock, reacting as his body shuddered again. The rock was a basic red color, but there seemed to be a lighter color in the middle of it… almost like something might have been sealed inside. "If you don't mind, I'll hold onto this." He pocketed the stone, Gordin and Norne didn't seem to take offense. "I might be able to find a use for it. Maybe after we take the palace, I can show it to the Sage that Merric guy picked up today." He smiled again.

"Roshea!" Roshea's body went rigid for a moment, then turned at the voice. Sedgar was coming into view. "Ah, there you are…"

"Something up, Sedgar?" Roshea gave a slight tilt to his head. The two archers seemed to also be mildly curious.

"We're about to go into the castle." Sedgar said. "All three of you come with me, we're moving immediately."

* * *

><p>A grave was covered with a thin layer of sand. It was unmarked and unremarkable. Just a small stone slab jutting out of the ground. At first glance, it looked to be the grave of someone whose loved ones couldn't afford a proper funeral.<p>

This humble grave offered no clue to the fame of the person it contained.

Gharnef warped into sight right beside the grave. He had a lipless grin on his face as the sight of the grave registered on him. This was the final resting place of someone… he hated in particular. Someone he killed personally. With a wave of his hand, the top of the grave slid off, revealing the contents. A decayed, withered corpse with its hands folded together. Its mouth hung open, it had no eyes in its sockets, a few more months and it would likely degenerate to the point of being a skeleton.

"Hello…" Gharnef began, chuckling softly at the sight of the corpse. "…Miloah."

Miloah. Once upon a time, he had been Gharnef's good friend and rival. Their relationship eventually shattered in a manner that couldn't be repaired. It all began when their teacher chose Miloah over Gharnef to inherit a grand spell.

"I haven't forgotten, you know…" Gharnef said, watching the corpse disdainfully. "I haven't forgotten how they praised you, and jeered me. I haven't forgotten how they offered you prestige, and tried to toss me aside. I haven't forgotten how _you_ went ahead and left _me_ behind." Gharnef knelt down, his decrepit hand clutched the chest of the corpse's Mage robes.

"You should feel privileged, Miloah. You were Imhullu's first victim in centuries. How does it feel, to know that you hadn't the slightest chance to best me? Wherever you are right now, do you feel the passionate hatred and dismissal for me that you pretended you didn't have for me in life?"

Gharnef's mouth returned to a neutral position, offering no clue as to his feelings, but his hand started to grip Miloah's chest tighter. "You were but the first, but many have followed. You couldn't possibly be lonely, wherever you are." He let go of the robe and stood back up. "Watch me from wherever you are, and understand that you were inferior to me in every aspect." He chuckled as he waved his hand, sliding the top of the crypt back into place. "Rejoice, you were the catalyst that made me. The true ruler of Khadein, and in time, the true ruler of the breadth of the continent."

* * *

><p><strong>Eremiya is a FE12 character. (Strictly FE12) Considering the time it takes to raise an orphan into a merciless assassin, I don't consider it a stretch to think that she was alive and active during Shadow Dragon, you just don't see her during the game.<strong>

**She actually appears in a bonus chapter in FE12 that's supposed to take place 'shortly' after Shadow Dragon. Without any translations of the chapter script, I'm guessing 'shortly' is about 1-3 months, so she and her assassins were probably quite active and combat capable. Eremiya won't be fighting any of the heroes in this story, of course.**

**One thing I've always found odd is that most sources I find always say that Eremiya is 'hired' to kill Marth in FE12, which makes it seem like she and her assassins are more mercenary then anything else. Yet I know Eremiya's story well enough to know that the reason Eremiya became this assassin master is entirely due to Gharnef. So, no matter how FE12 presents her, here she's a direct servant of Gharnef.**

***ahem* Don't take Wolf referring to Roshea as "little brother" literally. Wolf, Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea are simply 'so close that they're like brothers', but none of them are actually related to each other.**

**Roshea is the youngest of the four (in my headcanon, I'm thinking of Roshea to be 14 years old, Sedgar and Vyland to both be 18, and Wolf to be in the 19-20 bracket) and the other three are somewhat overprotective of him.**

**You know, Wolf is the easiest of the four to come up with a personality for. Between his drooping haircut, his name, it's easy to write him with a typical cold and harsh personality. (Wolf is also presented as being by far the most skilled and deadly of the four, he matches Navarre, as you saw) As for the others, Sedgar's the friendly and respectful one, Vyland's the passionate hothead, and Roshea's the eager, confident one.**

**Writing the scene with acquring the Firestone wasn't easy. I didn't want it to be like the game, and have this guy come in and randomly start rambling about Pyrathi when there was a battle going on. Had to make it a bit more serious, but I still feel that it's slightly clunky. Difficulty in writing some scenes like this is why I've been avoiding a lot of the village scenes from Shadow Dragon. (Speaking of scenes I won't enjoy writing, I'll take the time to mention that I'm not looking forward to dealing with Roger's recruitment once I hit FE11's chapter 8.)**

**Please review. (I've written way too much in these closing Author Notes, these last two chapters)**


	14. Archanean League

**Lots to happen in this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>For the longest time, Aurelis was home to nothing but dread and fear. Macedon swarmed over the nation, plowing straight to the royal palace, its military strength displacing Aurelis' ruling family. Aurelis formed a resistance, fighting back as well as it could, but Macedon had grown too well entrenched in the nation.<p>

The grassy plains were set alight, innocents were seized for slight offenses and made examples of, and the people knew terror and hatred. There was no Aurelian who had not raised either sword or curse at Macedon. Yet nothing changed, for two years Macedon settled into their position, and nothing changed. The Aurelians were undoubtedly the better tacticians and fighters, but Macedon had advantages enough to retain their dominance. Neither side seemed capable of truly inflicting meaningful damage on the other, and Macedon continued to hold the indisputable advantage.

Then suddenly, a new development occurred. An army, led by a prince from another land entered the nation. Without warning, this army laid waste to the forces of Macedon. Macedon seemed matchless against this new army, it wasn't the same Aurelians who didn't have the time or resources to gather themselves into something more formidable.

Hope. It had become almost foreign to the Aurelians, but now they were filled with it. Prince Marth had come with his army, and for the first time since the Macedonian invasion began, Macedon was losing ground and failing to take it back. Taking advantage of Macedon's fixation on Marth, prince Hardin of Aurelis led a revitalized Aurelian resistance, until now… until now Macedon was on its last legs, its invasion about to buckle.

Prince Marth of the land of Altea, and prince Hardin of Aurelis, had joined hand in hand as the final assault was ready to begin. The invasion had reached its sunset and climax. The nation of Aurelis held its breath. For better or for worse, the battle to decide the conclusion of the invasion of Aurelis had come.

* * *

><p>It began with the first sounds of metal striking metal, the beginning of battle. It gave way to battle cries and death wails.<p>

Emereus sat on the Aurelian throne as the sounds emanated. The noise, the sound of battle, coming from outside the palace, originating from the surrounding fields. It was subtle at first, the battle was still far away. Then it got louder, the sound increasing in pitch and volume as the conflict grew. Every time he realized the battle had come closer to the palace gates it felt like a nail had been driven a little further into his head. With the nail came a dawning realization, if the palace was breached, he would be killed.

If the palace was invaded and he somehow managed to flee… he was still dead. Doubtless he would be executed by an enraged Michalis if he returned and reported that the invasion had been thwarted at the cusp of completion. Or perhaps a worse fate would be issued. For failing to capture or kill Marth, he might be given into Dolhr's hands. He shuddered at the mere thought.

Being delivered to the Court of Miracles… he had sent more then one soldier there before, but the idea of _him_ being sent there? No, it was too horrible to think about. He could not die. He could _not_. Ragged breath escaped him as the thoughts of his mind were focused on only one thing: survival.

Surrendering was not an option. The whole of the nation despised him. Surrendering would simply result in him being paraded around the nation in chains, and then placed in the guillotine, his head presented to a cheering crowd. No, victory in battle was his only hope for survival.

The sounds of battle outside the palace continued, louder, clearer, and then…

Silence. Emereus felt a shiver flow down his spine. The last sounds had come from the palace gates. There was no noise, the battle outside was over. Perhaps the enemy had been stopped… the door to the throne room suddenly swung open as Emereus contemplated what may have happened. A scout dashed in, Emereus could not tell if the scout's movements suggested elation or agitation, the body language seemed completely neutral.

"General Emereus." The scout began, the words were clear, but their message would prove to be grave. "Lord Merach… is dead." Emereus' eyes widened as the sentence registered, he tried, and failed, to hide his horror as the scout continued. "Prince Marth has joined hands with the Aurelians. The palace gates have been breached."

"That-" Emereus tried to respond, but his voice broke. He sat, gaping at the scout. Precious seconds ticked past as the reality that his enemies were inside the palace dawned on him. He sat on the Aurelian throne, his mouth hanging open as the bleakness of the situation swept over him. "That isn't… it can't… are you sure that's not a mistake?" Emereus bolted up out of the throne, desperately clinging to the meager possibility that this scout had misinterpreted what was happening.

"The gates have been breached, sir." The scout said plainly, but he appeared to be sweating, "We need a plan to fall back on, General. What are your orders?"

"My… orders…" Emereus' eyes stared off into empty space, distracted by his thoughts, then snapped to attention. "Y-yes, orders. T-the soldiers are to sortie, the enemy must not advance. They are to pour themselves entirely onto the enemy. Overwhelm with numbers. The most elite of those stationed here will wait with me in this room." He let out a shaky breath as he finished determining his tactics. "Rely those orders at once, soldier! The enemy must not be allowed to advance.

The messenger nodded. "At once, general." He turned and left.

Emereus raised a hand to his sweating forehead. Feeling so fearful had become the commonality ever since the situation began to turn against him. He was stressed enough with staying in Aurelis even when he was firmly in control. He was full aware of how despised he was in the nation. Given a quarter of a chance, an attempt on his life would be made.

Not even an elite like Merach managed to stop his enemies. Emereus was untrained and unprepared for a situation like this, he didn't know how to react. If only princess Minerva and the Whitewings had come to deal with the situation, or King Michalis The Great, not… not Merach.

Now, it all came down to his soldiers competence. They had to stop his enemies. They _had_ to. If they failed, he would be killed. His life was too precious to relinquish.

* * *

><p>The palace was lit by torches, flame moving erratically with the wind illuminated the grand pillars and proud stone walls. The walls were plain and unadorned, the king of Aurelis had a distaste for grandiose displays of wealth and art. Hardin had no qualms with his brother's sentiment, rather, he encouraged it. He knew that his men weren't exactly art appreciators either. Even without the art, the palace was majestic, one of the few majestic sights in the otherwise mostly rustic Aurelis. Hardin sighed. It had been a long time since he had been given the chance to be in his own home again, but he shook the nostalgia and longing away. He was in the present for now, and he would stay in the present until the palace belonged to Aurelis once more.<p>

Still, it was hard to face the fact that the one place he once felt was the most secure, and should have always been the most secure, would be the setting for such a bloodbath. Yet it was necessary. Regrettable, but necessary. Macedon would not relinquish the palace willingly, it would have to be pried from lifeless fingers. Hardin steeled himself, still holding his sword. He would not let this… Emereus, sit on his brother's throne a moment longer. Anyone who stood between him and the throne would die.

…then there were those who wouldn't stand in his way, and weren't in the palace of their own violation. He narrowed his eyes as his thoughts drifted to those who had been dragged to the palace and put in chains. Many of which had done nothing, nothing save be loyal to Aurelis.

"Marth." He called the young prince. Marth turned to Hardin. "If my reports are correct, Macedon is holding a large number of prisoners in the dungeon area."

"Dungeon?" Marth asked, "Macedon is holding Aurelian prisoners?"

Hardin nodded. "Ranging from Aurelian knights to simple free thinkers who spoke against Macedon." He scowled, to think that Aurelians had been thrown away like this… simply for having pride in their nation in one way or another. "I cannot claim to desire what is best for Aurelis and yet leave them to rot in the dungeon. I would wish for you to free them."

Marth understood perfectly. He's never tolerate leaving Alteans rotting in a prison when they had done nothing wrong. "So we should put some priority on their freedom." Marth said while raising a hand to his chin to think for a moment. "That shouldn't be a problem, whether during the battle or after."

"Thank you." Hardin said. He looked across the room. The entrance to the palace, a wide and grand area. He mumbled, then he spoke clearly. "This is the main hall… if Macedon is going to try and aggressively repel us, they'll attack us here. They wouldn't risk letting us slip deeper into the palace if they can do anything about it."

"We'll be ready." Marth said, "After the weeks of fighting, and the battle outside the palace, I don't think Macedon could do anything that would surprise me."

"After fighting Macedon for two years, I'd be very surprised if Emereus caught me off-guard." Hardin looked forward, he might have smiled, but instead frowned. "Still… Emereus is cornered, and on his last legs, there's no telling what he might do when he panics. I would exercise caution."

Marth took the warning in, nodding, but was unafraid. "There is no need to worry. I won't let the expectation for victory dull my senses." Marth turned to Hardin with a little smile, Hardin relaxed at Marth's calmness, then turned his eyes to front.

* * *

><p>"You… your name is… Vyland, right?" Abel asked. As they entered the palace, he had been placed next to a red-haired Aurelian.<p>

"Yes." Vyland turned to Abel. "You need something?"

Abel pondered for a moment, "We've been fighting Macedon for a few weeks now, but you've been fighting them for about two years. Likely, you're more familiar with them then we are. Perhaps it's a little late to ask, but what should we expect from them? Particularly, what should we expect from the elites that would be stationed here?"

Vyland's eyes narrowed at the question. "Expect cowardly, untrained, opportunist scum. They don't know how to fight, the only thing they can do skillfully is slaughter innocents too helpless to fight back. They've never won a fight where they didn't rely on sheer numbers. You don't need any sort of information and scouting with Macedon. All you need is half-baked skill, and their corpses will just pile up on the ground." Vyland growled in his throat, and clenched his hands into fists. Two years worth of resentment and frustration were evident in his suddenly deep voice. "Macedonian forces are comprised of nothing but spineless thugs. The slightest sign that their enemies can fight back, and they retreat. No Macedonian has virtuous traits. They're cowards and blackhearts without exception. From the grunts all the way to their king."

Abel blinked at Vyland's passionate rage. "Vyland, we have two Macedonians in this army. One of them is a defector from Macedon's forces."

Vyland's nostrils flared at the words, but then slowly moved back to a calmer look. "Then they're the two good ones. The _only_ good ones from Macedon."

Abel's eyes narrowed, he found himself not liking this man. "Macedon in general is our enemy." Abel admitted. He knew as much from the weeks of fighting. "However, I feel that we should not look at the nation and race so broadly. There… may be virtuous people in the Macedonian military, and I'm sure that there are those common people who dislike what the nation is doing."

Vyland glared at Abel, "If that is your belief, then enjoy leaving yourself open to a knife in the back. Macedonians are all the same, there is no difference between the Macedonian people and the Macedonian military. The only admirable Macedonians are the ones who get themselves killed and spare me the trouble." He trotted off with a scowl. Abel shook his head at Vyland's perspectives. He thought of Matthis and Lena, and saw that these years of fighting had hardened Vyland's heart. Perhaps he should see if some of Vyland's more direct allies had this same perception. After the battle. If Aurelis in general had this perception, then his time of respecting the Aurelians would be short.

* * *

><p>Wolf was off his horse, kneeling down. He stretched his senses out. He had been accustomed to his enemies giving themselves away with small sounds before the invasion. Two years worth of stealth operations had heightened his perceptions further. Had the Altean army and the resistance been chattering away, he likely would have still perfectly heard any Macedonians.<p>

Footsteps registered on Wolf. The clicking of metal boots on the marble floor. Distant, vague, far away, but they could still be heard if you listened closely. Wolf scoffed at how easily the enemy had given themselves away. Macedon had some slight skill in battle, but they never considered the perceptiveness of the Aurelians.

The Macedonians weren't trying to be subtle, they were charging. Wolf realized in an instant that the Macedonians planned to win through sheer number. A simple and basic strategy, but it was probably all that Emereus could manage. Rising to his feet, he turned. "Prince Marth, they're coming. In large numbers." His first loyalty was still to Hardin, but Marth was the commander of the army. His brow creased in mild irritation at that fact.

Hardin had explained Wolf's impeccable senses to Marth some time ago, and the prince nodded at Wolf's warning. The army was already in position and ready to fight.

The seconds stretched into minutes, then moved to five… the sound of charging soldiers could now be plainly heard by all. The army tensed in preparation. Wolf remained in front, listening in case the enemy suddenly changed tactics. One of the palace doors opened, then another, and another.

Macedonians surged. Pouring in from three directions. Soldiers slowly filled the room and charged immediately. Their first target was their closest enemy, Wolf.

A moment ago Wolf had been focused entirely on hearing sounds. Now, he frowned, and took his sword out. With no time to return to his steed, he faced the Macedonians on foot. They attempted to swarm him, almost looking like they were going to try and pin him to the ground before killing him. Unimpressed, Wolf met the soldier's charge.

A few soldiers had already died on Wolf's sword before Draug and Ogma managed to run forward to reinforce him. Despite the punch of the Macedonian weapons, breaking through Draug's armor proved to be a lesson in futility. The lance came forward to spear through the soldiers as Ogma's sword hacked through limbs and fatally ripped enemies open. The brutal deaths did nothing to intimidate the Macedonians that were still alive.

The battle was joined by the rest of the army. Metal clashed, and the magic of Wendell and Merric surged through the air. Macedon had numbers on their side, but in the past weeks that had proven to be a negligible factor. Macedonians fell in droves under the wrath of the Altean army and the Aurelian resistance.

Macedonians were falling even as more were still pouring in. In time the combatants were unevenly standing on the deceased remains of the invasion soldiers.

Slowly, Macedon was forced back. Marth and Hardin pushed from the main halls and into the corridors. In one corridor, Marth, Jagen, and Hardin left enemies slumped against the walls as they pushed forward. In another, Sedgar's arrows and Cain's sword opened a hole in a literal wall of enemies.

One Macedonian charged, hoping to achieve glory beyond his wildest dreams by striking down Marth, but was fatally run through on Jagen's lance. Marth, not even witnessing the soldier die on his bodyguard's weapon, fought off five Macedonians single-handedly, he gained an advantage and killed them easily before turning to see more enemies coming in. He narrowed his eyes, this would take too long. There had to be a way to disorganize their enemies, or at least kill their head, their commander, before dealing with the body of soldiers.

"You two." He signaled Roshea and Wolf, they both came over to him, "Find a way around the majority of the Macedonians. Find a side-route to the throne room, and kill their commander."

Roshea stared wide-eyed with enthusiasm. "We… you're saying that _we_ should kill Emereus?"

Marth turned to kill a charging Macedonian. "Find this… Emereus, and kill him. We'll rout Macedon in the meantime. The death of their commander should at least put them in a disarray we can take advantage of." He stood ready, watching for any other attacker that might come. "You two are Aurelian knights, if anyone knows of a passage to the throne room that might be less populated with enemy troops, it'll be knights of Aurelis."

Roshea understood. "Of course, prince Marth. Consider it done." He and Wolf began to depart, moving to another, less-populated passage, and began to head for the throne room.

* * *

><p>In the middle of the battle, a few members of the army moved away. Julian, escorted by Vyland, Gordin, and Norne, was moving to the dungeons in compliance with an order from Marth, their objective was to release the prisoners and return to the battle. The passage to the dungeon was heavily guarded. Likely, Emereus didn't want escaped prisoners complicating his already dangerously tentative position. Vyland charged forward to kill the guards, impaling them on his lance and leaving them strewn throughout the hall. His charge was supplemented by the arrows from the Alteans while Julian slunk off to the side, springing out to strike the enemy in his own subtle way, his knife raking through a few Macedonian backs. Julian rarely succeeded in killing anyone, but the sudden pain of the knife kept a soldier in place long enough for one of his allies to deliver a finishing blow.<p>

In short order, the prison guards were eradicated. Murmuring could be heard from inside the cell, the sound of Aurelians questioning the nature of the sounds that could be heard outside the large single cell. Julian easily slid to the door and took a lock pick out. With a little fiddling, he opened the cell door. Gordin and Norne stood guard outside to watch for reinforcements as Vyland and Julian entered.

The captives inside were securely chained up. Most were restrained so securely that they couldn't do anything comfortably except breath. A few captives began to moan and make small, almost whimper-like noises as Vyland began to take the chains off of them.

"Oh, save the whimpering. You're free." Vyland said as he released the first Aurelian. He went around, simply grabbing and tearing the chains off of the prisoners with impressive speed and strength. Those Vyland set free quickly fled the cell, likely heading for the entrance. The lack of enough weapons to arm them squashed the idea of having them as reinforcements. No matter, Vyland did not feel that reinforcements would end up being necessary.

In time, scores of prisoners had been freed. They had to have numbered a little over a hundred. Most looked to be non-combatants. There was one last prisoner left, Vyland began to tear the chains off this last man, then stopped halfway through and raised an eyebrow.

"You're not Aurelian, are you?"

The last prisoner was a blue-haired boy. Vyland was no expert when it came to telling someone's race from their facial features, but the boy was most certainly not Aurelian.

"Well…" the boy began nervously, with the tighter chains ripped off, he was able to wiggle out of what was left. "You see… um, I-"

"You!" Julian pointed at the boy with a face of utter shock. The boy turned to Julian and returned the look. Julian walked up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Rickard, _what_, are you doing here?"

The boy, Rickard, stammered for a second, "Jeez chief, nice to see you too."

Vyland blinked at the familiarity between the two, then stepped back to let them talk.

"Yes, yes, it's been a while." Julian said without humor, still holding onto Rickard's shoulder. "What are you _doing_ here, Rickard?"

"Whoa chief, chill." Rickard tried to sweep Julian's hand off his shoulder, but the grip was too tight. "I'm just doing what we do, you know." He smiled awkwardly, then turned to Vyland, who was clearly a knight who'd chain Rickard back up if he knew Rickard was a thief. "I just got caught while doing it." He rolled his eyes. "Imagine, me, getting caught. It'd be comedy if it wasn't so depressing."

"You were trying to rob the palace?" Julian squinted his eyes and sighed. "The stuff in here still belongs to Aurelis, Rickard."

Rickard and Julian were thieves, and had jointly pulled operations like this before. Rickard blinked, unsure as to why his robbery attempt was upsetting his chief. "Macedon stole it, I was just trying to steal it back. I'd give it back to Aurelis," he flashed a little grin as he shrugged, "Though there's a chance that nearly all of it may be, uh… 'lost in delivery'."

"You mean stolen." Julian said while rolling his eyes.

"Just how we roll, chief." Rickard smirked, "Want to help me?"

"I don't do that anymore. I'm… a stalwart ally of justice, now." Julian beamed for a moment. He turned to Vyland, who had tightly shut his eyes and was shaking his head in apparent exasperation.

"…justice?" Rickard reacted as if he had just heard a bad joke one too many times. A quick scan of Julian's face revealed the honesty of the words. "Met a nice, law abiding girl, didn't you? You always seem to bend over backwards every time you see one with a soft enough face."

"Wha-" Julian paused for a second, briefly thinking of Lena before scowling, releasing Rickard's shoulder to raise his hand up and strike Rickard on the head. Rickard yelped and rubbed at the fresh bruise on his head as Julian glared at him. "I _said_ I'm a stalwart ally of justice. I'm allowed to have the occasional moral crisis."

"Okay, okay…" Rickard's fingers soothed the bump on his head. He decided against pointing out that the head smack probably meant that he had hit close to the mark.

Julian stood, seeming to fume slightly. The light blow to Rickard apparently wasn't enough to satisfy him. "Just for that, _you_ are coming with _me_."

"Just like that… you're ordering me around again, chief." Rickard brought his hand down and sighed. A quick shake of the head, and then he smiled. "Oh, I missed ya and your ways, chief. I've got no complaints about going with you, so long as I get some of the gold."

Julian shook his head in annoyance and spun around on his heel, Vyland and Rickard followed him out of the cell.

"All the other prisoners already left." Gordin said as the three came out, he was looking in the direction of the door out of the room. "They're going to escape the palace while the battle is underway. Their path should be clear. We should be regrouping with the rest of the army now."

"Why regroup?" Rickard asked, drawing the quizzical attention of both of the archers. Neither of which had seen the boy before. "Best thing to do is just walk around and take what we can, and meet with the others when all the fighting's over. You know, the safer route. The one that doesn't involve pointy things being jammed into our guts."

"Who are you?" Norne tilted her head.

"Just a small-time thief. Name's Rickard." He winked at Norne. "And… your name, lovely?"

Norne blinked at the word he used to address her, taking slight offense, but nonetheless answered the thief's question. "I'm Norne. My friend-" she pointed over her shoulder. "-is Gordin."

"Norne, huh?" Ignoring Gordin entirely, Rickard began to circle around Norne, examining her. He focused on her face and head at first, then his eyes started to drift down.

"What are you doing?" Norne asked, growing irritated with Rickard. "We… have a battle to get back to. We can save getting to know each other for later."

"I'm just checking you out for a second." He grinned. "Hmm, not bad, not bad."

"Um… what's 'not bad'?" Gordin asked. Rickard turned to Gordin for a second, then returned to Norne without answering the question.

Rickard snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah, you're good." His grin grew wider.

"Okay…" a little furrow on Norne's brow revealed her displeasure at being sized up. "Can we _please_ get back to the battle now?"

Rickard crossed his arms, focusing on her face again. "Hey, when this battle's over, how about a date?"

"…_what_?" Norne leaned back, eyes wide with shock at the bold question. Rickard became the focus of everyone's stunned expression. "You want me to… what?"

"Rickard!" Julian called, "Not now, Rickard. We're still fighting a battle."

"Come on." Rickard leaned in, ignoring Julian. "Would you say no to this face?" He made his best cute face.

Norne's eyes narrowed. "Apparently, I would and will." She reached a hand out and pushed Rickard away. "I've only known you for a whole minute, can't you wait a while before you ask something like that?"

"Why wait?" Rickard approached her again, trying to grab her hand, but Norne backed away. "Come on Norne, it'll be fun."

"Stop it." Gordin interjected with an uncharacteristic sternness in his voice. He glared at Rickard, forming an immediate dislike of the thief. "Leave her alone."

"What's _your_ problem?" Rickard asked aloud, turning to Gordin for a second, not intimidated by the angry expression, he kept his eyes on Gordin as he continued to talk to Norne. "After the battle, ditch this greenie loser here and we-"

"Don't insult him." Norne said, crossing her arms, then shook her head. "I'm wasting my time with you. We need to get back to getting the palace secured."

"Hey, I'm not a time-waster." Rickard protested, "I just want the chance to ask you some questions. Like… what's your taste in men?"

"I am _not_ answering that question." Norne turned around. "Come on, Gordin, I think we've already killed the potential for this conversation." She grabbed Gordin's hand and dragged her fellow archer with her as she stormed out of the room.

"Rickard." Julian came up, grabbed Rickard by his shoulder and spun the younger thief around to look straight at Rickard's face. "We're in a battle, you had better learn how to set your priorities. You just became part of the Altean army, learn how to treat the Alteans with more respect."

"Oh, Altea, huh?" Rickard turned his head to look in the direction Gordin and Norne left in. "Grow 'em just fine in Altea, don't they?"

"Rickard!" Julian's hand clamped down hard enough to hurt the younger thief.

"Okay, okay. Battle comes first." He squirmed until Julian let go.

"…Julian." Julian turned to Vyland. He had managed to forget the Aurelian was standing right there. "Are you sure letting this one join us is a good idea? After that grotesque lack of self-control…"

"Don't worry about it. Rickard may be an idiot from time to time, but he does good work." He shrugged, ignoring Rickard's offended look. "He'll be fine, we should get back to the battle."

* * *

><p>Progress had been steady and the results were overwhelming. In a matter of hours, the Macedonians had been forced back to the innermost keep. Every corner of the palace had seen fighting, from the entrance to the dining halls to the royal stables, even the royal family's private chambers. The splatters of blood testified the battle that had occurred. A battle that was drawing to its close.<p>

"This… can't be… happening to me…" Emereus had given into panic. His forces were getting pushed back, his last miniscule hope for survival dying. He still had men, but what could he expect from them? His best men were pale shadows compared to an elite like Merach, and these attackers had succeeded in killing that very man.

The situation had been under his control. Aurelis had practically become an extension of Macedon minus a few elements of rebellion. Then the runaway appeared, laying waste to his army. Emereus cursed Marth and Marth's interference. To have presented the heads of the last element of the entire continent's resistance to Dolhr would have undoubtedly awarded him much prestige. He might have even been given a position above his own king. Now… the very thing that would have given him honor and wealth was about to kill him.

He still had some soldiers protecting him in the room. They wouldn't be able to turn the tide. Though they were the most elite soldiers he had under him, they amounted to nothing in this situation. If only some of Michalis' fabled Dragoons had been assigned to his command. He could have unleashed them now, as a secret, final weapon. His foes would have doubtlessly been matchless against Michalis' Dracoknights.

Now, all he could do was wait. Wait, as every second was a reminder that his time was up.

* * *

><p>Roshea and Wolf were joined together in one of the halls. They were right outside the throne room. Most of Macedon had been exhausted, there were only a few soldiers here, the majority moving to try and intercept Marth and Hardin elsewhere. The two Aurelians were able to easily dispatch those who were standing guard.<p>

"The throne room is just through here." Roshea said as he removed his sword from the last guard, taking the time to sweep the majority of the blood off the iron blade. There was once a time when Roshea was in this area of the palace nearly everyday, serving the king, and Coyote. With an effort, he resisted the wave of nostalgia and focused on the door. There was one more battle to fight before he could reminisce. "That guy, Emereus, is waiting. I won't let him sit on a stolen throne any longer." Aurelis would be freed today, and Roshea would see it happen.

"Be careful, Roshea." Wolf said, "He's a coward, but then means that he'll take some manner of precaution. He won't open himself up to attacks easily."

Roshea nodded, already having guessed that himself. He moved forward on his steed and kicked the door open. Wolf, who had dove into the battle as he was and never bothered to return to his own horse, was right beside Roshea on foot. They entered the throne room.

"What?" Emereus stared in shock and horror at Wolf and Roshea. "I thought the rebels were fighting to the throne from another route. Where… where did these two come from?" Emereus narrowed his eyes hatefully on the two Aurelians. They were members of a nation and race that should have still been under his heel. These belly-crawling Aurelians should have still been struggling just to retreat from Macedon's forces.

"Kill them." Emereus commanded. His elites surged forward. Perhaps the two could at least be softened enough for Emereus to kill them himself, or at least allow him to escape.

"Amateurs." Roshea said with a slight smirk, "Can you handle this, Wolf? I'd like to fight Emereus myself."

"…so be it." Wolf readied his bow as Roshea moved to the side. Wolf looked at Roshea move away, and felt the slightest pang of worry. "Be careful, Roshea." Roshea was moving too quickly for any to intercept, and the soldiers focused their attention on Wolf. Wolf's arrows took down two of the twenty-something Macedonians before they reached him. Unsheathing his sword, Wolf met the attack.

"Emereus!" Roshea charged at the armored general.

Emereus mentally cursed at his men for failing to halt this attacker. Taking his lance in hand, he responded to Roshea's attack. He had some skill, and Emereus managed to deflect Roshea's first attack. Quickly recovering from being forced back, Roshea charged again, getting past Emereus' lance and striking the armor with a wide swing. Far thicker and stronger then Merach's, the armor took Roshea's hit and a small creak was the only sign that it had taken the blow at all.

"Some armor to hide behind." Roshea said in a taunting tone as he backed away from Emereus' retaliatory attack. "Don't have the guts to _really_ face the enemy?"

"I stick with what works." Emereus snapped back, "You won't get through this armor. I promise you that." He thrust forward with his lance again, Roshea dodged and attacked with another sword swing, still failing to get more then a quiet creak from Emereus' armor.

"I can see that you stick only with what works. Adaptability isn't one of your strong suits, otherwise I might have actually been scared during these two years." Roshea taunted, swinging his sword and biting into the armor of Emereus' shoulder. A small crack appeared on the shoulder pad. It was a start, but far from a satisfactory blow.

Emereus gave into Roshea's goading. Bringing his lance arm back, he thrust with murderous intent. "I am beyond you and your precious Coyote in skill, strength, _and_ planning. Don't you dare try to call my tactical abilities into question." The lance grazed the armor of Roshea's shoulder, but more or less missed, not being the killing attack that was intended. Roshea raised his sword up and then swung down, hitting the same shoulder he had lightly cracked with his last attack. This attack broke the armor off, revealing the cloth underneath.

"Ha! Your armor has an opening, general."

Gritting his teeth, Emereus was consumed only by the desire to get Roshea to be silent. He pulled his lance back and thrust forward again, manic rage guiding and empowering the attack. Roshea was attempting a strike on the exposed shoulder, in his excitement at Macedon's invasion ending, Roshea forgot to focus some of his energy on defense and evasion. Emereus' thrust managed to pierce into Roshea's horse. The horse stopped as Emereus' lance sunk in. In the pain, the horse reared back and managed to buck Roshea from the saddle.

"Let's see you keep up that attitude now." Emereus advanced on Roshea.

Elsewhere, Wolf had put down all but two of the Macedon elites, and he didn't seem even mildly exerted. The last two charged, Wolf remained motionless as they approached, one soldier thrust forward with a lance, the other attempted to attack from the side with a sword. They displayed some capacity for tactics, trying to cut off Wolf's escape paths, but Wolf dodged both with casual ease. He responded with a charge that sliced open the chest of one soldier, then he turned and practically disemboweled the other with two slashes.

He turned back to Roshea… Roshea was off his horse and backing away. Off his horse… Wolf noticed Roshea's horse, collapsed with a deep injury across its side.

"Aurelian worm." Emereus thrust again, Roshea deflected the lance, but he was being pushed back. Emereus pressed forward, pettily and spitefully attempting to kill Roshea over the earlier taunts. "I'll enjoy seeing you die a step away from victory, scum. If I die, someone dies with me."

Roshea, like Wolf, was just as competent on-foot as he was on horseback, but Emereus was utilizing all of his ability to keep the youth at bay. Emereus pulled back, ready to thrust his lance again. Emereus began his attack, Roshea put his sword up defensively, but Emereus managed to break the defense, and succeeded in stabbing into Roshea's hip. Emereus allowed himself a quick, petty smirk, but it quickly faded as a small grimace proved to be Roshea's only reaction.

Emereus reared back, preparing a new attack, then made a sudden howl as a sharp pain coursed through his body, originating from his exposed shoulder. Roshea took the chance to pull back and collect himself, Emereus turned to see Wolf standing.

"Roshea, fall back, let me deal with this one." Wolf said quietly. Emereus glared at Wolf, then took a step back as he raised an arm up to remove the arrow in his shoulder. Wolf's eyes narrowed on the Macedonian.

"I… can't, Wolf." Roshea's left hand clutched at his wounded hip, blood from the wound began to seep through his fingers, "I can still fight just fine. We came here just for this fight, I can't just-"

"Roshea." Wolf cut the younger one off. Wolf revealed a small bag, a Vulnerary. He tossed the bag to Roshea. "Tend to your horse and yourself. Emereus is mine."

Roshea caught the Vulnerary, staring sullenly at it for a moment, then reluctantly withdrew from the fight and turned to his horse. A trusted companion, and a creature that Roshea did not wish to see die. With a sigh, Roshea knelt down next to it.

Wolf shifted his focus to Emereus. "You're going to pay for harming Roshea."

Emereus spit on the ground. "I'll see both of you die. The scurrying Aurelians that I've had under my thumb will _not_ be the ones to kill me!" He postured into a battle stance, and hissed. His pride would not accept death at Aurelian hands. Not the same Aurelians who couldn't even put a realistic dent in his operations across the years.

Maintaining a defensive position, Emereus made the first move, thrusting with his lance. Wolf easily dodged with a side-step, Emereus attempted a second thrust, but Wolf seemed to glide forward, and he shoulder-tackled the larger, armored man. Emereus grunted, the blow, combined with the weight of his armor, combined to create a force that pulled Emereus onto his back.

"None of your men are here to help you." Wolf noted as Emereus began to pick himself up. "Without them, the only thing you can do competently is get yourself killed."

"No…" Emereus staggered back to a standing position. "I don't need my men to kill any Aurelian. You'll die well before I do, scum." With a cry of battle, Emereus charged forward, intent on ending Wolf's life with one lance thrust. Wolf easily dodged, Emereus chased after the evasive Aurelian. All across the throne room, Emereus lumbered in his heavy armor and tried desperately to strike the more nimble Wolf. His clumsy lance thrusts were easily evaded, Wolf efficiently sank another arrow in Emereus' shoulder. The Macedonian bellowed, but continued his attempt to kill the Aurelian, using his anger to block out the pain.

Eventually, it seemed that Wolf had been cornered. Emereus thrust forward, expecting to see one final fearful expression before the Aurelian's blood coated the lance and the horseman slumped to the ground. Instead, Wolf reached out and actually grabbed Emereus' lance just below the head. Looking as though he was restraining a toddler, Wolf held Emereus' lance back from his chest, not seeming to be even slightly exerting himself. Emereus could only stare in shock at the sight, he pushed as hard as he could, but he couldn't make the lance inch any closer to Wolf.

Wolf looked straight in the Macedonian's eyes as he narrowed his own. With a single twist of his wrist, the durable and reliable lance of silver… was snapped like a twig by Wolf. Emereus watched in horror as the silver tip landed on the floor.

"…a violent child, deprived of his toys." Wolf mused, Emereus backed away, trembling. Taking his sword out, Wolf jammed the weapon into Emereus' exposed shoulder. A brief scream came from the general as the sword sunk in, and then he began to back away. He turned around and attempted to flee, madly trying to escape with his life. This Aurelian was… a monster… a monster… he had to get away.

"How strong is that armor of yours?" Wolf took his bow out and deftly placed a single arrow on the string. Emereus was running in a straight line toward one of the doors. Wolf pulled back on the string, easily lining up the shot and let the arrow fly. The arrow pierced into the back of Emereus' helmet, fatally ripping through his head.

"Wh…y…?" Emereus spoke his last word, questioning how the situation completely spiraled out of control, then fell to the ground, unmoving and silent. Wolf eyed the Macedonian for a moment, then, confirming that Emereus was completely motionless, he turned to the side. Roshea was there, holding his horse's rein, not forcing the injured creature to bear its rider's weight. The wound had been tended to.

"The occupation is over." Roshea said, not a question to answer, but a statement. Wolf nodded. Roshea looked at Emereus' corpse and sighed, wishing he had done the deed himself. "Let's get into contact with Coyote and prince Marth. A message has to be sent to the king, and _her_. They don't need to stay in that derelict fort anymore."

* * *

><p>Within the hour, the battle was over. Patrols were sent out to search for any straggling Macedonian soldiers. Lena, at Sedgar and Wolf's request, healed the wound to Roshea's hip completely. Vyland seemed irked at a Macedonian healing his little brother in spirit, but said nothing.<p>

Messengers had been sent out once the palace was firmly secured. They would alert Hardin's two peers to the situation, and then escort them to the palace. It was a momentous day for Aurelis, one that the good people of Aurelis would celebrate for years to come.

Wolf was standing by himself in one of the chambers of the castle. Despite having achieved the victory he and his allies had been trying to achieve for the past two years, he did not seem to be particularly elated. He was the one who killed the commander of the invasion, but it didn't seem to give him any satisfaction.

Instead, he merely stood perfectly still with his eyes closed. His left hand was across his chest, the hand resting on the right bicep, while his right hand up to his face, his index finger resting between his upper lip and nose. He looked to be contemplating, thinking.

His lack of ecstasy was based on logical reasoning. He knew full well that the fighting was far from over. Aurelis was now free of Macedon, next would come the retaliatory strike. Coyote would be guiding them out to battle again, and it would be much sooner then his allies presumed.

His eyes slid open as a door to the room opened. He just barely turned his head to see Sedgar and Vyland walk in. They both had large smiles on their faces, elated to see the palace freed. Coming to a stop near Wolf, Sedgar's smile dropped slightly at Wolf's hardened, serious expression.

"…don't I even get a 'I'm glad you made it, Sedgar'?" Sedgar asked in a slightly teasing tone.

Wolf looked at Sedgar for a second, "Roshea's wound isn't bothering him, is it?"

Sedgar lightly closed his eyes and smirked. "Little Roshea's always the one you're the most worried about." He shook his head, his smirk not dropping. "Little Roshea's just fine. He's already back on training. He actually seemed disappointed that he wasn't the one to kill Emereus."

Wolf nodded. Whether Roshea predicted more battle in the very near future, or just felt upset that Emereus managed to force him on the defensive, Wolf couldn't say. Either way, Wolf was pleased that Roshea's first reaction to free time was to begin training. He had even begun training before Wolf.

"That is well." Wolf said, he might have continued, but the door opened again. In stepped Abel.

"I was looking for-" he caught himself and glanced at the three, who seemed to be in a discussion. "Oh, am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all." Sedgar said, "You wanted us for something?"

"I just wanted to ask a question." Abel said as he walked up to them. "I was watching some of you during the battle inside the palace earlier, and I've been thinking…"

"Watching some of us fight?" Vyland raised an eyebrow. A small hint of caution in his voice, wondering what Abel was getting at. "Do you have some kind of concern about our abilities?"

"No." Abel paused, "Maybe. I was just thinking… you Aurelians seem much more skilled then the Macedonians. I'm told that Wolf took out twenty elites single-handedly in the throne room without even breaking a sweat. I was just wondering… if you seem to outclass them like that, how did Macedon ever get an advantage over you?"

Vyland looked around uncomfortably, but Sedgar stepped forward. "Well, first off, Emereus wasn't the commander who put Aurelis into a corner."

Abel blinked. "So… he was put into his position once Macedon had its advantage?"

"Yes." Sedgar crossed his arms. " Though he liked to pretend he was the one who had taken control of most of Aurelis. I assure you, had Emereus been the commander from the beginning, Macedon would have never been able to make _any_ foot holes in this nation. The man never had the intelligence for anything besides the most basic of tactics, and he panicked at the drop of a hat." The words weren't spoken with a hostile or dismissive tone, but were utterly neutral. It was a fair and accurate summary of Emereus.

"Then, who…"

Sedgar took a breath in. "Believe it or not, the first Macedonian assaults were headed personally by the Macedonian king. King Michalis. They call him King Michalis The Great. He was a warmonger one could honestly fear. It… took some time before Coyote, and the king, really knew what they were up against."

"Their… king, was _here_?" Abel leaned back slightly, his eyes wide with shock.

"At first." Sedgar added. "After a few months, he departed to return to ruling Macedon. His sister, princess Minerva, and her soldiers, served as commanders after him for a time, before they were recalled."

"So…" Abel was recovering from the shock of the idea that Michalis had been here. "So, king Michalis and princess Minerva are the ones who backed you into a corner. You had to flee from them…"

"We never encountered them directly." Sedgar said. "We only heard of king Michalis' presence, and only saw princess Minerva from a distance a number of times. Had we ever actually fought them, we would have either irreparably crushed Macedon's moral, or they would have silenced the Aurelian resistance all at once." He briefly closed his eyes. "For a time, I was excited for the chance to face princess Minerva and her Whitewings, but we never got the chance."

"I… see." Abel took a deep breath, he turned to Wolf and Vyland. They both seemed mildly irritated, what was irritating them Abel couldn't say. Perhaps their annoyance stemmed from the fact that they, like Sedgar, never got the chance to face such obvious elites of an enemy nation. "I never knew that some of Macedon's royalty were here."

"It still seems hard to believe, but they were here." Sedgar said. "And if Coyote joins with prince Marth in his fight against Dolhr, you can be certain we'll fight them sooner or later."

"…and when that time comes…" Wolf's arms dropped to his side. "We will kill them."

Abel eyed Wolf carefully. "Sure of yourself?"

"They are enemies of Coyote." Wolf noted. "The will of Coyote is first and foremost, and our enemies will feel it."

"Macedon…" Vyland spoke up, "…will feel it."

Abel's eyes narrowed at the tone of Vyland's words, and turned to Sedgar. "Might I ask you another question?"

Sedgar nodded.

"Macedon is undoubtedly our enemy, but what is your opinion of them exactly? Such as… the people not associated with the military?"

Sedgar's eyes widened at the question. Then he noticed that Abel wasn't looking at him. "You had a word with Vyland, didn't you?" Abel gave a shocked expression, confirming Sedgar's suspicion, and Sedgar laughed without humor. "Vyland is a bit… difficult to manage at times. He hates all things Macedonian, but rest assured, I am not so petty. Macedonians of noble character are surely out there, and probably not in small number. That cleric, for example. One look at her face, the way she carries herself, and the fact that she healed Roshea's wound, she is undoubtedly more noble then some Aurelians."

Abel smiled. "I like that perception. I feel there are too many painting with… broad brushes, these days." His words were for Sedgar, but his eyes were on Vyland. The red haired Aurelian crossed his arms and grumbled, fuming at the mere idea that Sedgar thought that some Macedonians were redeemable individuals.

"Indeed there are." Sedgar said, his expression dropping, his eyes closing. "And if anyone can ruin peace, it's people like them." He didn't turn to Vyland, but it was clear that he was thinking of him.

* * *

><p>"Hey, um, sir?" Roshea, who had rebounded from his disappointment at not killing Emereus and was now in high spirits again, came up to an elderly figure. Wendell turned to face the youth as Roshea came to a stop.<p>

"Is something the matter, young one?" Wendell raised an eyebrow.

"Just wanted to ask you something." His face brightened for a moment, then fell somewhat. "Well, I… think it's something a Sage would know more then me about."

Wendell's curiosity was piqued, and he took a step toward Roshea. "And what is this 'something'?"

Roshea fished out a large red rock, holding it firmly in his hand. The rock still pulsed with energy, but it didn't seem to make him shudder this time. Wendell's eyes widened in recognition. Roshea spoke, "The Altean archers found this, I'm not sure what it is. I'm… guessing it's magical. Do you know what it is? I'm wondering if we can use it in someway."

Wendell reached out a hand almost against his will, but forced the hand back to his side. "Well, child, that isn't magical, but I do indeed know what that is." He looked deep into the red object. "It's a Dragonstone. The weapon of Manaketes. This one appears to be a Firestone. The most basic, and weakest, variety of Dragonstone, but still _very_ potent."

"M-Manakete weapon?" Roshea pulled the stone back to him, staring in shock, not realizing he was holding a Dolhrian item in his hand. "Then… should we destroy it?"

"Mmm…" Wendell stroked his chin. "Well, one can technically destroy a Dragonstone, or more accurately, render it useless, by simply using it until its power is gone. Yet only a Manakete is capable of actually using one. There is no known way to really break and destroy a Dragonstone."

"Oh…" Roshea sighed and looked into the stone. "Well, maybe if I hold onto it, it'll be one less Dragonstone the Manaketes can use against us."

Wendell smiled. "Optimistic logic, but rather naïve. The Manaketes are much greater in number then the majority of the continent realizes. One Manakete without his Firestone would be completely negligible."

Roshea stared at the stone with a disappointed expression, then eventually put it away. "Maybe I can get some use out of it, one way or the other."

"I doubt that." Wendell said pessimistically, throughout his decades of research and studies, he never found any method to extract a Dragonstone's power, or use the stones in any other way. "But do as you wish. Just… try to ensure that one of the Manaketes never get their hands on that."

"Of course. A Manakete will get this over my dead body." Roshea smiled smugly, then walked off.

Wendell frowned. "I'm afraid that is how a Manakete would take it."

* * *

><p>Norne sat down, a large frown over her face. The battle had ended, but she was still agitated. Gordin sat beside her, and he already knew what was bothering her. She was still aggravated with Rickard.<p>

"Um…" he tried to start talking, seeing if he could break her mood. He approached her cautiously. Admittedly, dealing with angry or agitated people was not his specialty, but he Norne well enough to know what not to say. "Um… Norne?"

"Can you believe it?" She suddenly said out loud, catching Gordin by surprise. "He actually asked me to… to… ugh!" she crossed her arms, tensing up in frustration.

"I… I know Norne, I was there." Gordin said. "Maybe, um…"

"My taste in men! After trying to ask me out, he actually asked me _that_." She trembled, possibly with disgust.

"N-Norne…" Gordin reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, despite the more cautious side of him trying to talk him out of it. "Rickard's not here right now, we… don't need to talk about him, or what he said."

Norne looked at Gordin as the hand slid off her shoulder. She, almost reflexively, relaxed at the sight of Gordin's worried expression. "Alright." Her frown disappeared for the moment. With her thoughts not on the irritating thief, something suddenly occurred to her.

"I was just involved in the liberation of an entire nation." She blinked. A sudden pride was welling inside her chest. With a smile, she turned to Gordin. "I can't believe something like this happened so soon."

They had left Talys only two months ago and already they had made a blow to Dolhr's ambitions.

"Already been through some crazy battles." Norne mumbled. Pirates, bandits, then trained enemy soldiers. She had joined this war on random impulse. She did not regret that decision, but she had been unprepared for war. Particularly the way battles occurred one after the other, and the feeling of killing.

"I…" Gordin gulped, feeling that he was taking a tremendous risk here. "I'm glad you're still alive."

Norne looked back at him with a shocked expression. "You…"

"I'm… glad." Gordin said, he suddenly wished he hadn't spoken at all. "I just… always worry about you."

Norne looked at Gordin in shock, her mouth hung open for a moment, and then she smiled. "Well, that's a switch."

"Huh?"

"Normally I'm the one always worrying about you." She said, her voice turned sullen as she spoke her next words. "You've nearly died twice so far."

For a second, Gordin looked almost offended. "I worry about you all the time, Norne. If… if you die, it's my fault."

"Uh-uh, Gordin. Other way around. You die, it's my fault." Norne's expression was firm as she spoke. "I'm supposed to cover you."

"We're partners, but I'm the actual knight." Gordin said, "You're safety is my responsibility."

"But I'm…" she paused, one of her rare moments of being at a loss for words. Then she sighed. She knew she had become a valued friend to Gordin, but had never thought of Gordin as someone who was protective of her. Suddenly she felt skittish sitting right beside him. As she looked at Gordin's worried expression, she found herself wondering what she meant to him. And maybe, what he meant to her. She blinked, then suddenly grew embarrassed by her thoughts.

"You two!" Norne's suddenly flustered train of thought broke at the voice of one of the Altean knights.

"Y-yes, Cain?" Norne stood up. "Something Gordin and me should know?"

"Prince Hardin's two allies have arrived. Everyone is required to appear, and show respect." He motioned with his head toward the direction of the throne room and turned around.

"Of course." She turned to Gordin, holding a hand out to the still sitting archer. "Come on, Gordin."

"Right." Gordin reached his hand up and grabbed hers. With an effort, Norne forced her hand not to linger in his as they began to walk.

* * *

><p>Hardin's peers had arrived. They would be moving to the throne room. A private conversation wound ensue between Marth, Caeda, Hardin, Hardin's brother, and the foreign princess. As a highly ranked member of Khadein, Wendell was privileged to be part of this meeting as well.<p>

Merric was standing attentively in the hallway outside of the throne room, along with the rest of the army. The four Aurelians, along with the Alteans, the Talysians, and even the two Macedonians. Julian and Rickard were here, though Rickard seemed like he was waiting for the opportunity to slip off and look for the Aurelian vault. Navarre was also here… somewhere. Merric found himself tense and stressed. Sweating, even. He had heard of the rumors. That Aurelis was sheltering a princess, and he had confirmed it to be true via discussion with Hardin's four men. Now that this princess was coming, he found himself out of breath. He had convinced himself that it was Elice, who had somehow escaped from Altea when Gra betrayed it.

The doors on the far end of the hall swung open, and two people walked in. One was old, and walked with a slow gait. His face was aged, creased with stress, likely the stress of war. His crown, grace of movement, and royal fineries all clearly marked him as the king of Aurelis. Merric gulped, trying to stand a little straighter and look more respectful. Elsewhere in the room, Julian had to restrain Rickard from trying to reach at the Aurelian king's pockets.

There was a woman next to the king, young enough to be his daughter, though everyone know that she wasn't. This was the princess foreign to Aurelis. Merric looked at her expectantly. Dressed in the royal gown of a princess… and… and…

She had blonde hair. Not the elegant blue that Elice had. Merric felt like some muscle-bound neanderthal had punched him in the gut. His breathing stopped as he realized that this was not Elice, his childhood friend and the princess of Altea. This was someone else. The blonde haired princess walked past him, he was too distressed to notice anything particular about her beyond the simple fact that she wasn't Elice.

The two went into the throne and the doors closed behind them. Merric's head sunk down and he sighed. The strand of hope he had for seeing Elice again had evaporated. Now, there was no telling where Altea's princess was.

As Merric began to brood, small bits of chatter started to come from the others. The others were discussing what might end up coming from this discussion.

* * *

><p>"Prince Marth." The king of Aurelis started with a respectful nod of his head. Marth returned the nod. "I must offer my thanks, you arrived, bringing hope with you. Macedon had grown cocky, and thanks to you, we have removed their stain from the nation of Aurelis." He moved forward with a smile, settling himself into his throne that Emereus had occupied for far too long. The throne room still had splashes of blood strewn around, but the corpses had already been removed. "It has been a long time since I've been entitled to rest inside my home."<p>

"It was an honor to aid Aurelis in its time of need." Marth said. He bowed the correct distance to a man of superior position. The king noticed it and made another nod of his head. "You sought to defy Dolhr, just as I do. I… hope we can be allies."

"I've little doubt of that, prince." The king smiled. He turned his eyes elsewhere. "Ah, I have someone I should introduce you to." He signaled the princess he came with to step forward. Marth turned to her, and his expression briefly dropped. "Prince Marth, you've heard the rumor of us harboring a member of another nation's royal family. This is her. This is princess Nyna of the holy nation of Archanea."

"Prince Marth." Nyna came forward, making a bow that symbolically defined Marth as her equal. "I have been looking forward to this meeting for weeks now. I have resided with the Aurelians ever since Archanea fell. We saw the defeat of the Macedonian invasion today. I hope this will be the first of many grand victories you lay claim to."

"Of… course…" Marth said with a somewhat conflicted face. Nyna noticed the change in Marth's face and raised an eyebrow. "I… must apologize, princess Nyna, when I had heard that the Aurelians were sheltering a foreign royal, I had gotten my hopes up for my sister."

Nyna relaxed and smiled sympathetically. "My condolences, prince Marth. You likely know more then me regarding what has happened to princess Elice. I know nothing of what happened to her after Altea fell."

Marth's eyes went downcast, but he shook it off. Then something occurred to him. "Altea… one of the Macedonian captains said that it isn't called that anymore. What-"

"They…" Nyna began, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. She turned to the king, who shook his head. Nyna turned back to Marth. "Dolhr changed the name of your nation after Gra gave it to them." She took a deep breath in. "Altea is now formally known as 'New Dolhr'. It is considered an extension of the nation of Dolhr."

Marth's eyes widened and he took a step back. Nyna looked uneasy, feeling almost guilty to have explained it to him.

"But, what-"

"I'm sorry, Marth. I know precious little of what goes on in Altea these days." She shook her head and placed a hand on Marth's shoulder, intended to be comforting, but he didn't derive any from her touch. "All I know is just that… a Manakete named Morzas is ruling your nation right now. Beyond that, all I know are rumors."

"Rumors? What rumors?"

"Just… about the body count." Nyna somberly answered. "From the rumors I've heard, what Morzas has done to Altea makes what Macedon has done to Aurelis seem like a slap on the wrist. And all the credible rumors I've heard deal only with the body count. Morzas is doing a good job on keeping all information of _how_ he's killing people a secret."

"Morzas." Marth's eyes narrowed. Morzas, ruling over… Altea. He looked at Nyna, "I… would ask you never to shame my nation with the name 'New Dolhr'."

"I never would." Nyna said. "I call it Altea, and so do the Aurelians."

Marth nodded. "Thank you." Nyna felt the deepest sympathy for the prince, backing away and giving the prince a moment to collect himself. Once he seemed to have gathered a bit of himself back, she spoke again.

"Now, there is something I must speak to you about." Nyna took a step away and took out an item wrapped in a royal red cloth. Marth's eyes were drawn to the item as Nyna continued speaking. "Archanea's burden is, and has always been, to save the continent when crisis comes. My father sought to do just that when Dolhr rose, but, we miscalculated Dolhr's strength, and my father… died, when the holy palace fell." She clenched her eyes shut for an instant, not letting any tears flow. She opened them again, they were misty, but no tears fell. She unwrapped the cloth, revealing the item to be a large golden shield. "This is a royal and sacred treasure of Archanea. It is known as the Fire Emblem. It was not crafted by human hands. It is made of Divine Dragon fang, just like Altea's treasure, Falchion. Archanea bestows the Fire Emblem only on the truest of champions. Those whom the royal family believes can change the world for the better."

Marth's eyes widened, and he reached an arm out, but Nyna pulled back, not surrendering the item yet. "Understand that it is a symbol of Archanea's faith. It is a symbol of my faith that you can lead us to a better time, a continent free from Dolhr's grip. If you have any doubts of your ability to thwart Dolhr, do not lay your hands on this sacred relic. If you believe yourself capable of ending Dolhr's dark grip, take it, and accept the responsibility of championing our crusade to return the continent to what it had once been."

Nyna held the Fire Emblem out. With no hesitation, Marth reached out and took the shield. Standing near the two of them was Hardin. The Aurelian prince wouldn't dare say it, but he felt a shameful wave of envy as he saw the Fire Emblem go to Marth, and not him. To see Marth be given the honor of having Nyna's faith… a part of his heart grew furious as he saw Marth's hands briefly touch Nyna's as the Fire Emblem changed hands. Quickly, he tamped the feelings down, sealing it away in the deepest recess of his heart where it would not be heard. He would not let this jealousy or anger effect his good judgment, or a chance of a good friendship with Marth.

Marth closed his eyes and took a breath in. "I am the descendent on Anri, who slew Medeus during his last rule, thousands of years ago. I will prove that I am all that my ancestor was, and someday, Medeus shall once again fall. I swear, on this Emblem, that Dolhr's empire shall crumble. We will all see it happen."

"Yes, we will." Hardin came up and clasped a hand on Marth's shoulder. His words were fiery, and filled with passion. "Dolhr and its emperor must answer for what they have done and must not be allowed to perpetrate further death and decay in our world. I promise you, Marth, emperor Medeus will be defeated by your hands. _We_, Altea, Aurelis, and Archanea, will succeed together where we failed apart. Someday, someday soon, we will take the fight to Dolhr and bring Dolhr Keep crashing down on the Manakete's heads!"

Nyna took in a deep breath, then looked at the two men with confident eyes. "The Altean Army and the Aurelian army shall come together as one. From this day forth, the combined forces are hereby christened the Archanean League."

Marth smiled. "The first step to the defeat of Dolhr has been made. By this Emblem of Fire, I swear that our hopes will not be false."

* * *

><p>The royalty in the room continued their discussion long through the hours, planning what to do and where to go. Eventually, the time for discussion was over. Marth and Hardin, the newly anointed field commanders of the Archanean League, both left the room to reveal the results of the discussion with their soldiers. Nyna wore a pained expression as the Altean prince left the room.<p>

"He's trying to be strong, and he will be capable of leading the Archanean League. Yet I can tell that the news concerning Altea, and knowing nothing of his sister's location, are eating him inside."

Caeda frowned. "I'll talk to him about it later. He… will open up to me. Sometimes he just needs someone. Whether it's someone to vent his rage at, or someone who will just listen to his most private concerns."

Nyna's eyes went downcast briefly in sympathy for Marth, but then went upright again. She turned to the Khadein representative in the room. Wendell had offered almost no words during the entire discussion, and no one had called on him to speak, but Nyna's next words were directed at him specifically. "Pontifex Wendell."

Wendell raised his head respectfully and turned to Nyna.

"Do you know of a man named Miloah?"

He blinked. "Is that your idea of a jest? Anyone in Khadein is familiar with that name." He took a breath in, preparing to speak at length. "Khadein trains people from all other nations in the arts of Tomes and Staffs. From Mages to Clerics, they've all spent at least some time in Khadein. Khadein is, was… a neutral nation, and accepts people from all nations, not discriminating in who is allowed in. Any form of hate act, whether born of personal grudge or of the affairs between other nations, is strictly prohibited in the Khadein I remember. My student, Merric, is an Altean. Miloah was an Archanean, and one of the greatest mages that ever came to Khadein. He caught the attention of the White Sage, Gotoh, and was personally trained by Khadein's most elite. Gotoh's other student, and Miloah's rival, was…"

He paused and closed his eyes.

"…his rival was Gharnef. Both were fine, virtuous mages, but Miloah was a kind-hearted man, while Gharnef was only interested in the practical results, Gharnef lived by the saying of "The ends justify the means". For having a caring heart, Miloah was chosen as the inheritor of the fabled Aura tome. Gharnef… could not take the reality of not being chosen. In his jealousy and feelings of victimization he convinced himself that all of Khadein was making a joke out of him, and he stole the forbidden Imhullu tome out of spite. Miloah tried to reason with his old friend… and became Gharnef's first victim on his rise to power. Not even Aura's power could punch through Imhullu's veil."

"Well said." Nyna nodded, pleased to see Wendell's in-depth understanding of Miloah. "Miloah was a noble of Archanea, and had garnered much respect before he was slain by the Dark Pontifex." She sighed, to think that a noble Mage, and a good friend of her father, had died like that. "He… also had a daughter, her name was Linde."

"Indeed." Miloah closed his eyes. "She never came to Khadein, but those Miloah knew personally, including me, were well aware of Linde. Gotoh gave Miloah permission to teach Aura to his most direct blood relatives. We knew that Miloah's daughter, Linde, was also a wielder of Aura. Miloah frequently spoke of Linde's adaptability with the Tome. From the sound of her speed at learning the tome, Miloah's daughter was… a true prodigy with magic."

"Yes. I know." Nyna said with a pained expression. "Linde lived in Archanea. In the holy palace, with me. She's the only friend I had around my own age. When the palace fell, Linde was unaccounted for. I don't know if she's still alive, and if she is, then where she is couldn't be a pleasant place."

Wendell fell silent. He had summarized what he knew, and let Nyna continue talking.

"I… shall speak to Marth and Hardin on this. I know it might seem unimportant when we battle for the sake of the continent itself, but…"

"You will find her." The king of Aurelis spoke up. "I'm certain of that fact."

Nyna turned to the king, "But… but Linde might be-"

"Recall that Gharnef despises everything that has to do with Miloah, Nyna." He noted, "If Linde was truly dead, Gharnef would back up that fact by presenting her head."

"I am not sure if he even knows Linde exists." Wendell interjected. "Gharnef wasn't one of the ones ever told about Linde."

The king's expression dropped somewhat. "Then… you must wish for the best. If you wish with all your heart to meet Linde again, then you will find her."

Nyna felt the corner of her lip raise, and a portion of the shadows over her heart dispersed. "Thank you, I… hope to find Linde." She looked a the king for a moment. "I will depart with your brother and prince Marth, what will you do?"

The Aurelian king leaned back in his throne. "Aurelis needs its ruler. I will stay and try to heal the land. If Aurelis should be attacked again, I will find some way to deal with it. You needn't worry about me."

Nyna felt unenthused with the idea presented. If the army left with her, the king would have little to defend himself with if the Dolhr Alliance attacked again. Yet Aurelis needed a ruler, and Hardin had to be part of the League. As did Nyna. This was most likely necessary.

"I… must thank you for sheltering me for two years, and for never asking for anything in return."

The king smiled. "Let my decision to shelter you bear fruit in the form of the League defeating Dolhr. That shall be thanks enough."

* * *

><p>"We are the Archanean League now." Wolf's voice and expression were neutral, but they became more begrudging with his next sentence. "And… we will continue having prince Marth as our leader."<p>

"He is a fine leader, Wolf." Hardin said, "He has already led his army to victory after victory. He has never tasted defeat."

Wolf narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "…that is what concerns me, Coyote."

"Wolf?" Hardin knew Wolf to be a perceptive individual, and found himself wondering what Wolf was getting at.

"He has never tasted defeat. How do we know he can react calmly and stay in control when the tide turns against him. We of Aurelis know what it's like to fight a losing battle, and we can shift to winning without arrogance clouding our judgment. Can we be sure that the same can be said for the Altean prince?"

"I see your reasoning." Hardin admitted. "I have always requested the honest and blunt opinion of my men. Yours in particular. What is your opinion on this matter?"

"Your word is always final, Coyote." Wolf said with a prideful tone. "If you so decide to place I and you in subordinate positions to prince Marth, then that is well. However, I have not seen him for long, I cannot say he has your wisdom or skill. He certainly does not have your experience. My opinion is that you, not him, should be the commander of this army." He paused for a moment. "Do not mistake me, I respect him. He is what came to allowed we of Aurelis to finally throw Macedon from our land, and for that I am grateful. Yet, descendent of the fabled hero Anri or not, it is unwise to place this sort of responsibility on a man who has only fought in what were only small skirmishes. The only large scale battle he has directed was the battle to retake the palace, which was obviously slanted in our favor. He is lesser then you as a leader, and should not be given this responsibility. _That_ is my opinion on this matter."

Hardin didn't even blink. This is one of the things that made him appreciate Wolf. Honest, blunt, and bold opinions when called upon. He didn't argue when Hardin put his foot down, and was the most loyal person Hardin knew. Yet he, at Hardin's request, offered criticism to Hardin's ideas. Wolf presented facts Hardin did not notice, made him see things that he hadn't known were there.

"Perhaps so, but the decision has already been made." Hardin said, Wolf started to stare at the floor. "Nyna made the decision to make Marth the commander of the League, not me. I shall respect her decision. We are now Marth's soldiers. And until this war is over, his soldiers we will stay."

Wolf looked straight at his commander and nodded. "I will serve prince Marth dutifully, if that is your wish, Coyote."

* * *

><p>Marth was outside the palace. It was surprising to see that it was still noon. It felt like the day had been much longer. His soldiers were now all aware that the Altean army had become the Archanean League. They were also all aware of Altea being given the repulsive name of 'New Dolhr', and the name of the Manakete who presided over Altea, Morzas.<p>

Many of his soldiers had reacted in their own ways. Gordin began to brood at the news, Norne, though troubled just as much by the information, was spending her time trying to cheer Gordin up. Cain had absolutely exploded, while Draug and Abel had simply scowled and walked away.

Marth's reaction seemed to be closest to Gordin's. He had come out here to brood for a moment. Jagen was with him, when Jagen had heard the news, he had simply shaken his head, taking it much more gracefully then any of the other Alteans.

Marth had every intention of leading the newly formed League competently, but he couldn't ignore this sickening twisting in his stomach. He thought only of Altea at the moment. What was going on in the nation? What was this… Morzas, doing to it? His thoughts seemed to become increasingly dark, he could only imagine the nightmare that Altea was going through…

"Marth." Marth had his head bowed down to think, but it bolted upright at the sound of his name. He turned to see both Caeda and Hardin approaching him. Hardin nodded respectfully at Jagen, the elderly knight returned the nod, moving back to let the Aurelian prince and Talysian princess approach Marth.

Hardin stood beside Marth, while Caeda sat herself down right beside him.

"I understand that most of your thoughts must be troubling right now." Hardin said. "My own nation has been ravaged and devoured by this invasion. Yet I understand that compared to what Morzas is doing to Altea, Aurelis surely got off easy."

"The nation founded by Anri, who brought Dolhr to ruin long ago…" Marth mumbled, not needing to continue any further to explain why there would be no mercy given to the Alteans.

"Marth…" Caeda placed a sympathetic hand on Marth's shoulder. She turned to him and started to make the effort to help his spirits. "I'm sure, sooner or later, we'll be taking Altea back."

Marth's head bowed down, Caeda took the chance to gently pull Marth over and rest his head on her shoulder, a hand intended to sooth brushed his cheek. Hardin looked at the affectionate display and made a mental, unheard chuckle. Had Marth seen Hardin's amusement, he'd have cut his moment with Caeda short.

After a few minutes, Jagen turned to the distance and noticed figures approaching the three royalty, and took his silver lance out. Marth noticed the figures as well, rising off of Caeda's shoulder and to his feet. A large collection of people, ranging from young to elderly, were approaching the four. They did not appear to be armed, nor seemed to be dangerous in any way, but Marth's fingers still twitched, ready to move to his Rapier's hilt if they proved to be hostile.

"Prince Marth!" The first person shouted, an elderly man came straight up to Marth. He reached out trembling hands, he seem vexed, desperate, and looked as though he had traveled a long ways. "You… are you, prince Marth?"

"…yes." Marth said, "Who are you?"

"Please, my… my name's not important." The man said, the other people in the large group came up beside the elderly man and made movements that mirrored the elderly man, almost looking like they were trying to plead for something. "Please listen. We come from a distant, shore-side village. We've been under the thumb of the Macedonians for a while. When they left, we thought that things would improve. We were wrong." The elderly man let out a ragged breath, "Pirates. They descended on the village, they took the youngest people in the village, mostly children. They… they're planning on raising our children as slave workers."

"What?" Hardin stepped forward, clenching his fists. Caeda turned to him, noticing that something about the subject of slavery seemed to enrage him.

"P-prince Hardin…" the elderly man recognized the Aurelian prince. "Please, I know you and prince Marth surely have important matters to deal with, but, please… we can't solve this on our own…"

"Marth…" Hardin turned to the Altean. "Running to fight Dolhr is important, but I can't bring myself to simply abandon the people. Aurelis doesn't have much of a standing military anymore. Please, let us make this one little… detour."

Marth blinked. People in distress, being taking advantage of, he compared this village's plight with Altea. On a smaller scale, no doubt, but they were still defenseless people being tormented and taken advantage of. Marth turned to Hardin and nodded. "We will help."

* * *

><p><strong>Wolf may end up mostly fighting on-foot in this story. I'll say now that he'll be a major character in the story, and he'll just be more flexible off of his horse, but it depends on how the story ends up being written. His fighting in this chapter was mostly an experiment for me writing him as an on-foot battler.<strong>

**Hardin will also be important, but I can probably keep him on his horse.**

**As you can see from the ending of this chapter, this story will also cover Shadow Dragon's Gaiden chapters.**

**Please review.**


	15. Vun Vonderful Voman

**(Wanted to get this up yesterday, but College ate up my free-time)**

**Anyway, I now covers the first 'Gaiden' chapter of SD.**

**I'll take the time to say that... I really wonder what nutjob thought that the way you access the Gaiden chapters in FE11 was a good idea. I'd prefer to be rewarded for recruiting _everyone_ and keeping _everyone_ alive, not killing off as many people off as possible. Gah.**

**Though I'm at risk of looking like I'm ranting, I just feel that it would have been better if accessing the Gaiden chapters was about keeping your army's total numbers above a certain threshold, not under. I'd have been much happier with a 'let one character die, kill a recruitable enemy, or complete a chapter without recruiting an enemy, and no Gaiden chapters for you' system.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The Aurelian sun started its descent, noon was transcending to evening, the golden light turning orange as the day began steadily moved to its end. The tendrils of sunlight were slowly surrendering their grip on the country. It was the sort of moment one would seek to capture forever, the sight of the sun moving down to touch the distant mountains before disappearing behind them. An eternal moment, made that much more memorable when one considered what had transpired today.<p>

It was a almost predictable occurrence when one considered how events had gone these last few weeks. Aurelis was now free, Macedon's invasion ended with the death of Emereus. Freedom… it was something that should always be cherished, yet most were unaware of how precious it was until it was taken away. Starting tomorrow, the nation would be engulfed in wild celebration.

Prince Marth, the foreign savior, and prince Hardin, the familiar defender, would not partake in the coming celebration. The king of Aurelis would be the man who celebrated with the people as Marth and Hardin rode out to continue fighting.

After days of celebration would come days of healing. It would take a long, long time for Aurelis to return to what it once was, but the time spent would be well worth it. Aurelis could not remain devastated, it had to return to its former luster. One could merely close their eyes and remember the rich fields and the seas of grass that were once the pride of Aurelis. The pride of Aurelis… was now burnt piles of ash. It was unacceptable for a free and now peaceful Aurelis to go long without restoration. The king sent both Marth and Hardin off with his blessings and prepared himself for the challenges that lay ahead. Rebuilding would not be cheap or easy, but with Macedon gone, Aurelis could pool its regained resources easily. It was a matter of time, not chance, before Aurelis returned to what it once was.

Before Marth and Hardin would take the fight to Dolhr, they would respond to a call of distress from a distant Aurelian village. Pirates who saw fit to seize a village's youth for the purpose of making slaves. Doubtless the pirates wanted their slaves in a more… impressionable stage of their life.

The pirates could not have known that Aurelis was the last nation they should have _ever_ gone to for slaves.

As the newly christened Archanean League left the palace in the highest of spirits, the falling sun silhouetted a figure flying toward the royal structure.

The leathery wings of a Wyvern flapped through the air. The rhythm of the beating wings was almost musical, then the wings stopped beating, and the creature began swooping down with an almost astonishing speed. The Wyvern followed its rider's orders dutifully, bringing its master to the assigned destination. That destination being right outside the Aurelian palace gates.

It was a very dangerous place for a Macedonian to be, but the rider had a personal reason to be here.

The Wyvern landed with a small impact. The creature's rider dismounted, patting the Wyvern's neck respectfully, and approached the pile of Macedonian corpses. At first the rider moved fast-paced, but eventually slowed, her armor creaking with the now solemn steps.

"Merach… are you here?" Princess Minerva spoke, looking over the corpses. Bodies piled up, an unsettling sight, but something Minerva was unfortunately familiar with seeing. Aurelis had not cleaned up the remains of the Macedonian invaders yet. They would, eventually. A chill crept down Minerva's spine as a discomforting wind swept past her, she forced herself not to shudder. Try as she might, she could not quell the churning in her stomach, a deep seated feeling of dread was eating at her. Minerva scanned the heavily armored knights, and then she felt her heart almost stop at the sight of one corpse with the armor of the chest torn off and a fatal puncture in the chest. It was Merach.

She felt a rush of emotion, sorrow, anger, regret, but the most prominent feeling in her stomach was guilt. She was the one who had sent Merach here, knowing full well of this possibility. It was, in fact, the best possible outcome. Marth's forces had slain Merach, and had gone on to liberate Aurelis from Emereus. It meant they had the strength Minerva needed in an ally. She felt nothing for Emereus, who was content to claim credit for Michalis and Minerva's achievements, yet she could not stop herself from grieving for Merach.

Merach had been her bodyguard since she was a child, long before Minerva had come to know the Whitewings. Rather then be indifferent to her, or try to use her to acquire favor with Minerva's father, he treated her respectfully, and it was never in doubt that he was devoutly loyal to the princess. Merach had been one of her trainers with her axe, along with Michalis, even if neither man had much feel for the weighty weapon. Minerva had been far closer to Merach then she was with Palla, Catria, and Est. Her own family were the only ones she had a stronger bond with, and one member of her family she wasn't sure what to think of these days.

She might have sent one of the Whitewings but… no, she couldn't have put such a gapping hole in their family. She couldn't force one of the three Whitewings to die, leaving the other two alive to stew in the misery.

"I'm sorry, Merach." She knelt down and closed the man's still open eyes. She closed her own, breathing a shaky, miserable sigh. "This is for Macedon, and Maria. If you, wherever you are, now know why I sent you here, I hope you understand."

It hurt Minerva. The fact that he had so willingly faced death for her… If Merach cursed anything as he had died, he had cursed his inability to return to Minerva's side. Minerva felt that any curse Merach made should have been directed at her, for sending Merach to die just to probe Marth's abilities.

Minerva stared at the ground, barely keeping herself from hiccupping. A part of her wished that Marth's rebellion had failed today, if only so that Merach could have remained alive.

No… she shook her head, that was the wrong way to think. Every day that Macedon spent under Dolhr was a day where Maria was in danger and the nation itself decayed. It was… it was a single sacrifice for the sake of many others. Minerva closed her eyes, repeating her reasoning to herself, trying to convince and reassure herself that she had made the right decision. She did not want to think that any choice that resulted in Merach's death was the 'right' choice.

Marth and his army had done nothing wrong, they had simply killed someone who had opposed them. It was as simple as that… she thought. She could not act on any desire to make Merach's killers answer for what they did. The ones who did it… they couldn't have been bad people at their core. Just, on the side that opposed Macedon.

She stood there, unable to put a stop to the churning in her stomach. Her red-scaled Wyvern tilted its head and made a confused growl, not understanding its master's vexation. It turned its metal armored head in the direction Minerva was facing and noticed Merach, its nostrils flared as it understood. The man was no more. Lowering its head to the ground, the Wyvern made a low, mumble-like growl, empathizing with its master's distress. Minerva's shaky hand moved to her forehead, it was oddly warm.

It was a very dangerous risk Minerva was taking to just stand there. Here in Aurelis, in front of the royal palace. If ever there was a land that would have an extreme anti-Macedon sentiment, this was it. It would only be a matter of time before someone saw her. Yet all the zest had gone out of her, and for a time she had no will to move.

Eventually, after what may have been half an hour, she heard a beating sound, just like the sound of her Wyvern's wings, but much softer. She turned to see a Pegasus descending.

"Commander…" it was Palla, and only Palla. Minerva had hoped to have more time to mourn by herself, but she didn't chase Palla away. Dismounting off of her Pegasus, Palla walked up to Minerva, she looked as if she was about to ask a question, and then her eyes were drawn to Merach's corpse, and she froze. "That… that's not…" Her hand clasped over her mouth as her stomach began to churn. She walked up to the corpse, hoping that it wasn't Merach and that there was just something wrong with her eyes. A closer glance at the familiar face gave the terrible confirmation. The blood that had seeped out of his punctured chest was already dry, he looked to have been dead for a few hours now. "No… not him." She closed her eyes, then opened them again, her vision had gone blurry. It took a few moments for her mouth to begin working again. "Did, did prince Marth…?" Her voice broke. The reality of Merach being dead was setting in, and it was unbearable enough without knowing that potential allies had been the ones to do the deed.

Minerva thought for a moment. "No." She could bear knowing the truth of what happened. The Whitewings didn't have to know that Merach had been killed by the same people they were seeking an alliance with. "Merach was… Emereus executed Merach when he attempted to flee, when he was trying to return to us. His death was not at prince Marth's hands."

"I… see." It was a weak lie, but Palla believed it and shook her head. "Then, we must get into contact with prince Marth now. Before another of us ends up dying."

With an effort, Minerva tore her eyes from the corpse. "That will have to wait. We have to keep up appearances… for just a while longer." She choked up for a moment, then regained her composure. "We have to move to the Archanean-Aurelian border. By logic, it's where prince Marth and his new Aurelian allies will head next. Going to the border is in compliance with our orders and, I… wish to see them firsthand, just to be sure, before I offer them the responsibility of saving Maria."

"Yes, commander." Palla got back on her Pegasus. She patted the prideful creature on the neck, and it lifted off.

"Go ahead of me, Palla. I'll be right behind."

Palla nodded, lifting off and flying away. She rose up above the clouds, obscuring herself from any Aurelian eyes.

Palla would undoubtedly tell Catria and Est what had happened, and tell them Minerva's lie. She had to ensure that the Whitewings held nothing against Marth or his soldiers, she couldn't risk them doing anything that would jeopardize an alliance.

Minerva's thoughts returned to Merach. Merach deserved a hero's funeral, but he would stay here until the Aurelians disposed of his corpse in some honorless way. Someone like Emereus would have deserved to be tossed on the burn pile, or have his heart impaled on a pike, but Merach…

She realized that if she continued to stand her and silently mourn, then Merach's death would be for nothing. The Aurelians would find her, seize her, and execute her, not understanding her circumstances. If Merach's death were to amount to anything, she had to survive to ally with Marth.

She didn't want to leave Merach's corpse behind, but slowly turned and got back on her Wyvern. Giving the man a respectful burial, something he so clearly deserved, was something she simply couldn't do. She couldn't afford to waste any more time here. As her Wyvern hovered in the air, waiting for Minerva's command, she took the chance to look at Merach one last time.

"I wish I had had the chance to ask you to forgive me." She closed her eyes as she bade the Wyvern to carry her away. She didn't look back. "Fare… well… Merach."

* * *

><p>An Aurelian beach.<p>

The water lapped up gently on the shore as a soft marine breeze blew across the sands. A few rocks jutted out above the water's surface on this quiet beach. It was a peaceful place, perhaps the sort where one might retreat to once one's body had grown too weary to continue doing its lifelong labor. It seemed to be blessedly peaceful, yet there was something wrong with it…

Once upon a time, children were here, enjoying a day by the shore under the watch of careful older eyes. Little games of tag, of hide-and-seek, and simple meandering, were the norm. The shore was a popular destination, and not just for recreational purposes. The village was a fishing village that depended on its close proximity to the water, most of Aurelis' edible fish were caught in shore side villages like this one.

Macedon's invasion put an end to the lazy days on the shore and kept everyone corralled in the village. Eventually Macedon had to pull all its forces back to deal with the critical threat of Marth. It should have allowed the old, peaceful routine to continue, but…

Pirates had descended on the town almost immediately after the Macedonian forces vanished, taking the children away over all pleading and offers of wealth. The pirates wanted to use the children as a labor force, grow them to be completely and utterly obedient to their new masters. The pirates would, slowly, piece by piece, rob the children of any will, independence, or longing for home. They would grow to be subservient, submissive, and loyal to the pirates, kept in line by fear and never contemplating rebellion. In time, it became apparent that the Macedonians were merciful saints compared to these sea-faring opportunists.

The village the children had lived in prior to their abduction had been swept up in the grip of fear and anxiety. The villagers all hated the pirates, but no one who lived in the town had the strength to fight against them. The pirates prevented any resistance by warning that an incident where a villager as much as protests during searches for remaining children would result in the complete destruction of the village.

There was only one person who now dared to try and fight against the pirates. Already, she had finished her preparations for battle. Her sword was sharpened and ready, hungering for the challenge. She brushed her hand through her dark blue hair a final time as she readied herself to leave for the pirate's hideout.

She wasn't a native of the village, but a woman who had washed ashore. The villagers had managed to pluck her injured body from the shoreline and hide her from Macedon as she healed. There was no telling what she had been through, but she was confined in bed for months, her wounds, quite grievous, took quite some time to heal. She was only able to walk of her own accord around the time the Macedonian army had departed. She still had not been healthy and hale when the pirates robbed the village of its children, but now that she was finally in fight-worthy condition again she planned to make up for her previous inability to take action.

"Athena!"

The swordswoman turned at the sound of her name. She recognized the voice, the elder of the village.

"Vhat is it, elder?" Athena spoke in her accented voice. "Ve are prepared to do vhat ve should do." She said slightly impatiently.

"You're trying to go fight?" The elder was shocked as he examined Athena's readied sword. "If… if a swordsperson as much as attacks a lone pirate, it might be enough to provoke the pirates into attacking. We need to think more on how to deal with this problem."

Athena blinked. "…vhy try to stop us?" She identified herself in the plural, an odd and confusing quirk of the woman that the village had grown accustomed to. "Your children vere taken, ve vill take them back for you."

"But…" the elder looked her over. "You haven't recovered completely. You're still injured, going out there now will just result in…" he trailed off, his eyes moving to the side.

Athena's eyes stiffly narrowed as her hand gently and cautiously touched her left hip, it was still gravely wounded. She knew full well that one good blow to this area would incapacitate her.

"Only result in vhat?" She acted as if the possibility of death didn't bother her at all. "If you villagers hadn't saved us from the vaves, ve vould have died anyvays." Holding her sword in front of her, she mentally mused at her previous inaction during the village's woes, then brought it back to her side. "This is the least ve can do. Vat sort of selfish creature do you take us for? Ve vill not sit back vhile these pirates make off vith the village's children."

The elder didn't blink at her stubborn desire to go out and fight. "But you are just one person, and there's a limit to what just one person can do." He sighed as Athena gave him an indignant look. He took a step forward, "Look, some of the villagers left to find help, just… just give them some time."

Athena stood motionless for a moment, but then released some of the tension in her. "Very vell, ve vill vait for your 'help'." She turned her head, able to see the pirate hideout in the distance, and scowled. Inaction frustrated her. "Yet make no mistake, ve vill take action if no one comes."

* * *

><p>The pirate hideout was, for the first time in a long time, gripped with an odd celebratory aura. Ever since Macedon had come, there was little to pillage. Attacking in a way that provoked an invading army would not have been a good idea, even slow-witted pirates understood that.<p>

An invasion _should_ have been the ideal time to rob and plunder, but Macedon had been doing a good job at keeping too tight a hold over its newfound assets for any pillaging to be considered.

Now, Macedon had withdrawn. The pirate captain, Bathys, wasn't sure why, and he didn't really care. He had free reign in this area for as long as Macedon was gone and there was no sign of Macedon returning or Aurelian soldiers appearing. He knew he had to make this time count. In a rare moment of long-term planning, he sought to acquire slaves rather then wealth in what might have only been a brief respite. After that, he would see how things developed before he and his crew would venture out again.

He knew how… lucrative, the slave trade was. Rumors of a thriving slave trade sprouting in Archanea convinced him to be the founder of an Aurelian slave trade. He imagined the gold would just flood in, given a year or two. Starting small with these children, he'd begin taking older, stronger slaves and begin trade with other pirates and bandits in the Aurelian area. Slowly, he would rise to become the Aurelian slave king. That had become his dream.

The children they abducted would make fine first slaves. It should only take a few months to silence any hope of returning home. Already, some of the children had been brutally disciplined for acts of disobedience. Yet the pain some of the children were in proved to be no justification to not engage in the labor.

The other pirates were enjoying themselves on whatever they had at the hideout. Which was very little. They had slowly exhausted their own supplies while waiting for Macedon to disappear. There was only a small amount of meat, rum, and other forms of food and drink at the hideout, and yet the pirates still ate and drank raucously, Bathys included.

Right now, Bathys was drinking rum out of a large bowl that had been poured by a still rebellious young girl. They were running out of the fine drink. As he lifted the bowl up to his lips he decided that the next trip to the village, which would likely be the last before the crew would lie low, he would personally spend some time grabbing some more rum.

"Cap'n!" Bathys choked on the rum that had just began to slip down his throat as he heard himself being addressed. "Army's been spotted!"

Bathys coughed for a moment before beginning to wheeze. He turned to the other pirate with a fierce, albeit worried looking face. He sounded hoarse as he began to speak. "Who are they… Macedonians?"

"No, Cap'n. They… look t' be Aurelians." Bathys almost choked again. The lesser pirate paused for a second to think about what he saw. "Eh… well, _some_ o' them look t' be Aurelians…"

"Some?" Bathys stood up and walked across the room, the other pirate began to think as to who the non-Aurelians might be but Bathys shook his head, and grabbed the other pirate by the shoulder. "Not important. Ye be gettin' the crew round up, we have 'nough to keelhaul 'em. It be obvious they be comin' for us."

"Yes, Cap'n."

"Take th' brats and keep em' secure. I'll not be lettin' any slaves t' be be gettin' 'way."

The pirate nodded and left as Bathys reached for his axe. Whether it was the Aurelian army or just a band of vigilantes, he was not about to let his newfound slaves go. As he made a quick check of his axe's sharpness, he realized there was only one way knowledge of the kidnapping could have gone out. He'd be having some words with the villagers when this was all over...

* * *

><p>"That should be the village." Sedgar crossed his arms. He stood calmly enough, but there seemed to be no small amount of well-hidden irritation coursing through him. "Slaves… the pirates actually thought they could make <em>slaves <em>out of Aurelians." His body tensed and his skin tightened as his eyes narrowed.

"Is something the matter?" Jagen queried, standing right beside Sedgar. He had noticed an odd anger in Sedgar's movements, had read the same emotion in the movements of Sedgar's three allies ever since they had left the royal palace. Previously, he had assumed that they had wanted to take the fight to Macedon, or Dolhr, and they saw this detour as a waste of time. As he looked at Sedgar and his obvious frustration, he believed this anger was coming from something else.

Sedgar didn't respond, so Jagen voiced his question louder. "Sedgar, what is wrong?" He reached out and grabbed the younger knight by the shoulder. "Something is bothering you." A statement of the obvious.

"Is this important?" Sedgar asked, shaking Jagen's hand off his shoulder. "We have a battle to fight, and win."

"…my apologies, Sedgar. However, in Altea, we worked to ascertain every soldier's background and history. It helped us roughly estimate who might let their personal opinions and experience counteract their good judgment, as well as prevent those of unsavory character from reaching a ranking position. Some… tragedies, can occur when you assign a person with certain… prejudices, to a certain task." He did not grab Sedgar by the shoulder again, but a sudden fierce expression of the face seemed to have the same gripping effect. "I understand if it is a personal matter, but I need an answer on this regardless. Something is bothering you. What is it?"

Sedgar sighed. He stole a glance at the village, along with a nearby derelict fort, the likely position where the pirates were holed up at. "I won't tell you too much, so I'll leave it at this…" He shook his head, an abominable memory coming to the surface, he forced it back down as best he could. "A lot of Aurelians have… issues, with the concept of slavery."

"Issues…" Jagen repeated, he thought for a second, then believed he understood what Sedgar was getting at. "Because Macedon tried to reduce all Aurelians to…" he trailed off, firmly believing he had hit the nail on the head. It was quite likely that Macedon had forced some Aurelians through brutal, harsh labor. Sedgar could have been one of those Aurelians. Yes, that made sense, and it would explain Sedgar's ire.

"No, Jagen. Aurelis' issue with slavery came long before the invasion." Sedgar turned around whilst crossing his arms, not noticing Jagen's small surprise at his incorrect conclusion. "And that's all I'm telling you. You may question Wolf, Vyland, and Little Roshea if you so desire, but you will get no better answer then what I have told you, it's strictly Aurelian business." He returned to looking at the village, "Rest assured, I don't let personal experiences overrule sound judgment. You have nothing to worry about."

Jagen nodded, slowly. "I have no intention of vexing newly acquired allies." He said, though his tone clearly revealed that he wished to know what had happened to Aurelis regarding slavery. Not out of petty curiosity, but simply so he understood the Aurelian's better. As one of Marth's chief advisors, he had to know the troops, in order to know their worth of character.

"And I have no intention of frustrating my own allies, even recent ones." Sedgar said honestly, "But… there are things _anyone_ is understandably reticent to talk about."

"Of course." Jagen turned back to the front. His eyes were immediately drawn to the movement of several scores of pirates.

* * *

><p>"It seems we've been spotted." Hardin chuckled at the sight of the approaching pirates. He watched their disorganized, bone-headed blind aggression and only smiled. Compared to the Macedonians, this would be child's play. He had the resources and the time to coordinate and plan, things he didn't have with Macedon always bearing down on him. The pirates would be a minor distraction compared to his two year struggle.<p>

Marth glanced at Hardin. As it turned out, Hardin's usual weapon wasn't that Steel Sword he had earlier, that was just something he used when he could not wield his preferred weapon. In reality, Hardin favored the lance, and he had reacquired his old, trusty silver lance when the Aurelian palace was retaken. It was of the same design as Jagen's lance, and made of the same material, but Marth couldn't help but feel that Hardin's lance somehow looked more powerful and reliable then his bodyguard and advisor's weapon.

This battle would be easy. Marth understood that the trained Macedonian troops he had been fighting were several cuts above pirates. He doubted this crew would be any different then the Galder pirates from nearly a month ago.

A part of him wanted to smirk at the obvious ease of the battle, but instead he turned with a small, nervous frown. "Nyna, running to help like this doesn't seem pointless to you, does it?"

Nyna was standing near the two, and quickly shook her head. "Running off to offer aid like this proves you to be a leader who cares. Had you have left these people to their plight, I would have questioned my choice to give you the Fire Emblem."

Marth turned back to the front, relieved that this didn't bother Nyna. He knew that some members of the army were surely wondering why they had come here after the Archanean League had been formed, rather then head straight to Archanea, or perhaps Altea.

The Fire Emblem that Nyna had given him… it was a shield, but Marth had never been trained in how to use a shield, he was used to using both of his arms to fight with. He would carry the Fire Emblem into battle, but it was just a symbol, it merely signified him as the commander, he would not be using it in combat.

"Looks like some of the pirates aren't here." Marth noted, seeing that there was still some activity at the old fort the pirates had poured from.

"Most likely, their captain and some of his better fighters are spending some time securing the children before they come out. They won't risk giving their slaves a chance to escape." Hardin said, seeing the same activity at the fort that Marth was seeing. He was… familiar with slave traders, he knew how they would think. Slavers would think that keeping their 'merchandise' under their control was more important then preparing for battle. "We move on your orders, Marth."

Marth blinked, looking at the charging pirates. "We're liberating this entire area of pirates. Secure the town, and seize the fort. We are not leaving until the pirates are gone and the children are returned to the village." He looked up to the sun. It was descending, threatening to disappear under the distant mountains and take its light with it, it was dusk right now. "I don't want this to become a battle in the night. Let's rout them before the sun descends completely."

* * *

><p>The order to meet the pirates had been given. The army was moving.<p>

Cain was charging, he would be among the first to meet the enemy pirates. The majority of the army was part of this forward charge. A much smaller group, consisting only of Merric, Rickard, and Navarre would head to the village, determine the village was free of pirates, and rendezvous with the rest of the army right outside the fort.

Though the pirates were in front of Cain, his mind was elsewhere. This was his first battle as a soldier of the Archanean League, not as a soldier of Altea. He found it quite pleasing to know that his supreme commander would remain prince Marth, but he was uncomfortable with some of the new company.

It would take time for Cain to adapt to the way his new allies fought, most likely. Nations trained their soldiers differently, it had taken time to adapt to the Talysians and understand them. The Talysians fought with brute force whereas Alteans were coordinated in their tactics. As for the Aurelians…

He turned his head, seeing all four of the Aurelians, along with their prince. Knowing that they've been the underdog of an invasion for two years, guerilla tactics seemed to be a logical field of expertise. Yet the Aurelians were at the front of the charge, if guerilla tactics was their specialty, it wasn't the only thing they excelled at, if the calmness of Hardin and Wolf was anything to go off of.

Regardless of anyone's skill he… wished this to have remained a strictly Altean affair. These allies looked to just be a cross he'd have to bare.

Cain blinked, noticing how close the pirates had come while he was thinking. Taking his sword firmly in hand, he met the first pirate. The pirate made the first move, and sealed his fate when he clumsily missed Cain with his wide axe swing. Cain's sword stabbed into the pirate's chest, then tore up out of the flesh. The pirate fell down as Cain turned to focus on those still alive.

They were just like the pirates of Galder. The pirates were thugs who thought themselves to be strong simply because they could swing an axe. To their credit, it was more then just axe wielders. Cain saw some swordsmen as well. Unimpressed, Cain met them head on.

Darros was also here in the front. A former pirate, he seemed to take the battle as a chance to vent his frustrations. He leapt into battle with no grace. Like the pirates, he was just an axe held in a strong arm, but his arm was the strongest here. Once in a while, a self-taught warrior would eliminate the exploitable flaws in his style, and Darros was more then pulling his load.

Marth, eternally guarded by Jagen, and accompanied by Hardin, entered the fray. Marth had no need to even think, and just responded to the enemies reflexively. The pirates fell before him, the oafs matchless against the commander that brought the Macedonian invasion to its end. Far too nimble and competent to be hit by these clumsy and wide axe swings. He gritted his teeth and pushed further into the mass of pirates. Time was a bigger foe then the pirates here. He wished the battle to end before the vision obscuring blackness of night came to aid his enemies.

Hardin fought beyond skillfully. He and his Silver Lance were beyond lethal. The pirates were a joke, nothing compared to the Macedonian troops, and easy prey for the Coyote. Against him, the enemies were practically lining up to be skewered on his lance. Had there not been a battle underway, Jagen might have marveled at the Aurelian prince's strength. Instead, Jagen focused on the battle, thrusting at those who attacked him and those who tried to approach Marth.

The pirates seemed look at Jagen as an easy target due to his age. With the skill honed from decades of battle and training, his own Silver Lance put these cocky pirates to rest.

Already, the pirate's numbers were thinning. Jagen didn't see this battle, which had only just begun, lasting as much as an hour.

* * *

><p>The wind blades of Merric's Excalibur sliced through the air, killing what pirates that tried to attack the mage, but his score was paltry compared to Navarre. While the Macedonians seemed untrained against Navarre, the pirates were like toddlers before the swordsman. He didn't slow, even as blood spurted from the enemy's wounds and coated him. He had no empathy, killing one and then moving to the next. None of the pirates could dream of matching Navarre. Meanwhile, Rickard was doing almost nothing to assist in the battle, instead, he was examining every pirate corpse, and, quite obviously, he was fishing for wallets. A large grin was on his face as he retrieved rather fat sacks of leather, sacks that made pleasing clinking noises as he held them.<p>

The path they were on was only lightly festered with pirates. Most of those charging at the League were using a more direct route. Those on this path were few in number and easily exterminated.

The two last pirates, seeming to understand the futility in fighting the three in straight fight, ducked through the entrance gates of the village, perhaps hoping to hide, or use the villagers as shields. The three League soldiers followed the pirates into the village, but lost sight of the raiders almost immediately.

"Where did they-" Merric looked around in frustration. They were inside the village, hunting down a few stragglers could turn messy in a populated area.

Navarre paused, focusing his eyes and ears to search for any sign of the pirates. It was quite difficult, there were murmurs coming from the villagers themselves, even though the residents were all inside. The entire village seemed to be talking, making Navarre's attempt to pick out the sounds of the pirates nearly impossible. He couldn't pick out a sound that matched what he believed the pirates would sound like.

The two pirates were being completely noiseless, hiding behind some wooden boards. The only noise they made was from the soft sound of dirt moving beneath their feet, and their own breath. They were watching the three League soldiers. Their hands slowly gripping tighter on their axes, they were readying themselves to spring out. The element of surprise might be their only hope…

"Vell, vell…" a voice, by far the most distinct sound Navarre heard, came from his left. He turned to see a bare-shouldered woman approaching him and his two hangers-on.

One look at this woman made it painfully obvious that her ethnic roots weren't centered in Aurelis. Her accent made it clear that she wasn't a native to this region either.

"Ve vould be correct in assuming that you are the requested help?" She asked, revealing a sword in her hand. Rickard immediately ducked behind Merric, while Navarre tensed, ready to instantaneously react to anything she might do.

After a second it became clear that she would take no action against them. Navarre only slightly loosened himself.

The pirates saw their opportunity, as the League soldiers began to converse with the woman, the pirates started to move into a better position. They would spring out, kill the woman instantly, and then slaughter the League soldiers while they were reacting to her death.

"…my, employer, came at request of the villager's." Navarre answered her question, and then fell silent.

"Very vell." The woman answered. "Ve vish to help you."

Navarre scoffed. "Your men are not necessary."

"Men?" She looked almost offended. Her face twisted into a scowl, she raised a hand up and pointed at her face, talking with a suddenly harsh, biting tone. "Ve are a voman! Blind svordsman. Vun Voman!"

Navarre didn't even blink at the sudden raise in voice. Instead, his ears picked up a sound, someone… moving nearing them.

"Um…" Merric stepped forward before the woman or Navarre might have done something drastic. "Well, we're part of the Archanean League. We came when we heard about the pirate kidnappings."

The woman turned to Merric. "Ve are Athena." She identified herself. "The village's little vuns vere taken to a fort to the south. Ve vere told to wait until help came before ve tried anything ourselves."

Merric seemed to grasp that the woman was addressing herself in the plural, despite being a single person. "Are you sure you want to come fight? The League is mostly comprised of professional soldiers. We can handle this easily."

"Ve are quite-" That was as far as Athena got before getting cut off by the sound of a couple of war cries. The two hiding pirates burst out into clear vision, looking to slaughter all four individuals all at once. They were right on top of Athena.

Merric tried to immediately summon Excalibur, but before he had even opened the tome, both pirates were dead. Athena had simply spun around and administered one slash to both pirates with a single sword swing. They both fell with fatal cuts to their chests.

"As ve vere saying…" Athena turned back to the League soldiers, flicking some blood of her sword. "Ve have some skill vith a svord. Ve vill see if you have skill vith your ovn talents."

"Nice…" Rickard slipped out from behind Merric and darted to the pirate corpses. In less then five seconds he had fished out some rather well-sized wallets from the two. "We should fight pirates more often. They have a reputation for having loot."

Athena looked at Navarre, the swordsman said nothing to her, utterly apathetic to the display of skill. Had she not have reacted to the two-man ambush, he would have. He had heard the two pirates moving during the talk with Athena. A wordless conversation ensued between the two, and Navarre recognized her as an ally, Navarre motioned with his head to move out of the village.

* * *

><p>Wolf's arrows pierced into charging pirates before the Aurelian moved forward, sword in hand, to deliver his finishing blows. His sword strikes hit with grim accuracy, the limbs his sword hacked off landed on the ground in bloody messes.<p>

He was calm, but the battle had a very personal meaning to him. The pirates made a grave mistake thinking that _any_ place in Aurelis was a safe place to begin a slave trade.

Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea were also there. Their feelings were far less well-guarded. From a distance, Jagen watched the four, he didn't know what had happened, but he could tell that there was… something, of emotional significance in this battle.

Merric, Navarre, and Rickard rendezvoused with the others as the pirates had been pushed back to their hideout. Athena was with them, and she rather quickly made her presence known in the battle. Her sword, clearly of design not native to Aurelis, began to methodically cut down the pirates.

She moved through the battle, untouched. Any she sat her sights on was killed. Though… not always at her hands. She grew irritated as Navarre, more then once, darted forward and killed the pirate she was targeting. The swordsman dashed around with a speed that, Athena was loathe to admit, she couldn't quite match.

In time, she ended up standing near Marth.

"An ally?" Marth asked with his back to her. He outmaneuvered and killed one of the pirate swordsmen as he waited for an answer.

"Ve are Athena, ve are here to save the children." She answered as Marth struck another pirate down with a fatal stab, "Ve vill deal vith the pirate captain. You may handle the lesser vuns." She darted off instantly after saying that, not giving Marth the chance to say anything in response. Marth was just slightly irritated, that this woman entered the battle and simply decided that the pirate captain would be her kill. Nonetheless, he pooled his army to begin delivering the final blow to the pirates.

* * *

><p>The pirates were scattering, the League had pushed straight to the fort.<p>

Right outside the fort stood Bathys. With the children firmly secured in one of the rooms, he had come out, expecting to see his crew systematically dismantling the approaching army. Instead, they were being pushed back, bloody pirate corpses falling on the grass as the enemy army advanced.

Who were they? He saw Aurelians, but others looked to have come from lands far, far away. Whoever they were, they were interfering with his operation, and they were about to learn just how bad of an idea it was to do that. Bathys, who fancied himself a future slave king, swore to have every foe's head.

He tightened his grip on his axe. Even with his crew getting pushed back like this, he still didn't see himself losing. He still saw a luxurious future ahead of him, filled with wealth and pleasure and pampered comforts.

The last of his crew charged at the enemy, the cacophony of battle began anew. His crew seemed to be faltering, and a swordswoman managed to dash past his men.

"Pirate." She addressed him specifically.

Bathys turned to her, he noticed the bloodied sword in her hand and scowled. "Some wench thinks herself able t' keelhaul me?"

"Release the vee vunes, and ve vill vork something out." Athena warned, holding her sword threateningly. "Ve are not someone you vould vant as an enemy."

Bathys laughed. "Ya be makin' a mistake, thinking ya can best Bathys. Best be runnin' 'way, and maybe I be forgettin' you came." He smiled. "Tell that to the rest of yer' army."

Athena was unimpressed by the threat, rather, she smiled in response. "Ve vere expecting a response like that." She pointed her sword at Bathys, it was clear that she had every intention of killing him. "You tried to turn the village's children into your slaves. Ve vill make you pay for that."

She dashed at him. She crossed more then half the distance between herself and Bathys in the time it took the pirate to blink. Bathys' eyes widened as he noticed her speed, and he raised his axe in a reflexive defense. Athena reached Bathys and then feinted to the left, gashing the pirate's right arm with a single sword swing.

Bathys cried out, and violently swung his axe, hoping to catch Athena with the swing. She backed away easily and came back with another slash, this attack managed to slice Bathys' chest open.

She jumped back after the attack connected, Bathys' free hand went to his chest. The blood oozed out at a life-threatening rate, coating the hand that tried to squeeze the wound shut. Athena had never seen a face more manic and enraged then the one on Bathys' face right now.

Athena smirked, believing the battle to already be over. Bathys was paralyzed by the pain, and she darted forward. Bathys, even with the painful cut to both his chest and arm, managed to counter-lunge. The movement caught Athena off-guard. She managed to stop her charge and dodge Bathys' lethal axe swing, but the pirate swung the fist of his other arm forward and, almost impossibly, managed to hit Athena on her still critically wounded hip. She flew back with a small cry, landing on her feet, her free hand moving down to soothe her hip, now throbbing with pain.

"I… am, the Cap'n 'round 'ere ." Bathys said through his own pain, a shaky hand returning to his bloodied chest. "I be makin' a slave trade, I be becomin' a slave king, n' no Aurelian be safe. You won't be stoppin' me, I got plans up ahead."

He advanced with the intention of killing Athena… then almost immediately roared with pain as an arrow pierced right through the shoulder of his axe arm. In the sudden shot of pain he accidentally dropped his axe, he turned to see one of the Aurelians with his bow drawn.

"You sealed your fate the moment you swore that no Aurelian was safe from your slave trade." Sedgar said. Right beside Sedgar was Wolf, Wolf shot an arrow of his own, it went straight into Bathys' gut.

"Die, knowing your folderol." Wolf said with contempt. He loaded another arrow, but did not fire, seemingly content to watch Bathys bleed to death.

Bathys gritted his teeth in anger, but the expression quickly broke as he realized that his crew was completely annihilated, and more of this army was approaching him. He backed away fearfully, then fell to his knees in the pain. He looked at the army with a fearful expression. "Ah… ma…teys, s-s-spare me me l-li-"

Athena appeared behind him, and fatally stabbed her sword into Bathys' back, the blade poked out of his chest. Bathys could only stare at the blade in horror for a moment before life left him, Athena pulled the sword back out, letting the body fall on the grass. A brief look of irritation flickered across Wolf's face as Bathys' pain was cut mercifully short, but he regained a calm expression immediately.

Bathys had been asking for mercy when he died… Sedgar shook his head. The pirate had to have known exactly what would happen if an attempt to make slaves didn't turn out well. He was not sympathetic. A slaver couldn't possibly have his life end on a happy note.

"Vell, that's the end of that." Athena noted, taking her hand off her still pained hip and turning around to the fort. "Ve must find the children, now."

* * *

><p>The battle was over, and the League had moved to the village. Marth and Hardin had found the children locked up in a filthy room in the pirate hideout, far too small of a room to house them all. Some had been bruised, a few seemed to have been burnt, but they were otherwise unharmed. The children were now returned to the village, to joyous reaction from the people.<p>

"Prince Marth… prince Hardin…" the village elder spoke in a private moment with the two in his house, he struggled to keep his voice from breaking with joy. "If I spent the rest of my life blessing you two, it wouldn't display even a shred of my thanks for what you've done for us today." He breathed a relaxed sigh. "You two… we were on the verge of losing all hope to get the children back, but then you came. You didn't have to, you have a war to fight, but… you came anyway. I know, in the end, this is a minor detail to the war you two will fight, but, rest assured, our village will never forget this. We will remember it for generations to come."

Hardin smiled. "It is my duty to break those who harm my people. Think nothing of this. Those who would take advantage of Aurelians like this will feel my hand." He nodded respectfully at the elder. Hardin was truly a prince who had attained the respect and love of his people. This was far from the first time he had rode out to save those who seemed… minor, before. "Yet, give all your thanks to Marth, he was the one who chose to ride in to your aid."

"I won't simply dismiss a plight like this." Marth said as the elder turned to focus exclusively on the Altean prince. "I may not be Aurelian, but the act of slave holding is something I will never tolerate."

"Bless you, both of you." The elder said. "In the war you're about to fight, I pray you have as much success as you've had today." He spoke not only of the eradication of the pirates, but of the retaking of the Aurelian palace, the news of which having already reached him.

"We will." Marth said. "Rest assured, you won't have to worry about Macedonians, or any foreign force, oppressing you again."

The elder smiled, then his head seemed to bob down. It was night at this point. Marth and Hardin, who had both been fighting all day, were not immune to the fatigue either. They took their leave and moved to the night street…

"Princes Marth and Hardin…" Athena had been standing just outside. Likely, she had been waiting for them to finish their discussion with the elder. She looked fatigued herself. "Ve have decided to go vith you."

Hardin turned to her with a surprised expression. "I appreciate the offer Athena, but we are striving to fight Macedon, Khadein, Grust, Gra, and Dolhr all at once. I doubt you're ready for a battle like that. Please-"

"Ve have made up our mind." Athena interrupted. "Ve… see that ve likely vould not have succeeded in defeating the pirate's by ourselves." Her voice took on a slightly petulant tone as she said that, recalling Bathys somehow managing a strike on her most sensitive area. "Ve vish to go vith you, return the favor for helping us save the children. It's the least ve can do." After speaking, she looked over her shoulder to see Navarre standing motionless several meters away, seemingly meditating by himself in the night. She didn't mention the fact that she was very curious as to how, exactly, she would stack up against Navarre in a duel.

"Are you sure?" Marth asked. "If you have the slightest wound, then-"

"The curate, Wrys, already dealt with my injury." She patted where her injury had been, a hard strike from her palm didn't make her even slightly flinch. "Ve are capable of fighting, and fighting vell. Ve vill be integral in many battles to come. Ve vill come, and you _vill_ be grateful for it."

Marth was taken aback by the semi-threat in Athena's words. He turned to Hardin, who merely shrugged to display indifferent approval. Marth turned back to Athena and nodded. "Then… if you're truly willing, you're a soldier of the Archanean League now." He looked to the side, "There's nothing more to do today. You should get to bed. I imagine we will have… a large battle tomorrow."

"A large battle?"

"We'll be heading to the Aurelian-Archanean border." Hardin said. "Doubtless it'll be fortified, they'll be expecting us to go that route, but it's the only route to Archanea. Unlike these pirate foes, tomorrow's battle will likely be a difficult and uphill endeavor. Everyone will need to be well rested and ready."

Athena nodded. "Very vell. Ve are curious as to vhat you vould call 'difficult'."

* * *

><p>The village had been kind enough to give the League rooms in the local Inn, free of charge. The best compensation they could give for what the League had done today. Cain found himself standing in the hall, leaning against the wall behind him, his only company right now was Wolf.<p>

He was loathe to admit it, but Wolf had completely outperformed him in today's battle. His face twisted in aggravation. He was certain that he was well beyond Ogma and the Talysians, but felt his sureness of his skill threatened by the head of the Aurelian knights.

He did not dislike Wolf, but found himself… irked. Obviously, Cain reasoned, the direct knights of the League's commander should be the most skilled, not the soldiers of a mere allied commander. Abel and the other Alteans were probably completely unconcerned about just how, skilled, some of the Aurelians were. Cain had to do something about this.

Wolf didn't realize that he was going to be an unwitting player in a competition. He simply stood still, looking as if he was mentally preparing himself for the next battle, which would likely be tomorrow. He was likely about to retreat to the room he was sharing with Roshea tonight. Cain probably should be finding his own room with Abel and Jagen soon. He'll have to be rested, if he wanted to match Wolf.

A word floated to Cain's mind. _Rivals._ He doubted it would come to that, he's simply be Wolf's better in the next battle, and his little concern would be put to rest. Cain stopped leaning on the wall and walked away, Wolf didn't even move to acknowledge Cain leaving.

* * *

><p>Norne felt light-headed, almost dazed. A fight outside the Aurelian palace, a fight to retake the palace, and a pirate extermination. She was quite confident to say that she had never felt so tired at any past time in her life.<p>

She turned to Gordin, who had already fallen asleep, she walked over and pulled the covers over Gordin. Looking at her friend's face for a moment, her hand reached down and ruffled his hair as she smiled. Then she heard the door open.

Turning, she saw Athena walk in. "Oh, you… the new soldier." She yawned from her tiredness. "Shouldn't you be getting to bed?"

"Ve are trying to find a spare room." Athena's cheeks flustered in slight embarrassment. Norne guessed that this wasn't the first time tonight she had accidentally walked in on an already occupied room.

"Only two beds in this room, one for Gordin, and the other for me." Norne shrugged, "There should be plenty of empty rooms left."

Athena turned to look at the sleeping Gordin, then back at Norne. "All of the army's archers are sleeping in this room?"

"There's also Castor." Norne said groggily, too tired to want to engage in conversation. "He's sleeping with the other Talysians. I guess… I'm in the same room as Gordin because he's my partner." She made a weak, tired smile.

"Ve see." Athena looked at Gordin. His hair was still unkempt from Norne's hand messing with it a minute ago. The boy… didn't strike Athena as being a skilled archer at all. "You and this Gordin, vould ve be correct in guessing you two to be rivals?"

"What?" Norne's tired senses quickly woke up for the sake of showing a face of surprise. "Um… I don't think I've ever really looked at Gordin like that." She turned to the boy, perhaps it was a good thing he was asleep. It might have become a much more awkward moment if he was awake.

"You've never vondered who vas the better?"

"I thought about that a long time ago." Norne said. "I… sorta thought I could have been the better when we first met, but that's not important anymore." She sat down on the edge of her bed, staring at Gordin. "We're not rivals, just partners and friends."

"Partners and friends…" Athena repeated, "And who vould you say is the better?"

"I…" Norne paused, not liking these questions. "I guess Gordin. He's a little shy, but when a battle comes, he's actually the more self-assured." She looked a little embarrassed, but not truly ashamed. Athena could see that Norne seemed quite proud and fond of her friend.

"Ve see." Athena suddenly yawned and backed off. "Ve should be finding an empty room, Ve might ask you for more concerning your partner tomorrow."

"More?" Norne asked, but Athena was already gone. With an exhausted sigh, Norne turned and climbed into her provided bed, too tired to have read any of Athena's facial expressions. She closed her eyes, and the sleep conquered her almost instantly.

* * *

><p>The moon was over the border that connected the nations of Aurelis and Archanea together. Moonlight just barely illuminated several forts that lined the valley that separated the two nations. It was called the Lefcandith Valley. As it served as the only viable land route between Aurelis and Archanea, the Dolhr Alliance always kept it well defended. Its fortifications became even more secure as control over Aurelis started to falter.<p>

The defenses of the valley was handled by Grust, the valley's fortresses were controlled by a man named Harmein. He had been appointed to his position by none other then Emperor Medeus himself. A fact he was all too eager to remind people of.

"You have arrived." Harmein noted as princess Minerva of Macedon landed. The Whitewing sisters were already present, the three quieted down as Minerva dismounted off her Wyvern. Harmein scoffed at the princess, "It would seem Macedonian's are as competent as they are intelligent, if the battle in Aurelis is any indication."

Catria looked as if she was about to say something, but Minerva raised a hand up to command silence.

"…yes, Macedon completely lost control of Aurelis." Minerva said, not rising to Harmein's taunt regarding Macedon's skill or ability. "Prince Marth and prince Hardin brought the Macedonian invasion to its end. They have joined together to face Dolhr and the Dolhr Alliance." Her words were of neutral tone, but the loss of Merach in that battle was still fresh in her mind, and traces of remorse could be heard in her voice. The three Whitewings seemed similarly hurt. Catria's face twisted in frustration and she looked away.

Harmein was completely unsympathetic to the thinly veiled expressions of emotional pain. "Correct. Aurelis has joined forces with the New Dolhrian army."

Minerva was actually repulsed that he had just referred to the Altean army as the New Dolhrian army, but said nothing. She couldn't reveal herself to be directly sympathetic to Marth's cause _just_ yet.

"The Dolhrian Emperor has demanded that these bugs be squashed before their persistence can become… troublesome. I will be the one to do that."

_You mean… you will have us to everything for you._ Est mentally noted. Harmein wasn't a bed-wetter like Emereus, but he rarely handled anything personally. He was barely a competent tactician, and a lazy combatant.

"Having read the reports of Macedon's tactics, I have little reason to believe that you and your precious Whitewings will be of any real use." He said in a dismissive tone. "Nevertheless, even useless scuttling gnats have some miniscule purpose."

A small twitch of irritation graced Minerva's face, but quickly disappeared.

"Now then…" Harmein motioned for the Whitewings to step forward. "On the day they come, I will desire a… psychological edge." He smiled cruelly. "There is a small village of Aurelians nearby. On the day of battle, it will be burnt down, and no one living inside is to be spared."

All three of the Whitewings shuddered at the order.

"I only need one person to handle this. The young one." He pointed at Est.

Est gaped at Harmein. "W…why do we need to burn a village down? They've done nothing… nothing at-"

Harmein scowled as Palla began to motion for Est to stop questioning orders. "We have reports that the village is… hiding something. We have not discerned what it is, but we believe it to be something that Dolhr would not wish to exist. It will be better to simply destroy the village, along with whatever this 'something' is. We will force the stench of burnt Aurelian flesh to go through the rebel's nostrils, and eliminate what could be something that could challenge the Dolhr Alliance at the same time."

Catria narrowed her eyes at Harmein's smirk. The man apparently thought something as simple as a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone tactic painted him as some kind of tactical genius.

"Is… is that really necessary, general Harmein?" Palla asked, repulsed at the fact that her youngest sister would be forced to do something like that.

"This village's resolution to hide something from me alone justifies this act. Yet… to let the League know that their approach is what truly triggered the burning of the village… that is what will truly sink into them."

Palla took a step back, not even wanting to be near this man.

"Anyone can kill enemy soldiers, but the loss of the lives of those tragically caught in the middle of the struggle? _That_ is what will unnerve our enemies the most."

Minerva's face twisted, "What of I and Palla and Catria?

Harmein turned to Minerva. "Your task is a simple one. You will wait atop the mountains. Once the enemy starts its advance, rush in and kill them."

Minerva's eyes widened in horror. "What?"

"Isn't facing an enemy head-on the prideful way of Macedon? To charge at an enemy force of much greater numbers and still walk away victorious, that is the Macedonian way, is it not?" He took a step back, smiling at the princess. Minerva felt disgust build in her as Harmein addressed Macedonian tactics with so dismissive and degrading a tone.

"They'll likely be here tomorrow. Be ready in the morning." With that, Harmein walked off.

"Commander…" Palla turned to Minerva, unsure of what to do. "What should we…"

Minerva stayed silent for a time, then turned to Palla. "We'll find a way to evade every order."

"How, commander?"

Minerva was at a loss at how to answer that question. "We… we'll think of something." She stopped to think for a moment. She thought she could find a way to just observe Marth's army, but now… "We'll run into prince Marth's army, and no amount of planning will change that." She swallowed hard. "If anyone gets into a fight with one of his soldiers, fight your hardest. We must all survive and…" her head bowed down. "…if we end up killing anyone, we'll just have to pray that prince Marth is merciful."

* * *

><p><strong>As a note, all of SD's Gaiden chapters will be covered in this story. The single possible exception will be FE11's 24x. Whether or not that will end up being covered will depend on if I can come up with a good reason for Marth to go there if he has both Tiki and Falchion.<strong>

**I'm giddy about writing the next chapter. Practically couldn't wait to get this chapter out of the way. Lots of character interaction to come in the Lefcandith Valley.**

**Please review.**


	16. Macedonian Elite

**What Minerva and the Whitewings would be doing in this chapter is something that I've been thinking about since I decided that this story would be a novelization of all of FE11.**

**This chapter ended up... much longer then I thought it would be. 17,000+ words.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The sun started to rise, slowly giving light to the entirety of the Lefcandith Valley. The valley was the connecting point between Aurelis and Archanea. The two nations, while not formally allies, had always been on good terms with each other. It was part of the reason as to why Nyna was able to gain asylum with prince Hardin. In the past, one's eyes were drawn to the forts once held by soldiers of Archanea. One's eyes might still be drawn to the forts, dozens of forts now held by Grust, not Archanea, lined the walls of the valley, each readying for an expected assault. Every soldier awake, alert, and ready with weapons sharp.<p>

With Macedon's invasion of Aurelis having ended in failure, being able to maintain control of the valley would prove imperative. A rebellion with actual power had risen to challenge both the Dolhr Alliance and Dolhr itself. The next place the rebels would go would obviously be Archanea.

Beyond the forts, the valley was gome to a single, lone, lonely village. A village nestled in the cusp of Aurelian territory. The residents of the valley's one village were slowly waking up. Their tired senses became alert and wary quickly. Months of living under the control of the Dolhr Alliance had honed them to be alert every waking moment. They were fully active only five minutes after waking up, with no trace of grogginess present in their movements.

There was one resident of the village who had not slept at all, but rather watched the valley all night long. The man, his form hidden under a hooded robe, rarely took to sleep. One might imagine that he was on the verge of passing out, No human could go this long without sleep without suffering for it.

This man, however, was not human.

"Bantu, you're still up." The village elder approached the hooded figure as he yawned. It was clear that the elder had just gotten out of bed, his unkempt clothes looked to have been tossed on in a hurry. "What has been going through your mind all night?"

Bantu's face was decrepit, and his body seemed frail, but his appearance, ancient though it appeared, belied the true extent of his seemingly timeless years. Despite his antiquity of age, his eyes and mind were alert and always working. He turned to the elder to answer his question. "Much of my thoughts are dark these days. Just as dark as the continent's future might be, should I not find… _her_." Bantu turned back to the front, his face bowed forward, sinking a little further into the robe. He was journeying around the continent to find a certain someone. He had yet to find the slightest clue as to this person's whereabouts. His thoughts were always churning, contemplating the consequences that would be if this person was not found. "My thoughts… sometime trail away from the void of uncertainty, and turn to wondering why this village has gone so far for a being like me."

The elder fell silent for a moment as Bantu seemed to brood. Bantu was not human. He was… a Manakete. The same species as the draconic overlords of Dolhr. Right now, most of the world would utter a curse at the presence of a Manakete and call for rope, but this village had given shelter to Bantu. The people had protected and shielded him from the nearby Grustian forces to such an extent that Bantu was, himself, still unknown to the Grust army. Though Grust clearly understood that there was _something_ in the village.

"Though this might sound naïve…" the elder cleared his throat before continuing, "I believe in judging by the individual, not the race. Had you have acted like the Manaketes of Dolhr, had seemed even remotely comparable to the stories we've heard, rest assured, we _would_ have killed you." He bowed his head slightly, perhaps somewhat ashamed of what he just said. "You are in direct contrast to all we have heard regarding Manaketes, and so, you have asylum here for as long as you see fit to remain. People, I feel, are far too hesitant to lend a helping hand these days."

Bantu took the words in, keeping his face utterly neutral, but he inwardly frowned. Many people would likely answer the elder's last statement by saying 'and you are too willing to extend a helping hand'. Most people would say that Bantu's shelter went against all logic and reason, that the only good Manakete was a dead one. Even before Dolhr resurfaced as a world power, such sentiments existed. The stigma of Dolhr's rule thousands of years ago still existed, and Medeus' return ripped open the scars the nations bore. The normal person's feelings for Manaketes was not unjustified, but if they went after Bantu, they were attacking the wrong Manakete over the issue. Bantu's travels had been hard in the continent, which despised his kind so utterly. Yet he could not let the difficulty stop him. Too much was at stake, not only for him, but for the continent itself.

Bantu raised his head up, squinting his eyes to lessen the rising sun's glare as he looked to the distance. He wasn't looking at anything in particular, but then he saw a number of figures on the nearby hill and he raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm?" The elder peered forward, taking note of the same hill that Bantu was looking at. Then his eyes widened in dawning realization at the distant dots he saw. "That… is an army."

"Who are they?" Bantu's eyes, much stronger then the elders, could see the individuals clearly. They did not seem to be either Grustians or Macedonians, the only armies in this area he was familiar with. He tensed with the possibilities this army might present.

"I can just barely see them, I…" the elder squinted, trying to focus his vision. He could tell they were an army just by their shape, but they were too vague and blurry for his failing eyes to pick out anyone in particular. Then his eyes managed to catch a person clothed in white, holding what appeared to be a lance. "That… is that prince Hardin?"

Bantu blinked. "Prince Hardin? Of Aurelis?"

"I… I'm not sure what I'm seeing." The elder said, "I had heard rumors that the situation in central Aurelis was shifting dramatically in Aurelis' favor, but…" he shut his eyes and rubbed at them briefly before looking again, "Is the prince really here?"

Bantu looked toward the distance, it was an army of respectable size he was seeing. He could see the man the elder suspected was prince Hardin, white clothing, white turban, and saddled on a horse. "They're trying to push into Archanea." He stated as he observed the army's movement. Though the army he saw seemed far from being about to move, it was obvious what the soldiers were readying themselves to do.

"If prince Hardin is truly here…" the elder stroked his chin as he looked away. "That would explain why Grust has been tightening their hold on the valley. They've been preparing for an attack."

The elder smiled. He was an Aurelian, even if he lived on the very edge of the nation. Like nearly the whole of the nation, he was a staunch loyalist of the prince. Bantu looked at the figures with different emotions.

Though undoubtedly elated to see Dolhr's armies challenged like this, there was something that took precedence for him. "I wonder if they found the child…" He had been unable to move around the continent in months, practically a prisoner in the village. His eyes turned down, noting the Grustian swordsmen keeping watch on the village, never letting anyone enter or leave. The distant army that opposed Dolhr would be the most valiant people who might have known something.

…and if not, perhaps they would be a way to finally escape the Grust-held valley.

* * *

><p>Malledus stood, peering down the valley. His eyes, aged and starting to fail, but still useful, could see numerous forts dotting the walls of the valley. The potential defense that could be mounted here was certainly formidable. It was obvious that any attempt to stop the Archanean League was counting on the League taking this route. In this situation he'd rather have elected to find a way around the valley. Such an option was impossible, there were no practical alternative routes to Archanea, this was the path they had to take.<p>

"How's it look?" Roshea came up beside Malledus. His eyes, much younger and stronger, were able to capture the situation much better then Malledus'. He took note of Grust's formation with mild surprise. "Whoa, they're a lot more fortified then they were when Macedon was holding Aurelis."

"It's to be expected, Roshea." Malledus said. "This was the obvious route we would go, our enemies would obviously reinforce their defenses here, and try to catch us at a chokepoint."

The Grust soldiers had to have seen them. They seemed to be planning to wait for the League to come. Malledus was uncomfortable with charging through the valley when the enemy clearly wanted them to do just that. It was a dangerous risk to face such a prepared enemy with their still fledgling army.

"So…" Roshea continued to look down at the Grust soldiers, contemplating as to how the battle would go. "We just go down and plow through them, right?"

"I suppose so." Malledus said with some discomfort. "We've never fought an enemy that's been this well fortified. Not even when we wrested the Aurelian Palace from Macedon."

"No reason to be worried. We're Altea, Aurelis, and Archanea all at once. We'll take on these Grustian soldiers, and win without even trying. How different could they really be from the Macedonians?"

Malledus noted Roshea's enthusiasm, and disapproved. "The bravado is healthy, Roshea, but this battle is still very losable. We've just become a proper army, but we're far from unchallengeable."

Roshea's good cheer only very slightly lessened. "I know that, but we won't be losing today. Aurelis, Altea, and Archanea all just joined up. We're certainly not losing our first real battle against a Dolhr Alliance army. We'll go down there and take care of Grust just fine. Just wait and see."

Malledus did not doubt that victory would be attained, but he hoped to avoid over eagerness and arrogance, such things easily led to death. "I've seen many bright young lives run off to war and never return, Roshea. I applaud your enthusiasm and belief in victory, but as the battle is about to start, ensure that such sentiments do not get the better of you. You might have great things ahead of you, provided you keep yourself from getting killed today."

Roshea's expression hardened, as if he had heard that speech a hundred times before. "I'm not some 'bright young life' Malledus, I _know_ war, even if people have tried to keep me out of it before. I've seen firsthand what happens to people who get too casual or cocky in battle. I am _well aware_ of what will happen if I start thinking too highly of my skills. I'm not some untrained kid."

Malledus blinked at Roshea's sudden righteous anger, and sighed. "Now that we are joined together as the Archanean League, some may end up believing that we are invincible. That is not the case. this war can be lost, it can be as early as today if we grow careless. I hope with all my being that that isn't the case, but the possibility must remain in our minds. Without skill, and a calm head, this union will not mean anything." Malledus nodded to himself. "That, is all I was trying to say."

Roshea stood still for a moment, feeling the indignation bubbling in his throat, then relaxed. "Sorry about that, it's just… Vyland and Sedgar _still_ lecture me like I just became a squire. I'm tired of being treated like I don't know which end of the sword is the hilt."

Malledus' first thought was that Roshea's allies treated him like that due to his age, then something occurred to him about what Roshea said. "Wolf doesn't treat you like that?"

"Not exactly." Roshea looked around, Wolf wasn't anywhere in sight. He wasn't sure if Wolf would approve of Roshea talking about him like this. Though, in all likelihood, Wolf wouldn't particularly care. "He gives me the space I need to fight and get better, and treats me like I've actually been trained, but you'd better believe that he'll jump in if I'm in real danger."

"I see." Malledus regarded Roshea and the other Aurelian knights for a moment. The four Aurelians that prince Hardin brought with him seemed to have quite personal relationships with each other. "You, along with Vyland, Sedgar, and Wolf. I've only known you for a day, and it already strikes me that you four are almost brothers."

Roshea smirked. "Wrong. We're not _almost_ brothers, we pretty much _are_ brothers, the best of brothers, despite having no blood connection. Their over protectiveness can be irritating, trust me on that, but don't go doubting how much they mean to me."

"You four strike me as being very close." Malledus thought of Abel and Cain. Good friends and training partners, but not having half of the closeness of the four Aurelians. "How did you all meet each other?"

Roshea paused. His mind flashed to the past for a second, but he quickly forced his thoughts back to the present before the horrible sound of whips returned to him. "That, um… that… is personal."

"Personal?"

"I…" Roshea grew uncomfortable. "Look, I don't want to talk about it. It's Aurelian business." He began to back away, not wanting to continue the current conversation.

Roshea wondered if Malledus was about to push for an answer, but instead the Altean tactician simply nodded. "I'm not sure how the four of you meeting can be _strictly_ Aurelian business, but I'll respect your reluctance to speak. I won't ask you again unless there's some urgency."

"Thank you." The discomfort vanished from Roshea's face as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Shouldn't we be getting back to the rest of the army?"

"Yes." Malledus looked at the valley one more time, capturing the position of the enemy forts. "We need time to plan this charge out, but the more time we spend planning is time Grust can use to fortify themselves further. I believe I've seen more then enough to offer a good appraisal of the situation."

* * *

><p>Wolf was looking over the valley, standing just a small distance away from the rest of the army. He was waiting for the order to move. He waited, and waited, his eyebrows fell in annoyance at the time it was taking to map a strategy out. Though far from a hothead or a impetuous man, the waiting began to rankle him. The wind blew through the long bangs that obscured one of his eyes. The soft feeling of his hair soothingly brushing across his face was lost on him. To kill time, he had habitually looked over his weapons, after determining that they were in good condition he turned to look at the enemy. He observed the Grust soldiers in the valley scurrying around, preparing to try and stop the League dead in its tracks. The Grustians were unaware of how Dolhr was throwing them away like so much garbage.<p>

"Hey, Wolf." Wolf turned to see Abel approaching. "Have you heard?"

Wolf made a small tilt of his head. "Heard what? Are we moving?"

"Not quite yet." Abel shrugged. "Prince Marth and prince Hardin want more time to think. When trying to break a fortified chokehold, you need to have a flawless rush."

Wolf acknowledged that. So much of resistance fighting had depended on planning, and having those plans go off without a hitch. Still, he could not see Grust's defenses warranting quite _this_ much preparation time.

"We just have some new information as to who we're fighting."

Wolf closed his eyes. "Our enemy is Grust. That is all we will need to know."

"We've ascertained the presence of Macedonians as well."

Wolf opened his eyes back up, his head tilted forward slightly, but then calmly returned to its former position. "I have no fear of Macedonians."

Abel's expression turned grave. "Princess Minerva of Macedon and her soldiers are here."

There was a pause. Wolf said nothing, he reacted to the words neutrally. For a second, Abel thought that Wolf had misheard, the Aurelian responded so indifferently.

"Wolf." Sedgar appeared, his face was calm but serious. He noted Abel's presence, "I suppose you just heard what was seen."

Wolf nodded, then turned back to look at the valley. His eyes caught the sight of both Pegasus and Wyverns floating in the air. Those were Grustian soldiers, Minerva and her soldiers, the Whitewings, were likely still grounded, either in or near the command fort.

Abel looked at Sedgar, then at Wolf again. "You two seem a bit tenser, but you don't seem honestly worried." Abel thought back to just after the Aurelian palace had been retaken. Sedgar had told him that princess Minerva and her soldiers had played a large role in carving Aurelis up. He'd have imagined that this battle would take on a much more personal meaning, but if anything, they looked completely calm. Tense and serious, understanding the fact that a formidable enemy commander was present, but not acting as if a truly serious threat had come.

"There's nothing to fear or be worried about. If princess Minerva comes to the front, we will strike her down." Wolf said evenly.

Sedgar nodded. "Even if their king was here… Macedonians are matchless against the true spirit of Aurelis. If they come against us, we will defeat them."

"The true spirit of Aurelis…" Abel repeated, looking at the two. They were completely calm. The presence of Macedon's princess was making them take this more seriously, but they were not intimidated. In fact, Abel couldn't help but feel that it was more likely that they were hiding their enthusiasm at the chance to face the Macedonian princess in battle. He wondered if the were correct in Macedon being helpless against them in a straight fight, or if Aurelis may end up being humbled by the end of the day.

* * *

><p>"General Harmein." Minerva came to the Grustian as he stood outside the command fort. The man turned to her, his armor was shiny and clean, like it had never been used before, he struck Minerva as the sort who rarely took to the field personally. In someway, the general seemed repulsed at Minerva's mere presence. "I do not feel that outright charging at the enemy is necessary. We can just let them come to us. We can easily surround and crush them in front of this fort."<p>

Harmein regarded her words, then scoffed. "Your mind works as slow as Emereus' did. I am well aware of how we can surround them. Our forward charge is entirely for the purpose of goading them into coming at us full force. We attack, then you pull back on my orders. We'll lead them to this fort, then we strike with our full numbers. This rebellion will be put down by the end of the day." His face retained its agitated expression, but he inwardly smirked. He wasn't going to tell Minerva that no order to pull back would be given, she and the Whitewings were rushing forward for the sole purpose of getting themselves killed.

"They…" Minerva's mind scrambled for a way to prevent direct contact with Marth. "They'll come down here anyway. There is no need to antagonize them, that would be premature, and nothing but a waste of resources and manpower. It would be better to wait and let them-"

"Do you mean to say that my plan is unsatisfactory to you, Macedonian?" Harmein's voice suddenly deepened, and Minerva stopped speaking. "I know of your record for defiance, princess. Don't even think of trying to take this battle into your own hands, or of going against my orders, or even of tilting the odds in the rebels' favor. Need I remind you that your precious little sister remains in our custody? I hear General Zharov has been growing increasingly frustrated with having to watch the dear princess Maria. Perhaps, I can give him the go ahead to finally put an end to the person causing him such aggravation, and-"

"Enough." Minerva said quickly, keeping her anger out of her voice. She could easily see herself splitting Harmein's head in two for that threat, but word of such a grand act of disloyalty would reach Castle Deil, where Maria was being kept. She bowed her head submissively. Harmein would not accept a subordinate second-guessing any of his orders or plans. However, because of his refusal to see flaws in his own strategy, it was likely that he would fail, horribly. "These rebels are both stronger and smarter then you believe. I will go out to fight, as you order, but your chances for victory are slimmer then you think."

Harmein smiled cruelly. "I look forward to seeing who has the last laugh. Presuming you are even _alive_ when it's all said and done."

Minerva didn't even blink at that possibility. "And, presuming _you_ can manage to win."

* * *

><p>Est petted her Pegasus on the neck with a trembling hand, her fingers lingered and rested on the white beast. The winged creature seemed to understand Est's anxiety and empathized, dipping its head down in a way that made it look depressed.<p>

She had actually been ordered to torch a town, whose only crime was being defiant to Grust. She shuddered at the thought, not knowing what to do in this situation. If the town went up in flames, she'd never be able to live with herself. If it didn't burn to ash, princess Maria might be placed in jeopardy. It was a nightmarish scenario… her head fell down, her forehead pressed onto the mane of her steed.

"Whitewing." She stopped all motion she was making for a second, quickly ascertained that the voice was speaking to her, and turned around.

"General… Harmein…" She took a breath in at the sight of the armored general. This is where she would be given the assets to burn the village down. She tried, with little success, to hide her horror and disgust.

Harmein extended his arm, in his hand was an unlit torch. "You know what to do with this." He spoke as if he ordered soldiers to do this everyday, and for all Est knew, he very well might have prior to his station in the Lefcandith Valley.

Est gulped. Slowly, she reached a hand out and took the torch from Harmein. "Y…yes, I do. I… know my orders."

Harmein scoffed at her reluctant tone of voice. "I'd advise you get rid of that bleeding heart. It doesn't suit someone on the winning side."

Est's eyes widened at the words, but Harmein just turned around. "You know full well what will happen if you exhibit any disobedience. It would take less then a minute to send a missive to Castle Deil."

"I… know, sir." Est nodded and backed away, she was trembling, holding the torch close to her. "W-when do I leave?"

"Immediately. You will go to the town right now, the forward charge is about to begin as the majority of my troops wait in the forts immediately surrounding this command fort. I want the flames of the village to be rising by the time the rebels believe themselves to be getting close to this fort. I want the rebels appalled, aghast, and distracted the moment I spring my reinforcements out."

If the forward charge was about to begin, then that meant that the commander, along with Palla and Catria, were already out. She shuddered again, suddenly growing worried for their safety. According to Palla, Merach had been killed by Emereus, it was possible for things to go horribly wrong again, and the commander or one of Est's sisters could end up dying. It was a horrible possibility to think about…

"Get moving." Harmein ordered, Est reluctantly but quickly climbed onto her Pegasus. The creature flapped its white wings and took off. As Est got out of earshot, Harmein smiled. "…and let me be rid of you Macedonian vermin."

* * *

><p>"That should be good." Hardin said. Hardin, Marth, Malledus, and Marth's advisor, Jagen, all nodded as they looked over a map of the valley. Hardin put away a quill pen he had been using to map out troop movements. The decision as to how to push into the valley had been reached. The League would move forward in a way that allowed the army good vision in all directions, it would let them be keenly aware of every Grust held fort. It would result in them moving slower then they could, but time was a luxury they had in this particular instance.<p>

There was an Aurelian village in the area. Some care would be made to ensure that it wasn't caught up in the fighting. A three-man squad would head to the village and secure it. Everyone else would be focused on pushing to the Grustian base that held the enemy commander.

"This plan has its risks." Hardin observed, looking at the small dots on the map that represented the Grustian forts, an intimidating defensive structure, one that only a truly superior tactician could face. "Yet those risks are precisely why I believe it will succeed."

Marth looked over the map one final time. He was convinced that the plan would work. He, Hardin, Jagen, and Malledus had spent the last hour and a half reviewing the map and filling in the holes and correcting the flaws of their strategy. The time for planning was over. "We should start moving immediately, before they have the chance to build their defenses up any further. It's time we show the Dolhr Alliance just who and what the League is."

* * *

><p>Less then ten minutes later, the army was ready to move.<p>

The local village was watched closely by Grust, a number of trained swordsmen ensured that no one entered or left the village. Had the village not been skilled in farming, this Grust siege would have resulted in mass starvation, or perhaps a desperate shift to cannibalism, by now.

Roshea and Abel were two members of the group that would work to ensure the village's safety as the rest of the battle was underway. It would leave them out of most of the fighting, but their task was no less important then moving to Grust's base at the valley's far end.

As for the third member of the group…

"I can't believe this…" Norne felt the irritation coursing through her as the news registered on her. "I thought we were supposed to be partners."

Gordin looked a little ashamed of the orders he had been given. "They… know that some very skilled Pegasus Knights are supposed to be here. They want an archer with Roshea and Abel, and… prince Marth and Malledus call me the army's best available archer." He seemed embarrassed at that designation. At the same time, he knew full well that Wolf and Sedgar were by far his better with the bow. Yet those two would be at the front of the charge, prince Hardin's best men would be focused on pushing into the enemy force.

"I guess if prince Marth decides to go this route…"

"It's only for this battle." Gordin tried to reassure her, but his voice lacked confidence. "When this is over, we'll go back to being on-field partners."

Norne looked straight in Gordin's eyes for a second, his words were sincerely trying to assure her that their on-field partnership would go back to normal. Her face softened, not with contentment, but with worry. "I don't like this…"

"Norne?"

She took a step forward and grabbed Gordin by his shoulders. "You have a habit of sometimes getting into a very dangerous position. When a battle's going on I like to keep you in my sights." She sighed, reached to her quiver and pulling an arrow out. "Alright, Gordin, keep this safe for me."

Gordin stared at the arrow in Norne's hand in confusion. "What?"

"It's a lucky charm, okay? Take it, and bring it back to me."

"Um…" Gordin continued to stare at the arrow, "It… it's just a regular arrow, Norne. It isn't a lucky charm."

"Then it just became one." Norne said in a voice that didn't want to be argued with. She moved around to Gordin's back and placed the arrow in Gordin's quiver. "I wish I could be there to have your back, Gordin, I really wish I could. I… can't always trust you to be safe. This is the best I can do when we're apart. You're officially not allowed to die until you can bring that arrow back to me."

"I… okay." Gordin took a step back, Norne's expression, which had gotten stern as she gave Gordin the arrow, softened again. Gordin tried to offer a confident smile, it ended up being much weaker then it should have been. "I'll be sure to survive, we'll see each other when the battle is over."

"Okay…" Norne said quietly, not wanting to move away. After a long moment, Gordin awkwardly turned to walk away. Norne didn't say anything, but her partner's safety was at the forefront of her thoughts. _Please tell me he'll be okay…_

* * *

><p>The wind blew strongly in the air above the valley, the gust was strong enough to make the skies almost impossible to fly through for birds, but the strength of the wind was a mere joke for a Wyvern. Minerva, on her red Wyvern, glided through the air. Her axe, Hauteclere, held firmly in one hand, her other hand on the Wyvern's rein. There was not an axe in existence that was equal to her own, its strength was legendary, said to be in the same league as the legendary weapons of Archanea, but it fell woefully short of the Divine Blade of Altea.<p>

Palla and Catria, both wielding lances, both riding on Pegasus, were flying beside her. The three made a sort of triangle with Minerva at the front, Palla on Minerva's left, and Catria on Minerva's right. Under normal circumstances Est would be in the back, creating less of a triangle formation and more of a diamond formation. Today, Est was away from these three.

It was concerning to all three to see Est away, though it seemed to worry Palla the most. Out of the corner of her eye, Palla could see Est just starting to leave the fort. Her youngest sister's heart had to be in knots over her orders, and that was only one half of what troubled Palla. She never wanted Est apart from her on the battlefield, she wanted Est to stay under her protection, always. Now Est was out there, and if Marth's army went out in the direction Est was going in, Est's life would be in jeopardy.

"They're up ahead." Minerva said, breaking Palla out of her thoughts. The eldest Whitewing looked down, the Grustian forces were only a short distance away form Marth's army, the battle was going to begin in just a few minutes.

Minerva sighed, her words getting increasingly unconfident sounding. "Try to keep yourself from actually fighting, but if one of them attacks you, you have to strike back, you have to keep up appearances." She looked down at the rebels. "If you do get into a fight, try to simply incapacitate your enemy, but make it _look_ like you're striking to kill."

"Yes, commander." Palla and Catria spoke in unison. Minerva looked behind her, there was a large number of Grustian Pegasus Knights following them. Looking at them, she couldn't help but recall her brother's favorite tactic, to flood the sky and blot out the sun with the beating wings of Pegasus and Wyverns. Yet Michalis didn't fight with simple numbers, his tactics were… subtle, and, she knew, ingenious. Well beyond Minerva's own tactical abilities. If only Michalis had not settled on the path he took, Minerva could have easily seen Macedon taking on the Dolhr Alliance and winning.

The Grustian Pegasus Knights and Dracoknights were following Harmein's orders. They, along with Minerva and the Whitewings, were the entirety of the charge that was supposed to goad the enemy into the trap in front of the command fort. If Michalis was directing this charge, then Minerva couldn't see Marth surviving, but Harmein had none of Michalis' ingenuity. These fliers were practically just bodies to throw at the enemy.

Minerva slowed down, letting the Grustians move ahead of her. The rebels were moving, the battle was about to start.

* * *

><p>The Grustian swordsmen who guarded the village normally had a remarkably easy job. The villagers had never made an attempt to escape, the swordsmen's only real duty was appearing to be attentive whenever a Grustian search party appeared to examine the village. Most of the time, simply <em>looking<em> threatening sufficed in their job.

It would have been another lazy day filled with practice sword swings and training under the sun, but then one of them suddenly yelled with pain, an arrow in his back. The swordsman growled and fell to his knees from the sudden pain as the other swordsmen took notice. Abel and Roshea, both atop horses, and Gordin, the originator of the arrow, were present.

Lazy guarding days had not dulled their senses, the Grustians saw, understood, and reacted to the sudden development in an instant. The one who had dropped to his knee in pain stood up and tried to charge with the others, but a second arrow, this one to the chest, ended his life.

Roshea moved forward wielding a lance, backed up by Abel, who was using a Javelin today in lieu of his usual sword. The swordsmen charged forward, their swords met the weapons of their new enemies. The Grustians were no slouches, they were trained, and trained well, but Roshea's honed guerilla skill proved to be by far the better, and his lance pierced into the unarmored chest of a Grust swordsman.

Two swordsmen were already down, and the battle was quickly shifting in the favor of the League soldiers. There were only five swordsmen left. They did not last. Two went down to Gordin's arrows, Roshea killed another two, and Abel took the last. Far from the elites of Grust.

"Is that all of them?" Roshea looked around, there were no other guards present. A paltry sized force had been sent to guard a location of likely little strategic importance. Roshea nodded, a little disappointed at how quickly his role in the battle had already come to an end, but acknowledged the importance of securing and guarding the village. "Guess that should be it, we-"

"Wait." Abel warned, Roshea and Gordin did not release the tension in their bodies. Abel's eyes traced up in the air. His eyes caught what was initially a black dot in the sky, but it was rapidly approaching. Gordin easily realized what it was.

"It's a Pegasus Knight." Gordin said, starting to put an arrow on his bowstring, but was stopped by Abel's hand on his shoulder.

"If there's a Pegasus Knight right there, there could be reinforcements coming from elsewhere." Abel stared at the Pegasus Knight as it began to descend. Whether the rider noticed the three, Abel couldn't say one way or the other. "Get to the village and make sure nothing gets in, this one's mine."

Roshea looked up at the Pegasus Knight, then back down at Abel. "You can't be serious, if there are really reinforcements coming, then we all should-"

"Not much of a point to us fighting a single Pegasus Knight here if enemy reinforcements coming from a different direction reach that village. This one is traveling by herself, but there could be more coming from elsewhere." Abel didn't turn to Roshea or Gordin as he spoke, not letting his eyes wander from the enemy. "A single Pegasus Knight is no trouble. I'll be with you in a second."

Gordin looked up. It would take only a single arrow to take the Pegasus Knight down, and that would take care of one possible threat, but, if there were really reinforcements…

"Get going." Abel said, "There could be more coming. Our mission is to stop the village from getting caught up in the middle of the conflict."

Roshea narrowed his eyes at the Pegasus Knight, at the creature's speed it would be here in half a minute, he nodded reluctantly, frustrated to be ordered away from a fight. "Okay, I'll leave, but I better not hear that you got yourself outmatched by a single Pegasus Knight."

Abel chuckled at Roshea's words, his weak laughter was almost drowned out the sound of Roshea and Gordin moving away. Holding his Javelin in his hand, he focused on the Pegasus Knight, who was starting to come into range.

* * *

><p>As Est came closer and closer to the village, her despair increased in its intensity. The torch was still in her hand, and… she knew, she really would set the village on fire. Princess Maria's life was at stake, for the sake of Maria, she really would. Even if she could never respect herself again… even if Maria would never think well of Est again. A few years back, Est believed that she and Maria were good friends, even if Est was sometimes uncomfortable at how casual it sometimes seemed with a princess. If Maria saw this… it would break the little princess' heart.<p>

If she set fire to the village, the rebels might be opposed to an alliance with Minerva if Est was there. If she didn't set fire to the village, Maria's life was forfeit, and through no fault of Maria's own. She closed her eyes, desperately wishing that the local commander had had more respect for life then Harmein did. This would be the most painful thing she would ever do.

She started to descend, seeing the village, and the tearing at her heart became all the more painful. Her eyes briefly wandered to what she presumed to be the Grustian guards around the village, two cavaliers and an archer. One cavalier and the archer moved away, heading for the village. She assumed that they would make sure no one tried to flee as the fire started. Her stomach rolled…

…and then her Pegasus, without any command from her, suddenly turned hard to the left. It was a sudden enough movement that Est almost dropped her lance. She leaned forward, her free hand clutching onto her Pegasus' mane before she might manage to fall out of the saddle, then something suddenly flew past her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a Javelin fly through the spot that she and her Pegasus had occupied a moment ago.

She was unnerved at how close she had come to death, and looked back down at the cavalier that was still present. A second look not only confirmed that the man had been the one to throw the Javelin, but that he also wasn't with the Grustian forces.

Est's mind raced, this presented an opportunity. Perhaps she could just say that the enemy had taken control of the area the village was in, and she had to retreat. She considered pulling back with that story for a moment, but then reluctantly shook her head. If Harmein was anything like previous Grustian, Gra, Khadein, Dolhrian, or even Macedonian superiors, heavy enemy resistance wasn't a good enough reason to fall back.

The person down there was someone who should have been an ally, but in her situation she had to fight him. She reluctantly began to swoop down…

Abel took his sword out and blocked Est's first attack. He reacted with a strong push, forcing Est and her Pegasus away… with surprising ease.

"Grustian or Macedonian, You aren't reaching the vill-" Abel paused as Est readied for combat a few feet away from him. The Pegasus Knight… didn't have the sort of face he expected. Far too innocent looking, far too different from what he figured even a low ranked Grustian or Macedonian face would be.

He shook his head, the appearance of his enemies meant nothing. This girl… no, the middle of battle was not the time to think of anything besides battle. "You aren't reaching the village."

_You have no idea how much I don't want to reach it._ Est gulped, then moved forward, Abel moved to strike her. Their weapons connected, they both backed away, Abel took a defensive posture as Est made another attack. Abel full well expected to be put on the defensive by her charge, but found his opponent's attack to be noticeably weaker then he expected. Est was pushing with all her might, but Abel was only vaguely exerting himself. Rather then nominally focus on holding her back, Abel took another look at his opponent.

Not the eyes of a killer, neither soulless or cold. He felt a twinge of pity for this girl, clearly a trainee considering her skill. Likely a girl who had been deceived by the spirit of nationalism, and didn't understand the character of her superiors at all. Abel moved forward, knocking Est's lance away, and struck her with the flat, non-lethal side of his sword.

Est fell off of her Pegasus, but quickly stood up, lance in hand. She still planned to fight, but her eyes… now had a spark of fear in them.

* * *

><p>A Wyvern shrieked as Sedgar's arrow pierced into its wing. The rider and Wyvern both plummeted, their cries drowned out by the sound of battle up to the point that creature and master fatally impacted the ground.<p>

Pegasus Knights and Dracoknights swooped down, intending to annihilate the League. The skill of the opposing army had to have been beyond anything the Grustians had estimated or expected. Vyland could only smirk, now that Aurelis was no longer the struggling side, he threw himself into the battle and tore apart his opposition easily. He planned to do to the Macedonians what he was doing to the Grustians right now.

Already, the League was pushing forward, in no small part due to Wolf and Sedgar's accuracy with their bows. Grust's forces were falling from the skies faster then new numbers could come to reinforce them.

Norne was doing her job as a soldier. A few Grustian fliers had fallen to her arrows. Yet her mind was only half on the battle. She was thinking of Gordin, even though she was the one in the more dangerous part of the battle, she couldn't stop worrying. Her mind kept flashing to the times where Gordin had almost gotten killed. Two times, wasn't it? During the battle at Talys, and when they first reached Aurelis, right? If Gordin ended up killed when she was away, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself for being here when she could have been there and done something.

Athena sprang forward, killing a Pegasus Knight that was about to strike Norne. The Pegasus Knight fell off of her steed, nearly bisected from the attack.

"Concentrate on the battle, Norne." Athena chided, noticing how Norne seemed lost in thought. "Ve vill cover you. Ve vill have your back."

Norne turned to Athena for a moment, who was readying herself for further combat. The first thing to cross her mind was _You're not Gordin_ but she refocused herself on the battle. Athena spent her energy on making sure no enemy got too close to Norne. Norne readied another arrow on her bow, wondering if there were any Pegasus Knights where Gordin was. The idea of Athena being her partner, even if just for one battle… she felt less safe.

Marth, Jagen, and Hardin pushed forward. Marth, admittedly, didn't have much experience fighting fliers. Fighting a lance wielder that hovered off the ground seemed intricately different from fighting a lance wielder who was fighting him on foot. His mind was flooded with the possibilities of what his enemies could do, but surprisingly, they came at him in very simple ways. He was able to easily outpace them and fatally strike both rider and beast.

Hardin was doing just as Marth did, meeting the enemy head on and leaving their bodies behind on the grass. Yet every now and then, he looked around in confusion. He wondered where the reported Macedonians were. Though he did not enjoy manslaughter, he did desire to see Macedon's princess receive her punishment at Aurelian hands.

Ridding his head of the thought and refocusing himself on the battle, he struck at a Dracoknight that was trying to attack Marth. Jagen was attempting to strike the same flier, Jagen's lance tore into the chest, whilst Hardin's lance went into the lower back. The rider died, nearly ripped in half by the two silver lances, the two men let the now masterless Wyvern fly away.

Palla was looking at the carnage from a bird's eye view. If she had doubted Marth's skill, she didn't anymore. Surely Minerva had the same sentiment. The Grustians that stayed in the air were shot down, the ones that came down to attack were killed. Palla slightly pitied the Grustians, they had picked the wrong army to face today.

Catria hovered near Palla, staying out of the battle, but not so far away that it seemed that they were trying to evade contact with the enemy.

The two watched the Grustian army get swiftly dismantled. Minerva was watching from another vantage point. Palla was, admittedly, a little intimidated by the skill of the rebels. She was certain that she, along with Catria and Minerva, could easily incapacitate any one of them if the commander and the Whitewings ended up being targeted. Yet as she looked at them, she was becoming increasingly unenthusiastic at the thought of facing one of them in battle, and increasingly doubtful of her chances to incapacitate _any_ of them.

Palla watched the soldiers, taking particular notice of the Aurelians. She didn't know their names, but she could somewhat recognize their faces based on descriptions she had heard before. There were stories circulating among the Macedon military about prince Hardin's four men, in particular, there were tales of a purple-haired Horseman who was said to be a demon fighter. Cold and merciless, it was said that he would fit in well with Dolhr, but he remained loyal to Aurelis and prince Hardin to the end. As saw him fighting, Palla did not doubt the tales. With the purple hair covering his right eye, it was a distinctive face one wouldn't easily forget, she knew it was the same man she had heard stories of. Whatever his name was, he was cleaning up his foes with grim and emotionless precision. She was glad that she had been recalled from Aurelis before she ever faced him. The Aurelian placed a new arrow on the bowstring and aimed up with the same accuracy that had felled at least three dozen Grustians. This time he was aiming at…

For a second, Palla wasn't sure what the man was aiming at. Then her eyes widened in horrified realization.

"Catria!" Palla screamed, Catria and her Pegasus reflexively started to move without waiting for an explanation. The Aurelian's arrow lightly skimmed across the flesh of the side of the Pegasus, but moved past Catria, not being the fatal strike into the Pegasus' neck it would have otherwise been.

Catria looked down, there was a long wound across her Pegasus' side, the edge of the arrowhead had managed to cut into the creature. Only a long scratch, no blood was seeping out, but the Pegasus would have died, and Catria with it, had Palla not shouted the warning. Catria was briefly rattled by how close she came to death, but quickly steeled herself.

"We have to keep up appearances." Catria said, holding her lance firmly, "The commander said so."

"Catria, wait-" but it was too late, Catria, in the interest of not creating suspicion, charged at the Aurelian. Palla, feeling a sudden nameless fear, followed her sister to battle.

"The Whitewings." Wolf waited on the ground. His eyes traced around, he only saw two of the three Whitewings. He also did not see the Macedonian princess who led the Whitewings, he only saw the two that were coming at him right now. No matter. Rather then attempt to kill the two charging Pegasus Knights with arrows, he put his bow away and took his sword out.

To appear to be an enemy, Catria attempted to strike at Wolf. Wolf's sword caught and redirected Catria's thrust, she uncontrollably flew past Wolf until her Pegasus managed to stop itself. Wolf turned to focus on Palla. Palla attacked with hard force, but Wolf easily dodged the lance thrust and retaliated, Palla was forced to back away to prevent immediate decapitation.

Palla put a hand to her neck, reassuring herself that her head and shoulders were still linked. Catria came at Wolf again, the Aurelian easily dodged what was an expert thrust, then his sword made a purposely weak cut on the Pegasus' wing. Catria immediately ascended to the air, letting the Pegasus flap its wounded wing until the pain for the creature started to ebb away.

With a sudden surge of concern for her sister's well-being, Palla rushed forward, only for Wolf to take out his bow, forcing Palla to bank hard to the side to prevent the arrow from killing her on the spot. Palla gasped, taking several moments to tell herself that the arrow had not hit her. Palla came to a stop, she was breathing hard from two near-death experiences in the same minute. Two near deaths… when she had yet to even come close to striking him.

Then she had a realization.

_The stories of the purple-haired Aurelian's skill were… understatements._

Palla and Catria were both elite warriors. Yet this man was, single-handedly, taking both of them on, and was clearly dominating the battle. The Aurelian was too strong… retreat had to have been their only hope of survival.

Yet Catria, not realizing that fact, came at Wolf again, hoping to strike him from behind. Wolf turned around and struck, Catria stopped her attack and raised her lance defensively. Wolf's sword hit her defense, the force of the blow was well beyond anything she had expected, and she was ripped right out of the saddle.

Catria felt a rush of horror as she fell onto the ground. She quickly scrambled to her feet, but before she could do anything else, Wolf was upon her. He circled around to her back and wrapped one arm around Catria, preventing the Whitewing from moving and holding her in place. Wolf's other arm held a sword to Catria's neck, she froze, knowing that one movement and it was all over for her. She could feel the sword press into her neck, and slowly start to move…

"_Stop_!" Palla screamed in utter desperation and horror. Wolf kept a restraining hold on Catria, and once sure that she couldn't move, tilted his head in Palla's direction, not pulling the sword away from her neck. Palla was visibly shaking, the fear was evident in her voice. "Please, please, don't hurt her. Don't hurt my sister."

Wolf's eyes narrowed at her words, he looked completely apathetic to the plea. "I wonder how many Aurelians begged a Macedonian to spare a family member?"

"I-" Palla froze with dread. Catria was about to be made to suffer for Emereus' actions. The Aurelian didn't understand the Whitewing's position. "No, please, I… I… not my sister… please-"

Wolf was indifferent to the Whitewing's fear and dismay. "The Whitewings, and their commander, sowed more then there share of death in Aurelis. I'd be doing all of Aurelis a favor."

Catria, held tight under Wolf's arm, made no movement and said nothing. She knew full well that any attempt to struggle would result in her immediate death. She could only look watch Palla's desperate attempt to save her life.

"Please, sir, I…" her mind raced, she had to find someway to save Catria. She _had_ to. "You can kill me instead." She bargained, leaning forward and bowing her head, shutting her eyes tightly. "You can kill me instead. Just… just don't hurt Catria."

Wolf blinked, not expecting an offer like that, and found himself in a crux.

For what had happened to Aurelis, the Macedonians deserved death beyond death. He looked down at Catria, the girl he had at his mercy was a Whitewing. With one swift movement, he could have ended one of princess Minerva's elite, a warrior who had had more then a small role in the invasion of Aurelis. It would have been the easiest thing, and something he would have wanted to do. He would have felt no regret as she fell to the ground. She was right here, captured in one arm. Yet…

Tearing a family apart was something the Macedonian soldiers had done. Even if it meant denying his heart's desire, he could not stoop to Macedon's level. He looked at the Whitewing still on her Pegasus, she was undoubtedly a hypocrite to be so horrified by this if she had sat by and done nothing during the Macedonian siege. What he was going to do was a lot more then she deserved.

"Get off your Pegasus."

Palla opened her shut eyes, staring at Wolf with a shocked expression. "What-"

"Land. Drop your lance on the ground on one side, dismount on the other. In exchange for your sister's life, you are surrendering to the Archanean League."

Palla gulped hard, but complied. She took the name 'Archanean League' in, acknowledging the name of the combined Altean-Aurelian army as she lowered herself to the ground. Landing her Pegasus, she let her lance tumble out of her hand, falling on the left side of the Pegasus. She dismounted on the right, then slowly approached Wolf. "I… I'm here, unarmed. Now, now please, let her-"

"Wolf!" Sedgar's voice interrupted Palla's pleading, there was a clear urgency in Sedgar's words. "Above you!"

Wolf moved his head up, and immediately understood what Sedgar was trying to warn him about. He released his grip on Catria and ungraciously kicked her away with one foot to her backside, then immediately dodged the swing of Hauteclere.

"Palla, Catria, get back on your Pegasus, _now_." Minerva ordered, Catria quickly scurried away from Wolf and took to the air on the saddle of her Pegasus. Palla scooped up her lance and followed her younger sister. "Get higher in the air, do not interfere with this."

"What?" Catria was still shaking, holding both of her hands to her neck, but still didn't want to leave. "But, commander-"

"Stay back." Minerva said in a tone that would brook no argument. Stiffening slightly by the tone of voice, Catria went up in the air, taking on the role of observer, followed by Palla.

Minerva glared at Wolf, as well as Sedgar, who had just appeared. Both of the Aurelians bore an expression of recognition, they knew exactly who this was. For a moment, all thoughts of Minerva's intention to ally with them was gone from her head. She wanted to kill them for nearly killing one of her soldiers. She wondered if these two had anything to do with Merach's death. Without thinking, she charged down. Wolf dodged out of the way, Minerva's Wyvern snapped at the Aurelian, preventing him from taking advantage of any opening Minerva might have presented. Sedgar placed an arrow on his bowstring and fired, Minerva deflected the arrow with the blade of her axe. She turned to Wolf and charged, intending to chop one of his arms off as she passed, instead, Wolf stood ready to meet Minerva with his sword.

Wolf's weapon was of much lower quality then Minerva's, but when Minerva and Wolf swung at each other, Wolf's weapon survived the collision, and the two briefly struggled with each other. To Minerva's surprise, Wolf was actually pushing her back. Minerva's Wyvern tried to tip things in Minerva's favor by biting at Wolf's legs, but Wolf was able to hold the Wyvern back with a foot pressing down onto the creature's forehead. Minerva had to break off from the struggle as she heard the sound of a bowstring being stretched, she ascended into the air just in time to avoid Sedgar's arrow from piercing into her Wyvern's wing.

Undoubtedly lethal foes, these Aurelians. Minerva swooped down again, this time targeting Sedgar, hoping to take down the one not able to defend himself at close range. She charged at him, but Sedgar was able to dodge to the side on his horse. Minerva moved past Sedgar, then stopped and turned around to find Wolf running at her. His sword managed to get past her defense and strike the armor on her shoulder, cracking it.

Her armor was very durable, crafted specifically for her with all the quality you would expect in armor made for a royal. To crack a part of it spoke well of Wolf's strength. Minerva attempted a retaliatory strike, but Wolf had already backed away, Minerva's axe only cut into empty air. Sedgar shot an arrow, Minerva dodged, barely, the arrow whizzing by her head. Wolf returned to his aggression as Minerva was reacting to the arrow that missed her. Another sword swing, Minerva raised a defense just in time. The sword collided with Minerva's defense with enough force that Minerva threatened to be ripped out of the saddle, much like what had happened to Catria.

Recognizing her poor position, Minerva attempted to escape by rising into the air at max speed. Wolf took his bow out, placed an arrow on the string, and fired before Minerva had gotten out of his range. Despite the speed at which Minerva was moving, Wolf's arrow… perfectly hit Minerva in her shoulder, slipping between a crack in the armor, piercing through the cloth hidden underneath and sinking into the flesh.

Minerva cringed with pain, but her Wyvern continued to rise, in a moment she was at a height that no arrow could reach from the ground.

"Commander-" Palla got up beside Minerva and stared in horror at the arrow sticking into Minerva's shoulder. Minerva reached a hand up and grabbed the arrow, she hesitated for a moment, then ripped the arrow out, a small, short scream came with the pain she invited on herself.

"These Aurelians… are worthy of being feared." She took a breath, reminding herself that she couldn't kill any of them. She needed them as allies. "General Harmein is doomed, there's no way he can fight against this army and win, reinforcements or no." She could feel the blood trickling out of her shoulder and down her armor, the shoulder felt like it was on fire, but she paid it no mind. "We're retreating. We will find Est, and then retreat."

* * *

><p>Est tried charging forward, on foot. Abel felt a little sorry for her as she advanced on him. While her skills on her Pegasus had left something to be desired, she clearly had no idea what she was doing on foot. Pegasus Knights and Dracoknights normally had some manner of on-foot expertise, in the case of a situation like this, but the girl obviously had received no such training. She was clearly fighting out of a desperate attempt to stay alive. Her strikes, desperate and unwieldy, a simple squire could parry without even trying.<p>

With almost no effort, Abel moved forward and ended the fight. His sword cut into Est's shoulder, she made a sound almost like a squeak before dropping her lance and falling down.

She was still conscious, but the battle was obviously over. Abel dismounted and approached her. She stood up in a panic, flailing her arms around madly as Abel reached a hand out to her.

"Cool it." Abel said, grabbing her by the wrist of one arm. "Just calm down, and no one dies." Est looked at him, and the sympathetic little glimmer in his eyes, and settled down slightly. Abel moved his hand to her shoulder and pushed on it slightly. Est made a small yelp at the pain as Abel sighed. "Nothing life threatening, but it would be better if you got this bandaged."

"Um…" Est didn't relax as Abel took his hand off her shoulder. "Have… I been captured?"

Abel paused, seeing the innocent and worried look in her eyes and shook his head. "If I were out to capture you, you'd be out cold right now." He reached out and grabbed a bag on the side of his horse and took a bandage out. "Consider yourself lucky, I wouldn't feel comfortable killing someone who is both so inept at fighting and so innocent looking at the same time."

Est's cheeks grew hot with offense at being called 'inept at fighting', but then wasn't sure what to think about being called innocent looking. Her cheeks grew hot again, this time with an unknown emotion, as Abel began to place the bandage to her shoulder.

There was a small frown on Abel's inside. Tending the wound of a enemy soldier, and making no plans to capture that enemy was beyond idiotic. Still, he couldn't explain it, he just… had a feeling about this girl. Helping her would amount to _something_, he believed. She struck him as naïve, and not really belonging to the other side. As he placed the bandage on the slashed shoulder he looked at her face again, and it occurred to him, this was a rather attractive girl. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment, and then he blinked, immediately ridding his head of the thought. She was a Dolhr Alliance soldier. If she was an ally, he might of dwelled further on the thought.

The idea of asking her to defect didn't cross his mind, instead, after applying the bandage, he simply stood up and took a step back. Est took the chance to stand up herself, not taking her eyes off him.

"Uh… t-thank you." Est nodded, almost falling into a respectful bow, not realizing his small moment of attraction to her. Her hand went up and touched her shoulder, she felt a small pain shoot through her, but knew that it could have been worse. She glanced around, noticing the torch Harmein had given her, she decided that she'd simply say that she had lost it in battle. "My… sisters will start to worry if I don't return. You… um, will let me go, right?"

Abel shrugged. "Go on." He said, then he continued "-but, if you're still a Dolhr Alliance soldier the next time we meet, I can't make any promises about how it'll go."

"Of… of course." Est took a step back, her Pegasus was waiting, it seemed to want Est to get on, she quickly climbed on the saddle. With any luck, the next time she met this man, they'd wind up being allies. "Um, before I go, what's your name?" She paused, awkwardly waiting for him to answer.

He didn't seem to notice a small fluster to her face. "Abel. Of Altea. Do _not_ say 'New Dolhr'." He spoke with a new sharpness of voice.

"I… of course I wouldn't call it that." Est was repulsed herself by the name. It always just struck her as a petty, pointlessly spiteful thing that Dolhr had done. She was taken aback by the sudden threatening tone, but understood why Abel was so frustrated. "I'm Est, a Whitewing. I… hope we're not enemies the next time we meet."

She started to soar into the air and took off. Abel watched her go, wondering if he had made a mistake, or if he had made the right decision. As he noticed that Est was no longer in sight, he decided that it was too late to go back on his decision if he wanted to. He found the girl's cute face somehow lingering in his head, but quickly ridded himself of the picture, it was time he went to the village that Roshea and Gordin had gone to.

* * *

><p>The village elder was sitting down with Roshea and Gordin in his house. He took in the stories the two were telling. Smiling at the news of Aurelis' liberation and growing hopeful for the future when he learned of Aurelis and Altea's alliance. Coyote did not feel the need to keep Nyna's presence a secret anymore, and Roshea flatly told the elder about Archanea's princess.<p>

"The Archanean League, hmm." The elder seemed to think for a moment. "Perhaps there is someone you should meet." He stood up, walked to the door of the room and stepped out, motioning to someone outside, then came back to Roshea and Gordin, both wearing confused expressions. "Please don't be alarmed by what you see."

The door opened, and a hooded figure came in. The elder stood up, offering the figure a chance to sit down. "This is Bantu, don't be surprised, but he's been traveling the continent by himself."

Bantu nodded. Gordin and Roshea seemed surprised that a man so old could travel alone in this day and age. Bantu spoke up, "I used to travel with someone but… we were separated some time ago. I've been trying to find her ever since."

Roshea raised an eyebrow. "Someone close to you?"

"I am her guardian. Yet I haven't found the slightest clue to her whereabouts." He dipped his head down, looking as though he was sulking, then he looked straight at Roshea and Gordin. "Have you found a girl, she would look like a young girl, by the name of Tiki?"

"Tiki?" Gordin paused, thinking about all that he had been through ever since leaving Talys. "No, I haven't."

"Neither have I." Roshea added, "-and if I don't know where she is, she's probably not in Aurelis."

"She must be found!" He said in a surprisingly stern and forceful voice, almost standing up. Roshea and Gordin both leaned back slightly in surprise. "Tiki… Tiki is the daughter of Naga. Tiki is the last survivor of the Divine Dragon Clan. She must be found, if Dolhr gets her hands on her, then-"

"Divine… Dragon? Naga?" Roshea's eyes widened at what Bantu was speaking about. "Wait, wait, the same Naga who made Falchion, and-"

"-the Fire Emblem." Bantu finished for Roshea. "Yes, the very same. Tiki must not become a victim of Medeus' wrath. The end of the Divine Dragon Clan would be… unthinkable, and Tiki, Tiki should not, _must_ not, be made to face the horror of the wrath of the Shadow Dragon."

"Wait…" Roshea paused, reviewing the facts. Bantu knew this Tiki, had been traveling with her, the last… Divine Dragon. He noted Bantu's hooded robe and his face, he looked to be at least a century and a half old. "Are… are you…?"

Bantu looked at Roshea's obvious expression and sighed. "Yes, I am a Manakete, but it is only a title for me. Nothing more." He extended a wrinkled, decrepit hand, he moved the fingers, looking as if he was trying to grasp at something. "I lost my Firestone long ago. Without it, I cannot transform."

"Firestone…" Roshea said, he and Gordin exchanged a glance. Under any other circumstance, they might have shared a smirk as if they were on the inside of some clever joke, but instead they offered each other uncomfortable looks. After a moment, the two seemed to come to some wordless agreement. Somehow, the two wanted to help Bantu, Manakete or no.

"Bantu…" Roshea paused, looking reluctant for a moment. "I hope I don't regret doing this, but-" he revealed a red stone, pulsing with energy. Roshea shuddered as the energy inside the red rock moved through him, but nonetheless extended his arm. Bantu's eyes widened in shock.

"Th…that-"

"Some Aurelians found it. A Sage in the League told us it was a Dragonstone." Roshea recalled Sage Wendell's words.

_Just… try to ensure that one of the Manaketes never get their hands on that._

Only immediately after meeting Bantu, he wondered if letting a Manakete get this Dragonstone would be such a travesty. Bantu did not strike him as evil or cruel. He seemed to have the elder's respect and trust, and the elder didn't seem to have been threatened or intimidated. "I hope I don't regret this, but-" he extended his hand, Bantu reached his own hand out and curled his fingers around the Dragonstone. The stone seemed to start to glow, just slightly, as Bantu took it away from Roshea.

"I thank you." Bantu examined the stone. He felt energy going out of the stone and pulsing into him, the feeling would be disconcerting to humans, but to Bantu, the feeling was as natural as breathing. It was actually a sort of rush, filling him with vigor and strength. He had always felt somewhat unbalanced without a Firestone's familiar energy coursing through him. He put the stone away in his robe and gave his attention to Gordin and Roshea. "The Archanean League will be doing much traveling, yes?"

Gordin nodded, though unsure what Bantu was getting at.

"Allow me to go with you. I may find Tiki, and… I should do something for you, seeing as you've allowed me the chance to finally escape the Valley."

* * *

><p>Harmein watched the battle from the distance. The enemy was slowly pushing to the command fort. He could see prince Marth and prince Hardin clearly at this point. He smirked, ready to unleash his reinforcements. He took amusement in the fact that Minerva and two of the Whitewings were likely dead by now. Having no interest in putting up with the rebellious soldiers, having read the reports about their behavior, he saw killing them off as the smartest move. Besides, they were Macedonians. Their… kind, may have had a certain small talent, but they were completely and utterly inferior to Grustians. Now they were probably gone, and by now the only living Whitewing had set fire to the village. Thanks to the circulating wind, the smell of burning flesh would go across the entire valley. That eyesore of a village would be gone, and the rebels would be horrified by the smell of burnt flesh, and would not concentrate fully on the battle. He was taking care of three problems all at once.<p>

He looked in the direction of the village, noticing Est rising up and departing. A smile crept onto his face, the flames would be visible in a moment. True, there was a Whitewing still alive, but a justification for execution could probably be made easily and-

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Dracoknight and two Pegasus Knights fleeing the battle. He centered his vision on them, there was no… there was absolutely no denying who it was.

"No…" he breathed, he looked back at the village. There were no flames rising, Est had not used the torch he had given her. He reached a hand out in the direction of Minerva, clenching his hand into a fist shaking with anger. "You Macedonian wenches, you… you won't get away with this."

Harmein turned to a nearby Grustian soldier. "Send a missive immediately. The princess' disobedience must be made known."

The soldier nodded. "Shall I send the missive straight to Castle Deil?"

"I want her to personally suffer for this… complete lack of obedience." Harmein said through clenched teeth. "Send the missive straight to Dolhr. Let _them_ handle the princess. It will take some time for the missive to reach Dolhr. Time I can use to head to Dolhr after I achieve victory today. I want to be there the whole time… watching as princess Minerva and her fawning little soldiers understand what being tortured by the Manaketes is like."

* * *

><p>Minerva soared through the valley's sky, followed by Palla and Catria. Her shoulder was still bleeding from the Aurelian's arrow, but she felt little pain. She had heard that other Aurelian identify the man as 'Wolf'. She knew that an Aurelian elite wouldn't be a foolish body to throw at the enemy, but she was surprised at the fact that she had actually been rather outmatched by Wolf and his ally.<p>

She grew embarrassed, not only by her performance against them, but also in the fact that she had forgotten that she must not kill any of them if she could help it. Marth's army… Palla had told her that Wolf identified the army as the 'Archanean League'. Any doubts she had had about their skill in battle had been quelled. Now, she had to find some way to get into contact with them…

"Commander." Palla spoke up, she was looking to the side, her voice was surprisingly elated sounding after what they had gone through. "Est is coming."

Minerva looked over her shoulder to see the youngest of the Whitewings coming up, forming the rear of their formation.

Catria slowed down a little to get beside Est. "Est, how did it-"

"I… did not set fire to the village. Prince Marth's army was already there." She said, looking back, "I ended up getting into a fight with one of them, but, well…"

"You… you're okay, right?" Palla slowed down herself, looking Est over. Then she noticed a bandage on Est's shoulder, a bit of it was stained red, red with blood that Palla instantly knew was Est's own. "Where did this come from? Who did this?" she spoke sternly, a twinge of anger in it.

"Oh, well, one of prince Marth's soldiers managed to slice my shoulder but… he decided to put a bandage on the wound and let me go." She didn't mention Abel's name specifically. She wondered if sparing Est would be enough to spare Abel from Palla and Catria's wrath. "He said that he didn't want to kill me, saying that I looked too innocent to be part of the Dolhr Alliance, and… he said that I was a little inept in battle."

Palla looked at the bandage, but eventually relaxed and smiled. "I suppose I owe him for sparing you." She placed a hand on Est's unwounded shoulder. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"If you'd actually train me more, this near-death experience could have been avoided, you know." Est said indignantly. She had been placed on the Whitewings when she first enlisted, but Palla and Catria had never taught her anything more then the basics. They also tried to keep her from anything even remotely dangerous in a battle, they weren't giving Est a chance to actually grow as a soldier. Had she been seriously trained, she could have been spared the unnecessary scare. Her status as an 'elite' Macedonian soldier was credit more to family connection then anything else. "I can't become much of a soldier if you two keep-"

"Enough of that for now." Minerva said, "We're retreating from the battle. Harmein has no chance of victory against the Archanean League. We must try to find a way to get into contact with them sometime afterwards."

"How do we know if they'll listen to us, commander?" Catria asked, bringing a hand up to her neck, the one that Wolf had almost slit with his sword. "After all, one way or the other, we all fought them today."

"We'll just explain our situation." Est said optimistically, "If that guy was willing to let me go, I'm sure the others will listen."

Minerva said nothing. Things had gone as well as could be reasonably expected so far. Now it was just a matter of hoping… hoping that the Archanean League would be patient with them.

* * *

><p>"A Manakete?" Abel stared at Bantu in shock. "…that isn't loyal to the Shadow Dragon?" He looked at Bantu's face, a face that made Sage Wendell look young. Bantu seemed sincere looking, Abel felt heavy conflict tearing at him. A part of him wanted to be repulsed, it was the Manaketes who had put the continent into its current state, but Bantu didn't seem… like the sort of person he figured a Manakete would be.<p>

"Medeus…" There was a flash of honest disgust on Bantu's face. "Manaketes with my philosophy are almost non-existent, but I _scorn_ Medeus' rule. I wish nothing more then for it to end, but I haven't the power to do that myself."

Roshea and Gordin both had a particular expression on their face, Abel understood that they were willing to trust Bantu. Abel found himself sharing the sentiment, but his decision was somewhat forced.

"We need to let the rest of the army know that a Manakete, a _good_ Manakete, is here." Abel said, he looked at the village. "I know we were here for the purpose of guarding the village, but under the current circumstances, it might be better to rendezvous with the rest of the army."

"Right." Roshea agreed, a big part of him anxious to be fighting again. The swordsmen guarding the village hadn't satisfied his urge to fight Aurelis' enemies. "Let's get moving immediately, then."

* * *

><p>Grust's command fort had been reached. The battle was, in the practical sense, already over. All that was left was Grust's field commander. Victory belonged to the League already.<p>

Caeda was not so sure. She had been developing an uneasy feeling over the past few minutes. Her mind kept reflecting back to the last nightmare she had about Marth. In a valley, where a wave of reinforcements appear and surround Marth, claiming his life. She looked at the smaller forts surrounding Grust's main command fort and grew more uneasy and more uncomfortable. Her first dream had almost come true… whose to say what would happen this time? Her unique Wing Spear, coated with Grust blood despite having been clean before this battle, was held tentatively in her hand.

As she carefully watched Marth from above, half an eye was focused on the multitude of forts. They were motionless, no sign of activity. They were pushing closer to the command fort, and there was still no sign of any activity from those forts. Caeda began to wonder if the dream she had right before they had met the Aurelians was just that. A dream.

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to a Grustian who had exited the command fort. His high-quality armor, his silver lance, the arrogant way he stood, he was clearly the enemy commander.

The man raised a hand up above him, Caeda wanted to move forward and immediately kill him before he could do something to put Marth in jeopardy, but stayed in formation. After a second, he thrust his arm forward. There was silence for a moment, then a sound almost like rumbling. The forts surrounding the League, almost forming a circle around them, suddenly had activity inside them. The doors opened, and soldiers, legions and legions of cavaliers, poured out.

Caeda's eyes widened. Reinforcements, swarming across the valley, heading for the League. They were surrounded. Just like… just like…

"Defense!" Hardin cried, Marth made a similar order, and the League made a circular formation, keeping the likes of Merric and Castor behind soldiers like Draug and Vyland. The Grust soldiers charged and pushed, probing for a weak spot in the League's defense, the smallest opening might be the end of the rebellion. Grust's cavaliers met the outer defense of the League with weapons ready. Many Grust soldiers failed to find an exploitable gap in the League's defense, and wound up on the end of a lance or sword.

Perhaps Harmein would have smiled as his soldiers clamped down on the League. Instead, his frustrated thoughts centered on Minerva. The woman had dared to defy his direct orders and flee the battle. Had she of stayed and fought, the League would likely had had much fewer numbers at this point. He had no respect for the woman or the Whitewings, but he had read reports on their skill, this likely would have been easier and quicker if she had not disobeyed his orders.

"Their numbers our finite!" Hardin yelled, "Hold your defense, they will be defeated in time!" The League soldiers reaffirmed themselves and let the Grustians come to them. The Grust soldiers pushed, poked, and prodded, no weakness in the defense line was found. Grustian corpses piled up as they searched for an opening…

"It is futile. Your defense will not last." Harmein taunted over the cacophony of battle. "You may kill my soldiers en mass, but you will buckle in time, your foolish rebellion ends today, so soon after it started to gain momentum."

Harmein's words failed to shake the League, and they continued their defense. Harmein felt a moment of concern as he noticed that his soldiers were half depleted in number.

No, he shook his head. Defeat was not possible. The rebels were surrounded. Nothing would save them. Harmein's tactics had proved the better, even with Macedon's princess complicating the situation.

A Grustian moved forward, managing to force his sword past Draug's defense, and succeeding in slicing open the hip of a League soldier. It was Norne. The archer made a painful shriek, Athena immediately killed the man who had wounded Norne. Harmein smiled as several of the rebels desisted from their defense and turned to focus on Norne's sudden and grave injury.

It might have been the turning point of the battle, but then Harmein's eyes caught the sight of movement, four individuals were coming down to the battle. Two mounted on horses, two on foot. He gritted his teeth at the realization that rebel reinforcements were coming.

Grustian soldiers were suddenly struck from behind, a hole was plowed into the Grust offensive.

"Abel?" Marth's eyes widened in recognition. At first he smiled at their interference turning things in the League's favor, then he grew confused at the man's presence. "Wait, you were ordered to stay and guard-"

"I'm sorry, prince Marth." Abel said, taking a moment from the battle to speak to the prince. "Circumstances… forced me to come here." Abel killed a series of Grustians as Roshea moved forward enthusiastically. Vyland raised an eyebrow at Roshea's appearance, and perhaps felt somewhat awkward that his little brother in spirit was riding in as if he was some heroic rescuer. Nevertheless, Vyland and the rest of the League took advantage of Grust's confusion and completely broke Grust's circle around them. Harmein's soldiers were now not so much surrounding the League as being a wall between Marth and Harmein.

Gordin shot an arrow, killing a horse right out from under its rider. Then he turned to the rest of the League, looking for a certain someone. He saw her in an instant… with Athena and Castor trying to tend to a wound of hers.

_Norne…_ Gordin ran ahead, uncaring as to any injury he might receive. He had… he had to get to her. He rushed to her side and kneeled down. "Norne, Norne!"

Athena and Castor rose to continue fighting as Gordin came to Norne. Norne was conscious, but clearly in heavy pain. Her eyes moved to Gordin and brightened with relief. "Gordin, you're… you're okay." She tried to stand up, but didn't quite succeed. As she got to her knees, she fell forward. Gordin grabbed her before she managed to fall face first onto the ground.

"Norne, how… how bad does it-"

Norne suddenly wrapped one arm around Gordin. She seemed to be hanging onto Gordin more then anything else. "I was… so worried, you were… away from me, and-"

"You… were in the more dangerous part of the valley, Norne." Gordin said, putting his hands on her shoulders. He noticed her hip, and the blood pouring from it. She wouldn't have been wounded like that if he had been there… he, he knew he would have spotted and shot whoever would have tried to hurt her. The blood was coming out of her in a steady, heavy stream, he felt a bit of panic. He turned his head, "L-Lena, Wrys! Someone, Norne needs help!"

"Calm down, Gordin." Wendell appeared. The elderly Sage unleashed Thunder on a trio of Grustians who had been closing in on the two archers. "Lena and Wrys are busy on the front lines."

"B-but… Norne needs-"

"Peace, Gordin." He gave his most calming smile. It seemed to irritate Gordin more then anything else as he was faced with the prospect of Norne bleeding to death. "Those two aren't the only staff users in this army. I can handle this." To Gordin's surprise, Wendell revealed a Heal Staff. He held it above Norne and began to chant…

* * *

><p>"What are these circumstances?" Marth asked Abel. The Grust soldiers had become a wall, and were holding firm. It was not the tactic Grust had been planning to win with, but the League was still having some trouble punching a hole in their defense.<p>

"An ally, in the village." Abel pointed at the hooded man who had come with him, Roshea, and Gordin. "He wanted to fight with us, we had to bring him with us."

Marth turned to the figure Abel had brought with him. It would have to be someone very noteworthy to justify disregarding orders like this. The ally was an elderly looking man hidden under a hooded robe. "A Sage? You found a Sage?"

"No, prince, we found-"

Bantu looked at the line of Grust soldiers and sighed. He took the Firestone out of his robe, holding it firmly in both hands. The power pulsed into him, he concentrated on the energy, willing the energy to not just pulse, but to explode into him. The Firestone flashed bright, both the League soldiers and the Grustians all paused for a moment to stare in confusion at the blinding light that had appeared.

In a moment, the light vanished. In its place, where Bantu once stood, was a huge, hulking, scaly lizard.

A dragon. It looked straight at both armies with its inhuman face, its blood red eyes scanned around. League soldiers and Grustians both stood shocked to see that a transformed Manakete was in their midst.

Harmein stood in shock. "A Manakete? From… Dolhr?" He stared open-mouthed, unsure of how to respond. Was victory attained? Would the Manakete strike down the rebels? Or has this Manakete grown irritated with the continued progress of the rebels? Would Harmein join the rebels in death?

The dragon's next action would tear Harmein from the grasp of confusion and send him deep into the grip of terror. Bantu lumbered forward in his draconic form. Raising his head, he felt the heat of his breath burning inside his mouth. He lurched his head forward, lowering it to the ground, opening his mouth and releasing a solid stream of draconic fire at the Grustians. In seconds, burnt, scarred corpses were scattered across the scorched dirt that had once been grass. The sort of carnage that no Fire tome could have achieved.

"No… n-no!" Harmein backed away in fear as Bantu examined the piles of burnt, limp bodies strewn around his field of vision. "A-all Manaketes are l-loyal to Medeus! I… I was appointed to this fort by Medeus personally!" He looked at Bantu, and fell to one knee. "D-Dolhrian dragon. Your servant begs-"

Bantu paid no heed to Harmein's words. Volcanic saliva dripped from his draconic mouth at he turned to the Grustian general, seeming somehow repulsed to have been called a Dolhrian. He took a deep breath, and unleashed his flame once more. Harmein gasped at the wave of fire coming at him. His last thought was how he had wished to see Minerva suffer in agony… and then he and his clean armor were ash in the process of settling on the ground.

The dragon turned to the League. Roshea gulped, hoping he had not made a mistake in giving Bantu the Firestone. The dragon was motionless for a moment, but then light began to beam out of the scales. Roshea relaxed as the dragon erupted into light, and he saw that Bantu had returned to his human form.

"A… a Manakete?" Marth approached Bantu cautiously. Jagen and Hardin followed him. They all held their weapons firmly, just in case he might choose to attack them.

Sedgar and Cain began to move forward, perhaps planning to kill Bantu, but Wolf stretched his arm out, blocking both of them. "Let our commanders decide what to do."

"A Manakete… who strikes at a servant of Dolhr?" Hardin looked over Bantu. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I do not serve Medeus." He said, "My name is Bantu. I… have no affiliation with Dolhr."

Hardin looked at Bantu hard. He did not see any trace of deceit in the Manakete's eyes, but he had little familiarity with Manaketes. "How do we know that for certain? I imagine a Dolhr Manakete would throw away the lives of a thousand servants to get a chance to strike at Medeus' enemies."

Bantu looked at Hardin. "Your suspicion is understandable, almost all Manaketes are of Dolhr, and those Manaketes are schemers who have nothing in the way of virtue or integrity." He took in a deep breath, knowing what he had to do. He had to place himself at their mercy. "This is the only thing I can do to convince you of my goodwill." He stretched an arm out, holding the Firestone in his hand, and then dropped it, letting it fall upon the ground.

"What-" Marth looked at the perfectly round red stone rolling across the burnt grass and bumping into his foot.

"I am now defenseless." Bantu said, his eyes fell from Marth and Hardin's faces and to the stone. "I mean no ill to humans as a race. I am… different from the Dolhrian Manaketes."

Marth looked at Bantu, a conflict brewing in his head, and then he sighed. Stooping down, he picked up the Firestone and slowly handed it back to Bantu. "You oppose Dolhr, do you mean to fight with us?"

"I'm looking for someone. Someone I was separated from some time ago." Bantu held the returned Firestone for a moment, then hid it in his robe. "The Archanean League will be traveling all across the continent to battle Dolhr. You will be my best chance to find her. Please…"

Marth turned to Hardin. He sensed approval from the Aurelian prince. Turning back to Bantu, Marth nodded. "You can come with us, then."

Bantu nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

><p>The League moved into the fort that the Grust general had been using. It was too small to properly accommodate the entire army, but it would be their bed tonight.<p>

Princess Nyna seemed somehow comfortable here. The fort was once commandeered by Archanean forces, this was her first taste of Archanea architecture since the day she escaped to Aurelis. The princess sat down in a chair and dipped her head down. The interior of the fort was small and cramped, almost like a prison cell.

A prison cell, the place she had been in when she first met… a certain someone. She should have shaken her head of the resurgent memory, but instead clung to it. She closed her eyes and saw the vision of a man, such an endearing presence, he was calm, caring, sensitive to another's emotions, merciful… she wanted to stay in this daydream.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a groaning sound. She blinked, reluctantly letting go of the haze of memories, and saw Caeda leaning against a wall. The Talysian princess had a hand raised to her temple, looking as through she was suffering from a severe headache.

"Caeda?" Nyna took a step forward. "Is something wrong?"

Caeda seemed to just slightly jump before turning to Nyna, "Oh, um, n-no, nothing's wrong." She made a forced, fake laugh that Nyna easily saw through.

"I can tell that something is wrong." Nyna said, moving forward until she and Caeda were only about a foot from each other. "What is the matter? There is something concerning you."

"What?" Caeda began to look very uncomfortable, glancing away and not looking Nyna in the eye. "Nothing's wrong, I'm just fine. We won today, what would I have to be miserable about?"

Nyna frowned. "No, something's the matter. You should tell me. I'm… very tactful, if it's something you want to keep secret, I'll keep it a secret."

Caeda stared at Nyna with an unguarded expression, then sighed. "Okay…" she brushed a hand through her blue hair, starting slowly. "Ever since we… left Talys, I've has two nightmares. Marth died in both of them, and… both of them almost came true. I first dreamt that Marth would get killed by an attack from behind by a soldier on a horse, he was almost taken by a mounted Macedonian from behind when we first reached Aurelis. Then I dreamt that he would get surrounded and killed in a valley, you saw how we were surrounded today, and how it looked pretty bad for a few minutes…"

Nyna patiently listened. Caeda wondered if Nyna would dismiss her dreams as simple reflections of her worries for Marth. That the similarities between her dreams and the real incidents was wholly coincidental. Nyna began to speak after Caeda finished. "It… well…" she seemed to be unsure as to what to say, "It would be premature to assume anything right now, but, it does sound like you're seeing omens. Premonitions."

"Yes…" Caeda said, relieved that Nyna didn't just dismiss what Caeda was seeing at night. "I guess."

"I have a recurring nightmare." Nyna said suddenly, turning to look away. "Every couple of nights, I see the same thing in my dreams."

"What?" Caeda let her curiosity dictate her words. "You have… nightmares about something too?"

Nyna tossed and turned her thoughts over in her head, then turned back to Caeda. "Sometimes I have this dream. There's this man, he's the most noble person I've ever met, but he's been fighting for the wrong side. I try to save him, but… no matter what I do, he ends up dying."

Caeda blinked, unsure of what she could say. Nyna shook her head.

"Wait…" A thought struck Caeda, "This man, do you… feel something for him?"

"I…!" Nyna looked shocked for a moment, but quickly regained her composure before her face could give any secrets away. "Pay no mind to my dream. I'm… sure it's nothing." It was a lie, she knew _full well_ who the man in her dreams was. Yet, the man, he was… no, she shook her head, no one in the League should know who the man was.

Caeda raised an eyebrow. "Maybe its Hardin?"

"Hardin…" Nyna sighed, looking more indifferent then shocked this time. "Hardin is one of the most valiant and selfless men I've ever known, but he isn't the man in my dream. He isn't the focus of any feelings of mine." She took a deep breath, there was a change in Caeda' face, and Nyna was happy to see that the Talys princess now seemed content to drop the subject. Nyna returned to Caeda's dreams. "If… you have another nightmare about Marth dying, please come to me, Caeda. Maybe I can advise Marth or Hardin to move their troops in a way that would put your heart at ease."

The Talys princess looked at the Archanean princess, then a small, easy smile crept onto her face. "Thank you. If I have another nightmare, I'll tell you all about it."

* * *

><p>Gordin sat in one of the fort's halls, breathing a sigh of relief that Norne had ended up just fine at the end of the battle. He turned to Norne, who was sitting by him, she had spent most of the battle worrying about him, ignoring the fact that he had the much easier task in the battle.<p>

Athena had tried to watch Norne's back during the battle. It was evident that she had failed, Gordin made have grown uncharacteristically angry with Athena, had he not been so relieved that Norne didn't die. Had Norne died, and he be robbed of the… strange comfort she gave him, he wasn't sure what he would have done. He would have never forgiven Athena, along with anyone else who would have been in a position to save her, at least.

After she was safe and healthy again, he had given Norne's arrow back to her. She had seemed touched that Gordin remembered to return it.

He wasn't sure if he could accept being forcibly separated from Norne again, even by official orders. Especially if it meant Norne would go to the more dangerous part of the battle. He was certain that Norne would not have been injured like that if he had been there. He was also certain that Roshea and Abel likely could have handled their operation without him. It had just been those swordsmen and that one Pegasus Knight, Abel's concern for other reinforcements proved to be unfounded.

Norne's hand reached out and grabbed Gordin's. She turned to look at him, "Partners again, Gordin?"

Had she not of spoken, he likely would have not said anything to her tonight. He was more content with just her safety and company. "Of… of course, Norne." Gordin said, letting his fingers curl around Norne's hand. "We're partners. We won't be separated on the battlefield again."

* * *

><p>Malledus was looking over papers, letters, and reports that the late Grust general had possessed before he died. Most of the information was unhelpful, simple records of information that were out of date at this point. The rest of what he found were documents authored by the general, filled with self-glorification and his expectations for the glory he would someday receive. He found nothing of relevant use, and ended up putting most of it away.<p>

The door to the room Malledus was in creaked open, the tactician raised his head to see Marth, Hardin, and Bantu walk in. He looked at the three, apparently discussing something. Malledus took note of Bantu and moved to Marth.

"Prince Marth." Malledus said, "Forgive me for interrupting your conversation, but there's something I… wish to talk about with you three."

Bantu raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Marth nodded, letting Malledus speak.

"I was hoping we could speak in regards to Manaketes. I…" he looked at Bantu for a moment. Bantu wondered if he had gained Malledus' trust yet. Many of the League soldiers looked at the Manakete disapprovingly, but Bantu had yet to do something unsightly or unbecoming.

"I wasn't sure how much you knew about them." Malledus took a deep breath, preparing to speak at length. "Once, in antiquity, the Manaketes were the rulers of the world. They lived with humans, but seldom had any contact with them, they had their true form sealed inside their Dragonstones, and were content to live apart from humans. For eons, this went unchanged." Malledus' tone deepened as he continued. "Then… something changed, relations between the humans and the Manaketes soured. There were… raids, attacks, mass unprovoked slaughter, eventually, Medeus rose to power, declaring humans an inferior species, he led the Manaketes to war with the humans. Before anyone even understood what was happening, humanity by the large had become slaves to the newborn Dolhr Empire."

Malledus closed his eyes. He imagined that his vision of life under Manakete rule was a cheerful picture compared to the reality. "It seemed that humanity was doomed to live under the Manakete's heel. Then, in that darkest hour, a peasant-born man named Anri appeared, wielding a sword given to him by Naga, the Divine Dragon King, he slew Medeus. Anri went on to found Altea." He looked at Marth, the living proof of Anri's struggle. "The rest of this tale, I'm sure you know."

Marth looked at Malledus with a slightly irritated but good-natured expression. "Yes, Malledus, I know all this. I would think I'd be familiar with my own nation's history." He closed his eyes, "Anri is my ancestor. Only the men of my lineage are worthy of wielding Falchion, the Divine Blade. It is my destiny to defeat Medeus, and it is a destiny I happily embrace."

He turned to Bantu. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that the ones that had given Falchion to Altea were Manaketes. Ones of the Divine Clan, not of the Earth Clan or any other Clan, but still…

"Bantu." Marth addressed the Manakete. Bantu turned to him. "Are there any Manaketes that share your philosophy? They'd choose to fight against Dolhr? If there are, I would seek them out."

"I… do not believe so, prince Marth. There are few Manaketes left who would choose to heed Naga rather then Medeus. The Divine Dragon Clan has no real power anymore, their Divinestones were exhausted of their power in the ancient war, they were locked in their human form, and many were killed by Dolhr. If any Divine Dragon Clan survivors from that era exist, they would not easily admit their true nature."

"And, the person you're looking for?" Hardin asked, "Isn't that person a Divine Dragon?"

"Yes." Bantu said, "She… is Naga's own daughter. The princess of the Clan. She had been put to sleep shortly after her birth, for her own protection. She holds the last Divinestone with power in it, all others have since become withered husks. I traveled with her for a time, but, we were separated. She must be found. I cannot let failings of my own result in her death."

"Her protection must mean a lot to you." Marth said, wondering what a dragon princess would act like. "What kind of person is she?"

Bantu closed his eyes, his thoughts wandered to the days of travel with Tiki. "Let me tell you…"

* * *

><p><strong>From the get go, I didn't want Minerva and the Whitewings to just watch the League for a while and then just leave. I wanted them to fight (and be defeated by) the League. The question as to who would fight and defeat them changed a few times. It was originally going to be a sort of Altea vs. Macedon affair, with Marth and his three cavalierpaladin knights fighting them in four different one-on-one battles. Then there was the idea of Caeda defeating Minerva, there were a lot of ideas I went through before it became Wolf and Sedgar and Abel fighting them.**

**Though, this is a fine example of my writing spiraling out of my own control. It was supposed to be Wolf and Sedgar both against Palla and Catria, and the Whitewings would get a few hits in before they got defeated. Instead Wolf takes them both on, completely dominates the battle, and the Whitewings didn't even get a word in otherwise. Again with Minerva, my mental draft involved her managing to badly wound Sedgar before Wolf forced her into a retreat, in the actual writing she completely loses control of the situation after coming fairly close to hitting Wolf once.**

**Est losing badly to Abel was always intended. Referencing the whole Est archtype. The reason as to why Abel was the one to fight Est should be obvious.**

**Fear not, Minerva and the Whitewings will redeem themselves and actually win fights in the future. Possibly. There's only a few plot points that I carefully think out ahead of time.**

**Please review.**


	17. Port Warren

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>Minerva was surprised to find herself in the Archanean Palace. She never expected she would be here, nor ever felt the urge to come. If she had ever desired to come here, it would be for the sake of slaughtering the Dolhrians that held the palace. She was not Archanean, but she did not feel that Dolhrians should ever enter a structure designated as 'holy'.<p>

She was in one of the palace's many cells, lit by torches. Many of the other cells, she presumed, were filled with Archanean knights. The cell was a surprisingly dank place for the otherwise holy structure. The dark stonework contrasted with the well polished marble elsewhere in the palace. The stench in the rancid room implied that it had been the resting place of a multitude of corpses for a time, she wrinkled her nose but didn't say anything. One would assume that the almost dilapidated state of the cell was less Archanean's handiwork and more Dolhr's. The condition of the cell was almost reflective at how Dolhr's influence would make a nation as unshakable as Archanea fall into ruin.

Minerva cursed a miscalculation of her own making. General Harmein had seen her as she and the Whitewings left the Lefcandith Valley. He had alerted Dolhr to her abandonment of a battle that could have stopped a new, powerful rebel army dead in its tracks. She had been foolish to leave prior to Harmein's defeat. Now, she was paying for it.

That was fine. Dolhr wanted her around to fight for them just a little longer. As long as they weren't taking their frustrations with her out on Maria, she had gotten off easy.

She allowed herself a quick, bitter smirk at the fact that Harmein wouldn't be here to enjoy the torture. He was dead at this point. Doubtless this was something he would have enjoyed seeing.

Perhaps he was watching. From below.

The only thing that troubled her about the situation was that… the Whitewings were also going to become victims of torture. Minerva was fine with her own pain, the Manaketes were fools if they thought that simple brutality would make her obedient. Yet… she was having trouble stomaching the fact that her actions would result in the Whitewings going through unfathomable pain themselves.

The punishment hadn't started yet. She and the Whitewings, securely chained up, were waiting for the session to begin. It was a wait that Minerva suspected was being purposely stretched out to make the four of them anxious. Minerva turned to the Whitewings, she could only turn her head to them, most of her body was securely restrained. Est seemed frightened, understandable. Catria looked angrily defiant, while Palla appeared to be concerned, more concerned for the others then for herself. Minerva found that she could only fault herself for putting the three in this situation.

The door suddenly opened. She expected a Manakete to walk in. Who else would oversee the torture of the soldiers who repeatedly defied Dolhr other then the Manaketes, whose cruelty was legendary?

It was not a Manakete that walked in through the cell door. Minerva blinked, taking a moment to recognize the figure clothed in a robe for the magically inclined. It was… the Dark Pontifex of Khadein.

"Macedon's lovely, defiant princess." Gharnef chuckled. Minerva was repulsed at the man's presence, and slightly confused as to why he was here in Archanea. The man approached her, his grotesque face wore a face of amusement at what he saw. "Surely you know that defying orders will result in this, I can only conclude that it is what you desire. Whatever your reasons for doing so, it is a rather poor choice of a hobby." He reached a hand out, almost looking like he was going to stroke her face with his degraded fingers. Minerva immediately backed into the wall, pulling away from the hand. Gharnef grinned at how the mere thought of touching him repulsed her.

Anger bubbled in Catria's throat as Gharnef came close to the commander. Palla looked at her younger sister with a worried expression. Though she shared Catria's sentiment, snapping at someone like the Dark Pontifex would do them no good in their position.

"Did you come simply to mock me?" Minerva asked with a very light hint of sarcasm in her voice, still backing up into the wall. "I might question the worth of your own hobbies."

Gharnef stopped chuckling, but he was still smiling with his rotting, lipless mouth. "No, my intentions are not just to belittle your situation. I came to offer you a deal."

"Get away from the commander." Catria suddenly hissed, Gharnef's didn't even turn to her as the Whitewing began to talk. "She doesn't need you in her face, and she won't accept any offers you-"

"Catria." Palla said sharply, "Our input is not necessary. Don't put us in an even worse situation." She was glaring at Gharnef with the same aggravated expression that Catria had, but was not letting her emotions dictate her words. Palla swallowed, hoping that Gharnef wouldn't try to torment Catria for her tone of voice.

Minerva said nothing, through her eyes traced in Catria's general direction. After a second she turned her attention back to Gharnef, not planning on accepting anything he offered, but waiting for him to begin talking nonetheless.

"A simple deal." He continued as if Catria hadn't said anything, Palla was able to release some, but not all of her nervous tension. "If you agree to work for me directly, I can turn your circumstances in your favor. You wouldn't have to be a pawn of Dolhr or your brother anymore."

Minerva almost retched. "Ridiculous. I would serve Dolhr of my own free will before I would help a murderer like you." She expected frustration or irritation to flicker on Gharnef's face before being replaced by fake amusement. Instead, Gharnef's expression didn't change at all, the grin that made Minerva's skin crawl didn't fade.

"Perhaps you misunderstand. I am giving you an opportunity to become my direct servant. Being favored by me has its… advantages. What better master then one who is untouchable?" He was speaking of Imhullu. Were it not for that tome, Gharnef likely would have died long ago. Minerva was not impressed, Imhullu was the tome of a coward. What did the man amount to when not under that dark veil? Those protective shadows were the sole source of all of Gharnef's power and arrogance.

Minerva twitched just slightly. A part of her acknowledged what Gharnef could do for her, but she refused to have any association with this man. "I'd rather stand by my brother with every decision he's made these last two years then do the single, smallest thing for you." At the very least, Michalis still had his humanity, regardless of what Catria thought of him these days. Gharnef likely had very loosely defined morals even before Imhullu deprived him of being truly human.

"He won't be making decisions much longer, I'm afraid." Gharnef's eyes twinkled as if he was in on some joke. Minerva's eyes widened at Gharnef's confident, relaxed tone.

"What are you talking about?" Minerva asked, a thin sliver of worry for Michalis spawned in her heart. She got off the wall and pushed forward as far as the chains allotted. "What's going on in Macedon?" Her tone gained a new aggressive bite to it.

"Nothing." Gharnef said, though the expression on his face seemed to say otherwise. "…nothing yet, at least. However, his rule might be shorter then anyone could imagine, and when he disappears, the only person of any significance who is trying to keep you alive vanishes."

There was an uncomfortable churning in her gut, but Minerva quickly silenced it. She looked at Gharnef with an unimpressed expression. "You're bluffing. Imhullu is your single ace in the hole. I know Michalis, and I know you, you could never outwit him or get him killed. Even if he was killed…" her voice softened forlornly for a moment and she stopped her sentence.

"He is quite crafty." Gharnef admitted, for the first time in the meeting, a telling look of frustration appeared on his face. It was quickly replaced by amusement. "Even I have some trouble rivaling that ambition. King Michalis The Great is one of this generation's must cunning and powerful individuals. Yet, if we work together, we can easily thwart your broth-"

Minerva's eyes flared in anger. "No matter what lies you spin or what deals you offer, neither I or the Whitewings would ever serve a murderer like you."

Gharnef turned his attention to the Whitewings briefly. They all looked at him defiantly, sharing Minerva's opinion of the Dark Pontifex. He could only smile at how they all took their cues from her. "I suppose its easy to speak for your soldiers. They worship you. They're practically your unquestioning pawns." He threw his head back and laughed. "Princess Minerva and her brother are truly the same. King Michalis and princess Minerva set out to make their soldiers completely obsequious, unthinking and unquestioning… simply taking any order without thought. Or, perhaps king Michalis has better character, after all, he-"

"Shut up!" Catria yelled on impulse. Gharnef seemed to be the only person not stunned into silence by Catria's tone. "Don't you _ever_ compare the commander to… Michalis." She didn't bother using Michalis' proper title. "The commander is his better in… in every way. _He_, has no honor or integrity, the commander-"

"Catria." Palla cut in with a cold, reprimanding tone. "Don't. _Ever_ speak of King Michalis that way in front of the commander."

Indignant to the end, Catria glared at Palla for a second, then turned to the front. "He is no king, unlike the commander, he-" She intended to continue speaking, angrily citing how Minerva had far more worth of character then Michalis, but was silenced by a look from Minerva. Minerva's expression to Catria was aggressive and furious looking, an unspoken command to shut up immediately. Catria obeyed, settling down. She was still upset with what Gharnef had said, but she was at least no longer talking in this situation. It was strange to Catria that Minerva seemed so angry, speaking out of line, which had been the only thing Catria had done wrong, shouldn't enrage the commander quite like that.

"I'm not interested in any offer you have. Now leave. You have my answer." Minerva angrily looked away, not wanting to as much as look at Gharnef's rotting face.

Gharnef's soulless eyes shined with amusement. Minerva wasn't aware that she had reacted _exactly_ as the man had predicted. "I suppose I will choose to leave with your answer." Gharnef backed away and turned around. Minerva doubted the man would give up that easily. She expected something else from him, some kind of contingency plan. Gharnef, much like Michalis, was never without a plan. Gharnef looked over his shoulder with a final smile. "…but keep this in mind princess, there is nothing you can do to harm my mechanisms, and much you can do to aid them. Tread lightly, or you will deliver all into my hands." Minerva's eyes widened, she turned back in Gharnef's direction, but he was already gone, and it did not look like he had left through the cell door, but simply vanished. The notion that no matter what she did she would end up aiding Gharnef, unsettled her, but she quickly dismissed it as a basic taunt.

Minerva considered turning to chastise Catria, but found herself strangely weary and drained after the short talk with Gharnef. Her thoughts turned to Michalis, something about how Gharnef said that Michalis' rule would be short unnerved her. It was obviously a bluff, but still… suddenly she was overcome with worry for the safety of the brother she had become so disappointed with. In a moment, she squashed the feeling. Gharnef was a fool to believe he had any chance of claiming Michalis' life, some latent fondness for her brother couldn't interfere with her good judgment now. She heard some talking behind her, Palla was chiding Catria for how she should have just let the commander talk, Est was talking as well, taking Palla's side of the argument.

The cell door opened again, snapping Minerva out of her thoughts and silencing all discussion from the Whitewings. Another figure stepped in. There was no mistaking it. This man was a Manakete.

"Princess Minerva of Macedon." The figure addressed Minerva with a ghastly voice. Minerva recognized him instantly, and was mildly surprised by who it was.

"I thought you were busy ruling… New Dolhr, Morzas." Minerva said in a surprised but defensive voice. She forced herself to say 'New Dolhr' for the sake of appearances. If all went well, that would be the last time she would ever use the name. "What are you doing here? I thought Khozen or Volzhin would oversee this."

Morzas smirked at her defiant expression. "I was brought in for the sake of my… gentle hand." He said, taking a step toward Minerva, revealing ashen hands out of his sleeves. He was likely familiar enough with torture and a human's limitations to know how to torment Minerva and the Whitewings to the most painful extreme without killing them. Minerva felt suddenly unnerved, far more so then she was with Gharnef. She quickly shook herself free of the strange feeling. She wasn't scared of pain, even if Morzas cut down to her bones, she would not bend knee to Dolhr.

"Is my skill so precious that Dolhr won't risk permanently damaging me?" Minerva scoffed. "Not killing me now… you might as well be digging your own grave. My time as a soldier of Dolhr won't last forever."

Morzas stepped forward, his arrogant look didn't change. Minerva wondered if he could stay so arrogant if they were to fight. "I see that the threat to your little sister's safety restrained your ignorant defiance only to a certain extent." Sparks of electricity began to dance around Morzas' hands. Minerva paused, her mouth hung open at how the Manakete seemed to be using magic without a tome. Not as much as an archaic chant preceded tendrils of electricity sparking into existence. Morzas' smile grew to the point that his face seemed like a gruesome skull, the electricity lit his face, giving him the visage of some kind of ghoul. "You humans amuse me. You strive for so much, act so defiant, yet you crumble so easily. You life vanishes at the slightest touch." His smile fell, Minerva knew he was recalling torture sessions in Altea where the human had likely died sooner then Morzas wished, and she suddenly felt sick in her gut. "I will be more gentle then usual."

The electricity Morzas had conjured without a tome shot out from his fingers. The electricity crackled as it moved through the cell, dancing wildly. Morzas looked as though he was feeling a rush, then he narrowed his eyes on Minerva. The electricity stopped dancing and flew at Minerva and the Whitewings, surging into them. It channeled into all four of them for several agonizing seconds, then briefly dispersed.

Minerva gritted her teeth, struggling to raise her head to Morzas, finding that the small burst of electricity seemed to have paralyzed most of her body. Her pain meant nothing to her, something else took precedence. "Leave… the Whitewings, out of this, I'm the defiant one."

Morzas made a cruel smile. "Is that begging I hear?" He released the electricity again, Est and Catria surrendered to a small, short scream. Palla was on the cusp of a pained yell, Minerva tried to ignore the pain, pushing the feeling away and focusing on her resentment toward Morzas and Dolhr. The Manakete was smiling, to him, the sight of the agony of those who defied Dolhr's rule was one of the life's simple pleasures. The screams, which Palla was now starting to give into, made it all the more enjoyable.

"Be grateful." Morzas said over the thunderous sound of the electricity. "I am forbidden to add you to the piles dotting the land of New Dolhr."

"Leave… them… alone…" Minerva said, referring to the Whitewings. "They were… just… following… my orders!"

In his glee of the moment, Morzas didn't even hear her words. "Are you already at the breaking point? Does your defiance of Dolhr alter the course of history?" He taunted, increasing the intensity of the electricity, at this point none of the three Whitewings could stop themselves from at least a pained yell. "Inviting agonizing pain on yourself… _that_, is the greatest thing your actions have reaped."

"Is… this… it?" Minerva growled through her pain. Her body trembled, but she refused to surrender to a scream. "This won't… break me."

Morzas smirked, relenting from the electricity for a moment. "Oh, no, I'm not intending to break any of you. I'm only here to offer you an understanding of the cusp of what the Manaketes of Dolhr are _truly_ capable of. Your punishment doesn't end with me, the true pain comes after I leave." He looked at the four, they could pretend indifferent defiance all they wished, but it was obvious that at this point the chains holding them was all that kept them from falling over.

Est seemed to have already passed out. It would not spare her from receiving just as much of the torture. She would not be permanently harmed, simply thoroughly disciplined. He would not administer an injury they could not recover from. Morzas felt a small kernel of irritation under his thrill. The four did not know how lucky they were getting off.

Morzas continued his sadistic game, the scorching, electrifying, agonizing game, and he was considered to be forgiving and too quick to relent by his peers. He continued the torment for at least another hour. Never fearing any of them breaking out and attacking, it was unlikely for any of them to be able to harm him anyway. They had no weapons, and Morzas' body was far more durable then it seemed.

Eventually the door to the cell swung open. Two hooded figures walked in. Morzas stopped and turned to them, Minerva noticed the development, and immediately recognized one of them.

Morzas nodded in recognition of a superior, and he made a deep bow to one of the two, then turned back to Minerva. "All I've done so far only scratches the surface of what we can do to you. Xemcel, the Hand of Medeus, will educate you from here." He began to back out of the cell, "Now you will learn why my methods are considered merciful in Dolhr."

Palla struggled just to breath as Morzas left, the Manakete's parting words resounding in her ear. Now Xemcel, and another Manakete that Palla didn't recognize, were in here. Palla had found something inheritably terrifying about Morzas when she was in Dolhr Keep. Xemcel, without even looking at the Whitewing, seemed to have the same effect on her. A face without a trace of warmth, totally dedicated to his master, the personal agent of Medeus himself. The only living being more cruel then Xemcel was, likely, Medeus himself. Palla trembled, remembering how Morzas had gotten under her skin with his simple presence. Xemcel had the same piercing glare that seemed to cut right into her mind.

"Regarding you, Dolhr's hand has been slackened and restrained for far too long. Now… you will see that in Dolhr, defiance can be answered with but one thing." Xemcel slowly stretched a hand out, electricity that wasn't birthed from the pages of a tome danced around his fingers. It seemed somehow… stronger, purer, and more potent then Morzas' electricity. Minerva instantly knew that Morzas' torture session would only be a shadow of what Medeus' second-in-command would do to them. Her mind raced with concern for the Whitewings, all three of which had nearly died from just Morzas' torture, and Minerva had faired little better.

Xemcel turned his head to the other Manakete. The second Manakete in the room was obviously of lesser rank then Xemcel. The way he stood, with his eyes examining the cell reluctantly, it looked as through he had been here before. "Bulzark, my attendant, observe the price of their folly. You should have been able to have administered a similar judgment to the Grustians when they were here in the palace."

"My apologies, Hand of Medeus." Bulzark's face sunk into his robe a little. "I… miscalculated the situation the last time I was here."

"To miscalculate a battle against a wholly human force…" Xemcel scoffed disdainfully. Bulzark offered no excuse at the scorn, simply taking a step away from Xemcel with a strange apologetic expression in his face.

"What?" Angry defiance was swept off of Minerva' face for a second and replaced with confusion. She looked at Bulzark's apologetic face, then back at Xemcel. "What about Grustians? What are you talking-"

"Be silent." Xemcel warned, letting the electricity in his hand surge more fiercely, a single bolt flying away and zapping the part of the wall right beside Minerva's head. The skin of Xemcel's human body seemed to pulse grotesquely at the sensation of power, from his hand all the way to his face. Something that Morzas' skin didn't do earlier. Xemcel's eyes, cold, cruel, and almost hollow looking, were somehow rattling even to Minerva. Xemcel lowered his hand slightly, clenching it. The electricity started to move more erratically.

"Shiver, before Manakete justice."

* * *

><p>Port Warren. A large, lucrative port past the Lefcandith Valley. Being here meant that the League was now in Archanean territory. Albeit, only on the very edge of the nation's land. The palace was several weeks off at their current speed.<p>

This area was exceptionally peaceful. Long fields of verdant grass unspoiled by the metallic heels of armored boots marked one of the few still beautiful areas of the nation of Archanea. The Dolhr Alliance had little presence here. At best one saw a few scouts surveying the area from a distance, but the port itself had never been assaulted by a proper Grustian or Macedonian army.

Port Warren was, speaking objectively, a ludicrously wealthy port. It was easy for them to be spared from attacks and raids simply by paying enough money to any would-be conquerors that came. It did not mean that the port's situation was pleasant, however. So much time spent paying enemies to spare them was taking its toll. The port could likely keep it up only for so long.

It was natural, then, that a rebel army that had the strength to face the Dolhr Alliance was welcomed warmly by the citizens of the port. The League was given one day to recuperate in the port before they would begin marching again. Port Warren was a center of trade, and the sailors took in the name 'Archanean League'. As they prepared to set sail again, they had every intention of telling the people of other ports all about the League, and of how the armies of Dolhr and its subordinate nations didn't frighten them.

Many of the soldiers of the League wandered freely through the port. Some were hailed as if they were heroes, much to the ire of some, like Wolf, who despised such displays, or others like Jagen, who would prefer to train without interruption.

Navarre had all but disappeared when they reached the port. Not a surprising occurrence from the anti-social man. He was trusted to return when it was time to move again.

There was a gladiator arena present. Cain and Ogma were over there right now. The arena was not a source of entertainment for the two, it was for the sake of aiding the League. It was both a way to earn some finances for the army, and some side training.

Of course, the penalty for breaking any of the port's laws had been made clear to the army. Lawbreaking would result in a soldier being handed over to the port authorities to face justice. Marth, Hardin, and Nyna didn't want to give the people of the port any reason to resent the League. They were there to help, and weren't looking for trouble.

No soldier had done something against the law just yet. It was doubtful anyone would… as long as an eye was kept on Rickard, of course.

"At this sight, the last two years feel almost to be a distant memory." Hardin tilted his head up, as if he expected refreshing rain to fall upon him. He sat with Marth, Caeda, and Nyna on the side of a fountain in the center of the port. It seemed an almost unbecoming place for two princes and two princesses of four different nations to sit, right here in plain sight in the middle of a merchant port. Yet they were sitting like common people for a reason, they had no desire for their presence to be seen as some kind of event for the port people to celebrate. They were just there to rest a day, then return to marching to the palace. Though they made no effort to keep their presence a secret, that would likely prove counter-productive, they wanted their presence to be of little true consequence to the locals.

Hardin lowered his head back down, his face was neutral, but he enjoyed the cheerful faces of the port citizens. A far cry from the always dead serious and sometimes despairing faces he saw in the Aurelian resistance. Several of the port citizens did stop to look at the four, odds were, many people had never seen a royal before. Hardin looked down at himself, suddenly realizing that he, to a point, looked more 'normal' then Marth, Caeda, and Nyna. The white, unrestrictive fabric of his robe, soft as a feather, must have made him look more like a middle-class noble then a prince.

The people watched the four for a time, then went on with their own business. Hardin was thankful that no one came up to them to pester them with questions. The people of the port, by and large, seemed very upstanding. "Everyone's cheerfully working and seems so content. I wish the same could be said for the rest of the continent."

Caeda looked around. The sights somewhat reminded her of Talys. It was also close to the water, just like her own nation. The shore side breeze was so familiar to her, she closed her eyes, letting her hair get tossed around for a moment. Her hand moved back, dipping a few fingers into the fountain water. It was not the first time it had occurred to her… just how, easy, Talys got off in the last two years compared to nearly every other country. She glanced at Marth and Nyna. It took less then a second to know that Marth was thinking about Altea. The question of what Altea's current state was, was something Caeda felt might be slightly insensitive to ask. Most of Marth's private thoughts were undoubtedly centered on Altea, or his sister.

As for Nyna, Caeda wasn't sure what to make of her expression. She seemed somehow happy, this was Archanea, and the Archanean people were happy. Yet Caeda knew that Nyna knew that the port's freedom was something the majority of the holy kingdom didn't have. She had to have yearned to see all of the kingdom liberated from Dolhr's stench. She might also have been wondering about the whereabouts of her friend, Linde gone without a trace.

Hardin glanced at Nyna. Caeda took notice. It would be inaccurate to say that Hardin leered at her, but he seemed to try to steal a glance at Nyna for a long moment before pulling himself away.

Taking a deep breath, Hardin closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts elsewhere. Marth turned to him, wondering what was going through the only slightly older man's thoughts.

"In time, our enemies will attack this port, entirely due to our presence." Hardin suddenly said, starting to rise, but relenting and falling back into a sitting position. His expression was entirely serious, he rose a hand to the fabric on the front of his turban, rubbing it like one might rub their forehead, then crossed his arms. "After decimating those pups in the Lefcandith Valley, they'll release bigger hounds eventually. We'll only be here for a day. I hope this day ends soon." He spoke with a slightly irritated tone. He spoke partially with concern for the people, and partially from a small, irksome desire to be fighting again.

"Don't worry." Nyna assured softly. Hardin looked at her, offering his undivided attention. "The enemy would be seen while still far away. When they come, _if_ they come, we can easily vacate the port and take the fight to them."

Hardin couldn't quite relax the tension in him, but nevertheless nodded his head respectfully. "If that is what you believe, Nyna, then it will be what I believe." Nyna was no tactician, what she said was simple common sense. Hardin sighed, still not wanting to _not_ be out there fighting, but he respected Nyna's words. "Still, I'd rather leave soon."

"We'll be leaving early in the morning." Marth interjected, "Just as you believe, Hardin, our presence alone can threaten the security of the port. We should leave at first light. After the battle in the Lefcandith Valley, I'm sure many of our soldiers will go to sleep early. They'll be rested and ready as the sun rises, and well on our way to the palace."

Hardin leaned his head back, his thoughts turning from the possibility of an attack, to the battle in the Lefcandith Valley. Macedonians had been confirmed to be there. Princess Minerva, who had played a large role in butchering Aurelis, had been present. He hadn't seen her, but his soldiers had come into direct contact with her. No one had been killed, but it is known that Wolf came very close to killing one of Minerva's soldiers, and had managed to seriously injure Minerva herself.

The princess had been humbled, but she had escaped. They would encounter her again, Hardin was certain of that.

As Hardin contemplated what the next encounter with princess Minerva might be like, his eyes caught something. A man running through the port. It has hardly uncommon to see a person running, but this one was different. His eyes were focused, they had a purpose to them. He came right up to the four royals.

"You… need something?" Marth asked, a little surprised. Before now, no one seemed to have the nerve to approach them. Not even pickpockets.

"Sires." The man bowed, seemingly addressing only Marth and Hardin. He rose back to an upright position. "There's been a… development. The leaders of Port Warren would like to see you."

There was an exchange of glances. Hardin looked at the man somewhat skeptically. "Something that involves us in some way? Not to sound dismissive of your needs, but the League needs to be focused strictly on-"

"Proof that this concerns you." The man said calmly, extending an arm with a scroll in it. Nyna stood up and took it, swiftly breaking the seal and reading.

Nyna's eyes moved across the paper. "They want an audience with us over a pressing concern." Nyna said as she read the scroll. Her expression grew more serious as she continued reading. The port didn't want their presence over some local ruffians. "It… looks like it's an issue that effects the League as well. Especially the League." Nyna rolled the scroll back up and looked at Marth. The League would do nothing, officially, until Marth gave the word.

Marth turned to the man, obviously a messenger. He wanted today to be a day of rest, but if the fates decided otherwise, then very well. "We'll be going, then. Immediately. If it's something that effects the port and the League both."

* * *

><p>"Wow…" Roshea looked around, taking in the sights. He cracked a smile, watching all the people going around the port. For a moment, he looked like less of a knight, and more like a farm boy who saw city life as big and impressive. Though the port fell far short of the size and scope of a bustling city. A few sailors carried some crates around, tradesmen and peddlers advertised their products with loud shouts. Some construction workers heartily yelled instructions as their actions slowly but surely set the foundations for new buildings. A very pleasant sight. Roshea was glad that, somewhere in the world, people were still able to live happy lives. He dearly wished that in the very near future the same could happen for Aurelis, and Altea, and the rest of the nation of Archanea. "Look at all these people, it seems so peaceful and lively here."<p>

"Obtrusively noisy would be more accurate." Wolf said, standing right beside Roshea. Closing his eyes in exasperation, he shook his head. He wanted to just disappear into some private outlet until it was time to go. Either that or train, but he doubted that the only available training partners, the combatants in the arena, could possibly satisfy him. Sedgar, the one who considered Wolf a rival, or Navarre, who was nowhere to be found, would be the only people he felt were worth his time. Spar with Cain and Ogma in the arena? A waste of time for him.

"Do you always have to be so cynical?" Roshea looked at Wolf with an expressive face, Wolf could easily tell that Roshea was slightly irritated with him, but he stood by his comment.

"There's nothing cynical about stating an obvious fact." Wolf said, scanning around and looking for somewhere he could go to get away from the noise for a little while. He found nothing that would guarantee both quietness and near solitude for him.

Roshea wondered if Wolf would take offense if he sighed. Despite most of the League seeing this chance of recuperation as a blessing, Wolf had no interest in it. It was not that he was dismissive of peace or a time of rest, he just didn't know what to do with free time other then train. He did not want any true rest until the war was over. Sleeping on the ground, or in a tent, with a thin sheet over him was all the rest he needed until Dolhr was crushed.

Roshea was just about to make an offer for him and Wolf to find Sedgar and Vyland for some quick sparring, then something caught his eye.

"Hey, Wolf, isn't that-" he pointed, his eyes widening as he made the gesture.

Wolf turned around. For a brief moment, a subtle movement of his one visible eye presented surprise, but the telling movement only lasted a second. He saw prince Marth, Coyote, princess Caeda, and princess Nyna heading to the building owned by the leader's of the port. That in itself shouldn't have been worrisome, but something about the expressions on the faces and the way the four carried themselves was somehow…

"Come on, Roshea." Wolf said, turning around. "It's time to do some scouting. This day will be far from restful."

Roshea groaned. Wolf was always pinpoint accurate when he said things like that. He bemoaned the loss of a relaxing evening, but only for a moment. He nodded at Wolf and began to follow his older brother of spirit.

* * *

><p>Norne, knowing of Gordin's shyness, stole into a nearby tavern with him to escape the crowds before people starting to give him some kind of attention. The League wasn't supposed to regroup until another few hours had come and gone anyway. Norne got Gordin some food on the army's dime, but she didn't seem particularly interested in eating herself.<p>

The tavern was filled to the brim with people. Looking at them, one could forget the crisis with Dolhr the entire continent was facing. There were some dancers moving around swinging their legs and arms, along with people at tables with their drinks, raising toasts and just relaxing. There was a soft marine breeze wafting through the air among the people. Not a strong enough breeze to blow Norne's scarf around, but she could, at least, feel the wind brushing softly across her face. Norne was reminded of her life back in Altea, she lived not too far away from a port, the same port that had been used to escape the nation. She reflected back for a moment, and wasn't sorry that she had impulsively volunteered to help the prince.

Unlike that port, there was no chance of any quietness around here. Norne wasn't sure if she should have been happy that people could still have a good time like this with Dolhr around, or if she should be irritated that they failed to understand what Dolhr was doing right now. Whatever the case, it was peaceful. Annoyingly loud and filled with incoherent banter, but peaceful.

A moment of extended peace. Norne couldn't recall the last time it had really been like this, it had been so hectic ever since they left Talys. Most of these days were comprised of readying themselves for battle, battling, and calming down but remained wary after a battle. As she saw Gordin hungrily eat some bread, she starting to look at him with a little adoring grin, wanting the moment of peace to continue.

She blinked, looking at him again, then noticed that all Gordin had was some bread. Norne got up to get some water for him to wash it down with.

Gordin had a timid side to him, and likely wouldn't be able to handle himself if someone confident and aggressive approached him, but Norne could probably be away from him for a small moment. He didn't even notice Norne rising and disappearing into the crowd.

After a few seconds, two people walked up to him. The archer was oblivious to the presence of two mercenaries who had been kicking back in the tavern amongst all the sailors, traders, and entertainers.

"Well now…" an older, blonde haired man approached Gordin. Gordin looked up from his bread and realized that Norne was gone. Near the table he was sitting at was a blonde haired man and a younger looking red haired boy in place of his good friend. Gordin backed up in his chair as they seemed to surround him.

"Um… can I help you?"

The older man placed a fist on the table. He had a smug, commanding smile. "You're a League soldier, aren't you?"

Gordin tilted his head slightly, looking for Norne across the tavern. He was certain she was still here, but she seemed to have melted away into the crowd. With a nervous gulp, he turned back to the man. "Uh… y-yes, I'm Gordin, from Altea."

"The name's Caesar, and this here…" he motioned his head to the nearby red-haired boy. "Is Radd. We're local mercenaries, security for Port Warren."

"Oh…" Gordin backed away in his seat slightly. The two didn't seem to notice that Gordin was starting to feel cornered. "You… need something from me?"

Radd shrugged. "Nah. We just want you to go to the arena."

Gordin looked out the nearby window. The tall walls of the arena loomed menacingly high. Behind those walls was a brutal, vicious form of entertainment and training. "Aren't Cain and Ogma-"

"Oh, those two." Radd said, rolling his eyes, having expected Cain and Ogma to be brought up. "Sure, they're there, and quite frankly, those two are boring. They've been winning _every_ single fight completely one-sidedly. We want someone over there who can get himself hurt more easily."

"Hurt more-" Gordin repeated, then looked at them with a shocked expression. "You… won't me to go in there and lose?"

"Didn't say that, exactly." Radd said with a smirk, inviting himself to a seat with an arrogant little curl of his lips. Gordin started to grow nervous, shifting his eyes from Radd to Caesar and back to Radd. Radd leaned forward as he continued to speak. "We just want someone whose fights will be less one-sided. It's just for some entertainment. You can do _that_, can't you?" He started to look over Gordin with a slightly dismissive flash to his eye. "I mean, looking at you, you don't look like the League would miss you if you ended up so injured you couldn't keep traveling with them. Total placeholder in the camp."

Caesar leaned onto the table with a calm, amused grin. "Yeah, you don't really look impressive at all. How do you get any shots off with arms that scrawny?" He smirked, pointing at Gordin's arms, they were far from the twigs Caesar was regarding them as. "Might as well give some of the traders some entertainment, because you're not lasting in the war. Radd and I could probably handle anything you were supposed to be doing a good twenty times better."

"I…" Gordin's small shred of confidence was fast shriveling against the confident, relaxed tone both Caesar and Radd were speaking with. "I'm…"

"So spineless that you won't step into the arena?" Caesar asked, his face twisted disappointedly, "…and I had convinced myself that the Archanean League was made up of the bravest and the-"

"Stop it!" Caesar and Radd pulled their attention away from Gordin and to an unfamiliar voice that drew the attention of everyone in the tavern. Gordin turned to see Norne approaching, she had a glass of water in her hand, "_Don't_… pressure Gordin like that."

Caesar and Radd looked at each other uncomfortably, neither expected another League soldier to appear and snap at them.

"Aw, it was all in good fun." Radd said, standing up from the chair he had plopped down in. "After all, you can't deny just how wimpy he looks. Some arena battles oughta toughen him up. Then maybe the League would find him to be just vaguely useful, and-" he stopped talking at the sight of an exceptionally fierce, angry glare from Norne. The sort of glare that seemed to scream 'I am not in the mood'. Radd backed away, wearing a little smile as if his and Caesar's ganging up on Gordin had all been a harmless joke. "Gosh lady, you're scary." He chuckled, somewhat nervously.

Caesar wondered if this stand-off was about to go anywhere. He looked around the tavern, the patrons were watching, and seemed to have taken sides. Some looked like they were rooting for Radd and Caesar, others were sympathetic to the archers.

"No need to glare." Radd said, stepping forward, wearing the most friendly face he had. He tilted his head in an attempt to look innocent and endearing. "A cutie like you doesn't need to get upset over a wuss like this gu-"

Reflexively, the hand that was holding the cup of water thrust up, splashing the contents into Radd's face. The young mercenary choked as water went in his face, he backed away and rubbed his sleeve across his face in an attempt to dry it. There were some loud chuckles throughout the tavern as one of Port Warren's two lauded mercenaries got a face full of water by a girl who just walked in.

Norne grabbed Gordin by his hand and pulled him out of the chair and to his feet. "Come on, Gordin. Let them feel all important and powerful harassing someone else." Norne stormed out with Gordin. What had been a good, pleasant day reminiscent of the days in Talys had been effectively ruined by the two mercenaries.

"I thought we could really get him to go to the arena. Be worth a nice laugh." Radd said with his face now mostly dry, though his left sleeve was now damp. "Can't see how a guy like that can survive battles by any way other then sheer dumb luck."

Caesar tilted his head in amusement, then sat down. The patrons seemed to have already lost interest and returned to their own activities. Caesar leaned back and yawned. "Well, that killed a few minutes." He imagined that he could have reacted in time if that girl had splashed water into his face, Radd had a bad habit of letting his guard down. He sat down, looking out the window, squinting his eyes against the sun's glare. He turned away… just as some small dots began to appear on the distant mountains.

"Now what?" Radd asked. "I'd go to the arena, but it's no fun if I know I'm going to lose to two psychos from the League."

Both Radd and Caesar were self-taught fighters. Everything they knew were things they learned in the arena. Normally the arena was the place to go to when they were bored, but with two League soldiers making it look like no one in the port was trained, it wouldn't be any fun today. Who wanted to walk into the arena's battlefield and be knocked to the stone ground in just a few seconds? Yet simply walking around town wasn't the first choice for either guy when it came to alternatives to arena fighting.

"Maybe we-" That was as far as Caesar got before someone entered the tavern. Caesar turned his head to see one of the port's messengers walk in, obviously looking for someone. Sometimes a good sign, but messengers normally signaled some very hard work for the two.

"Radd, Caesar." The messenger opened with a slightly flowery tone that irritated Radd but simply left Caesar unimpressed. "The port authorities wish for your immediate presence."

Did the authorities want to talk to them about… no. Word of their encounter with the two archers couldn't have spread _that_ fast. Still, Radd gulped, feeling that an unsightly can of worms was about to be opened.

* * *

><p>The noon sun shone along the plains to the north of Port Warren. Untouched by the Dolhr Alliance, it was one of the few places of Archanea that still had prosperous land. Though, it had nothing on what had been close to the Archanean Palace.<p>

The sun also shined on the distant mountains, revealing routes that were nearly impossible to traverse by anyone on foot. The sun spotlighted a strange collection of armored men traversing the hard, rough, mountain path. Between the color of their armor and their formation, it would be hard to mistake who they were.

"Is that them?" Kannival, a Grust general looked to the distance. He squinted his eyes and fidgeted slightly in his armor, dirtied from the long trek over the mountains. He looked somewhat tired and uncomfortable, but not from moving across the mountains. It almost seemed as though he was stressed and anxious, nervous and tense.

Grust forces had just come down from the distant mountains. The report had come in of general Harmein's defeat and death, another detachment of Grust troops had come to defeat the League now, before its power grew any further. Kannival was the commander of this detachment.

"Well, sir, the report was that they were in this area." An armored knight, Roger, answered general Kannival's question. He raised a hand up to block the sun's glare and looked at several people in the port that didn't seem native to the area. Roger looked back at Kannival and his apparent reluctance. "Um… we're supposed to attack them, right? For the glory of Grust, 'n all?"

"Uh…" Kannival thought for a second. He was a good tactician, but overly cautious, and wary of the idea of going out and fighting himself. More then once a good opportunity had slipped by him due to his reluctance to move. Still, he won more often the he had to retreat. He looked at the rebels, they were disorganized, separated and traveling aimlessly through the port, not the formidable army that had laid waste to both Emereus and Harmein. Even so, even with the advantage of his forces being organized and ready with planned tactics beforehand, Kannival was not looking forward to the battle. They'd be spotted if they charged the port, but that was the only conceivable strategy. Finally, he sighed. "Yes, I want a first wave to charge, goad them into coming at the mountains. Reinforcements will pick them off from the side, I will…" Kannival scanned around for a moment. "I will wait at the fort off to the side and await the results."

"So, we have our orders?" Roger asked, looked down at the port. "Get 'em coming at us, then let the reinforcements take it from there?"

"Yes. You understand completely." Kannival said, already starting to move to the unoccupied fort he could see. A completely unassuming, small fort. The only thing of note seemed to be a few unattended ships docked near it. "Take down what enemies you can, then retreat when the battle turns against you. Regroup with the reinforcements and finish the battle. Report to me when the battle is over."

* * *

><p>"T…thank you for that, Norne." Gordin said as he and Norne sat on a bench near the arena. They weren't about to actually go in. Cain and Ogma were carving up the grids and brackets well enough on their own. It was an unorthodox way to train, against real combatants in a sporting arena, but Cain was not a man to neglect his training, and Ogma was constantly testing himself. Port Warren's fighters didn't even know what hit them.<p>

Norne turned to Gordin and sighed. "You've really got to learn how to stick up for yourself, you know. Those guys were just thugs, you shouldn't have to feel intimidated by them."

"I…" Gordin searched for an answer. Some selection of words that didn't make him look so cripplingly inadequate with social confrontation. He found none. "I… know. I knew they were wrong to say that I wouldn't last, but, when people come at me like that, I just…"

Norne's face softened sympathetically. "I know, Gordin, I know. That lack of confidence is part of you who are. I'd like you to always be you, you know."

Gordin's head dipped down, a little ashamed at his personality. He turned to Norne after a moment. He felt that she shouldn't have to be forced to always help him in social interactions. Confidence, something she had that he… really needed.

"I… really envy you."

For a moment, Norne looked at Gordin with a completely shocked expression. "What… what do you mean? What do I have-"

"You're so confident, you stand up for yourself and… me." Gordin said, "I… there are a lot of things I could say about you that I wish I could say about myself."

Norne stared wide-eyed, she was at a complete loss for words. She was shocked that Gordin would say that, when she could say the same. "But… Gordin, you're better then me in so many ways. You're a better shot, you're calmer in battle, you handle warfare a lot better then me." She patted Gordin on the shoulder, "You're one of the people I admire the most around here."

He immediately looked away as she began to praise his qualities. He could feel himself grow flustered with embarrassment. "How can you admire someone who needs someone to save him every time someone else-"

"Come _on_, Gordin." Norne gripped his shoulder, not letting him finish that sentence. The last thing she was going to let him do was brood about his lack of self-assurance. "We're partners. We're supposed to cover each other's problems."

"I… I guess." Gordin said. He was unsure if there was anything further he could say.

"I wish you could be more confident…" With the grip she already had on his shoulder, she turned him so he was looking straight at her. "…but I'm happy with who you are right now. Shyness and all."

Norne's hand fell off him as she finished speaking. She smiled, Gordin seemed to relax, feeling a little better. Norne closed here eyes, for a moment, it looked like she might lean over to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Vhat are you tvo doing?" Gordin nearly jumped, then he recognized Athena's unmistakable accent. He turned up to look at her, neither archer had noticed her coming at them from behind. Athena titled her head, "Ve thought you vere in the tavern."

"That didn't work out." Norne said with slight irritation. "Couple of thugs tried to bully Gordin, I splashed water in the face of one of them and got Gordin out."

There was a pause where Athena looked completely neutral, then a little smirk came to Athena's face, and Norne knew her actions had gotten Athena's approval.

"Vell, that one got vhat he deserved, I guess." Athena said. Norne made a small little giggle as she put a hand on Gordin's shoulder, looking proud of herself. She looked as though she was ready to drop the hand from Gordin's shoulder and wrap it around Gordin's waist… or perhaps Athena was imagining things. Athena saw… she wasn't sure if Norne herself was aware of it, but Athena saw that Norne was quite insistent on being protective of the boy. Had Castor or Roshea been backed into a corner, Norne was just as likely to help as she was to not get involved.

Athena would have asked Norne about it, but she hadn't come for simple pleasantries. "Prince Marth vants us to regroup. The League is to join as vun."

Norne turned to Athena and raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it supposed to be a few more hours until-"

"Change of plans." Athena shrugged, "Nev development. Ve are to return to him and prince Hardin immediately. Don't have the details."

Reluctantly, with a pinch of irritation, Norne stood up, followed by Gordin. "Fine, let's go find the rest of the army then. Prince Marth is probably with the leaders of the port right now."

"I vill be focused on finding more soldiers. Prince Marth seemed to urge some speed in doing this." Athena turned and walked away. With a sigh, Norne and Gordin began to move.

* * *

><p>"I am sorry. They're probably coming after us." Marth said. He and one of the port's leaders looked out to the distance. Coming down from the distant mountains, there was no mistaking them.<p>

"Grustian soldiers are here." Hardin noted, tensing for the expected battle. This was exactly what he had been concerned about earlier. That their presence could put the port itself at risk. He did not take his eyes off of the approaching soldiers, but his words were for the port's leaders. "I'm sorry, we believed we could avoid this if he stayed just a single day, but…"

"Think nothing of it." One of the tradesmen said. "Enemy armies have come here before. All the time, really. We just pay them off. I doubt they have any real interest in the port."

"Then we must leave immediately." Hardin said, "It's us they want. If we get out of the port, they won't bother you."

Hardin turned to leave, passing Caeda and Nyna, already building a strategy in his head. The League should work as a wall, he wouldn't and couldn't risk the Grustians reaching the port. Even if they shouldn't have any interest… there was always the chance that the Grustians would burn the port down due to giving aid to the League. He had created an outline of a plan in his head by the time he had taken two steps. Marth likely was developing a similar plan. The four royals had just reached the door out of the room when one of the tradesmen stopped them. "Wait, Port Warren can offer some help."

Nyna raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. "We appreciate the offer, but any evidence of the port directly helping us would just make you a target. Marth and Hardin can handle this, you should prioritize any of your assets on defending the port if a Grustian passes by the League."

"Our mercenaries are of much higher quality then Grust's soldiers." One of the tradesmen smiled somewhat arrogantly. He motioned at two figures standing nearby. They approached, "These two have been regulars at Port Warren for years. They've been honed in the arena and have few blemishes on their records. Their… personalities may leave something to be desired, but they will be valiant allies in the fight to repel Grust."

"Hey." Radd protested at the comment about their personalities. He shook his head and walked up to the princes and princesses. "Name's Radd. The best mercenary you will _ever_ find. Those Grustians will trample over each other trying to get away from me." He pointed to his chest with his thumb and beamed.

Marth was taken aback by the arrogant tone and Radd's inflated appraisal of his own skills. Radd basked in some imaginary adoration he believed he should be given, believing his claim was completely true. Caesar cleared his throat and stepped up beside Radd. "I am Caesar. Never mind Radd's personality. He's skilled for what it's worth, and so am I. I imagine you have soldiers better then the two of us…" and, he figured, soldiers worse then them, like that archer, but he tactfully withheld that comment. "…but we will no doubt be valuable assets in this battle, and perhaps beyond if circumstances result in us staying."

"I'm certain your skill will prove useful." Marth said, acknowledging the two. Though he was looking more at Caesar. "The Grustians are approaching. We need to be moving now. I have a few soldiers getting everyone together."

"Of course. I'm already ready for battle." Caesar said, Radd nodded in agreement. "We'll be with you every step of the way, sir."

* * *

><p>"Obviously, our first priority will be keeping Grust from reaching the port." Merric mused to himself, thinking as to how the battle will go. The League was crunched for time in this situation, but Merric was confident that Marth already had a plan in the works. He started to mumble to himself, thinking of the battle about to begin. Soundlessly, he took the Excalibur tome out.<p>

Wendell looked at Merric, his student was mumbling to himself, Wendell shook his head. "Don't over think, Merric. You're not the one who's supposed to come up the strategy."

"Nothing wrong with preparing for what I think prince Marth is going to come up with, teacher." Merric said with a shrug. "I thought Mages were supposed to be the brainy ones, anyway."

Wendell smirked, "You should focus on what is just your duties, Merric. You always have a problem with trying to do too many things at once. That's why most of your… misadventures, end the way they do."

"Hey." Merric suddenly gave a defensive look, and his tone changed, all thoughts of the tactics Marth might use gone from his head. "You promised me you'd never bring… _that_, up again."

There was that friendly-yet-slightly-patronizing look that Wendell was a little _too_ good at giving. "I suppose I did." There was an amused twinkle to Wendell's eye. Merric despaired at the sight, if he knew his teacher right, he might use the old stories as some sort of leverage.

"Don't you dare tell anyone-"

Wendell suddenly turned to the side, forgetting the light-hearted conversation. Merric continued to speak defensively for a moment before he stopped, looking in the direction Wendell was looking. Merric swallowed, then silently stood at attention. Marth and the other royals had arrived.

Merric took a moment to look around. The army had collected outside the port. For what purpose, everyone already knew. Wolf and Roshea had already surmised the presence of Grust troops and told everyone before Malledus formally announced it.

Navarre had reappeared. Almost suddenly appearing in the mass of League troops. His eyes, and Wolf's eyes, were fixed on the distance. Marth, who had just arrived, was looking in the same general direction as the two, but his eyes were less focused. Merric couldn't see much of anything in the distance, but there was definitely _something_ going on far away.

"As you already know, Grust is here." Hardin said, addressing the League in its entirety. He motioned to the distance with his head. Merric looked again, this time he could see some distant dots that looked to be charging soldiers. "We won't be defeated so easily by this charge. We will meet them and repel their attack." He turned to look over his shoulder. The enemy was a good ten… no, fifteen minutes away. "We will act as a literal wall between Grust and the port, push them back, and seize whatever base of operations they're using. I shouldn't have to explain that keeping the enemy from reaching the port takes priority."

"Some mercenaries from Port Warren will be assisting us." Marth said, Radd and Caesar appeared, melding into the ranks of the army. A few soldiers looked at the mercenaries questioningly. Norne seemed particularly irked by their presence, recognizing them from the tavern. As Caesar and Radd moved through the mass of soldiers, she noticed that Caesar lacked the smug, arrogant expression he had earlier, he was wholly dedicated to the moment. Radd, on the other hand, turned to her and noticed her. He smiled and winked at her. Norne looked almost insulted, and immediately turning away, splitting her attention between Gordin and the approaching Grust soldiers.

"Steady." Marth commanded, raising a hand to command a cease of unnecessary movement and chatter as several soldiers started to grow restless. "We will meet them here, then push them back. We will not risk Grust soldiers slipping past us and reaching the port."

The Grust soldiers were closing the distance. They were no longer dots in the distance, but clearly human figures. A few League soldiers started to breath hard and grew particularly tense as the minutes crept by. Grust continued its approach, a little closer, closer, there was a moment where both sides were holding their breath.

Then, the battle began.

* * *

><p>Roger took a deep breath, he was almost, but not quite, at the front of Grust's charge, though he was far from enthusiastic about the battle. He didn't have any vendettas or grudges, he was just a guy from Grust, just a pleasant guy. His presence in the army was simply the result of the draft. He charged forward with the rest, meeting the enemy.<p>

His allies, some with heavy armor on them, others on horseback, met the wall of rebels, and were bounced back. The sudden flurry of swords, lances, arrows, and the calling down of magic left Grustian soldiers piled up. Roger paused, seeing his allies, who were alive and sure of victory a moment ago, suddenly fall dead. He couldn't honestly say he had any friends among them, indeed, he had no fond feelings for just about any of them, but it was still disheartening to see them die.

Radd smirked, charging forward with his sword. Quickly he began to slash at the Grustians. His arena-honed skill was far beyond the skill some moderately ranked Grustian soldiers laid claim to. After about a score of Grustians fell to his blade, arrogance took hold of him. He started to hold his sword improperly, it would make his swings harder to perform, though no less lethal. After a few more minutes, he completely lowered his guard, acting as if he was untouchable.

That would prove to be a mistake. A Grustian on horseback managed to come forward, bypassing Radd's dropped defense and stab a sword straight into Radd's gut. The mercenary made a sudden yell of pain, backing away as the sword was removed from him, covered in blood. Radd made a mental note to watch for people on horses as the Grustian advanced on him.

Navarre appeared before the Grustian could press any advantage on Radd. He leaped at the horseman…

"Wait…" Radd said weakly, his hand trying to cover the wound that was dripping blood. "If he can get the drop on me, there's no way you or anyone else could… um…" he gawked with his mouth open as Navarre's sword killed the Grustian via disembowelment with two slashes. Navarre had already silenced another three Grustians before Radd even noticed the first death. "Whoa…"

The long haired man had already darted off to more enemies, leaving a shocked Radd behind. Radd looked at the corpses, in the blink of an eye four enemies had been killed. He gulped, looking at Navarre as he fought, then quickly rolled his eyes. Radd felt he could have done much better… if he really wanted to. He started to get up, then a hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Wait…" Lena prevented him from rising, moving around to kneel down next to the bleeding boy. Radd blinked at the softness of her face and the falling red hair. "Let me see that wound."

* * *

><p>Roger gulped, trying to keep pace with his allies. He briefly turned his head to the other Grust soldiers, wondering if they should retreat to behind the lines of reinforcements yet. They were supposed to take down those they could… but he really didn't see them taking down anyone at this point. The other Grustians were still trying to push forward, the thought of retreat clearly hadn't entered their minds at all. Without a commanding officer present, they would continue pushing until some manner of consensus was reached among the troops.<p>

The time spent looking at his allies and judging the situation had been less then a second, but when he turned back to the front he was surprised to find a Pegasus Knight flying at him. He suddenly panicked, and made a clumsy thrust. The Pegasus Knight easily evaded the attack and came right up to Roger.

"Good day, sir." Caeda said, smiling sweetly at the enemy soldier, who simply made a nervous yelp and backed away from her. She approached him in an non-aggressive way, "I'm Caeda, I'm not trying to fight you."

"Uh…" Roger took another step back, not sure of what to stay to this… rather attractive girl, who was talking to him so pleasantly. He gulped as she dismounted. "Um… what are you-"

"You seem like something of an odd man out." She smiled, it seemed that a little smile was all she needed to take complete control of the situation. "You didn't look like you have any real interest in fighting. You looked so… sweet. What's your name?"

Roger looked to the side, seeing the fighting still going on, and the enemies pushing back Grust's forces. He gulped and turned back to the girl, feeling his face burning. "Um… R-Roger."

She smiled, and was perhaps laughing on the inside. Her face had a, seemingly, sincere look of kindness and concern on it. "What do you have against us?"

"W-well, a war is a war. I don't bear any ill against you personally, but-"

"Oh, of course." The smile left her flowery face and a new solemn expression took its place. "There are so few morals in a war. The other side don't have faces or virtues, they're just nothing but evil. Think of people left behind to pick up the pieces after a war, especially the families…"

It almost felt like something was squeezing Roger's heart. Squeezing, then crushing. He nodded his head, acknowledging what Caeda was saying. "War is a nightmare. Yet on it goes, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Caeda looked at him, "We're fighting to stop all the wars and rebellions across the world. We need every able person we can get, but… oh, the fighting we have to go through…" She took a deep breath, close calls and near deaths rocked her mind. "Why does the war have to go on? Everyone doesn't seem to mind fighting for Dolhr."

Roger let out a nervous breath, unsure of how to respond to this emotional girl. If she was trying to make him feel like a heel, she was succeeding. His grip on his lance seemed to loosen ever so slightly. "Well, I… well…"

She looked like she was on the verge of tears. "Won't you join us? I know a guy like you, someone so sweet as you, shouldn't be fighting for a Dolhr serving nation."

"That… um…" Roger realized he must have sounded ridiculous, not being able to sound confident for one single sentence. "I… uh, uh… I c-can't turn on Grust. Um… that's…"

Caeda looked disappointed, almost annoyed, for a small moment, but then her face took on an understanding expression. "Oh, I know, Roger. You've got a family back in Grust, they must be counting on you."

"Um… well, no." Roger shook his head and sighed. "I don't really have a family anymore, or a girl, you know. Just… Grust is my nation. I can't just… you know…"

"Oh, of course." Caeda smiled, "Loyalty… we don't have enough loyalty these days. If only more people in the world could stand by their nation. So… so many traitors…"

Roger somehow felt he was disappointing the girl. He gulped, finding himself gripped by an overpowering urge to please her in someway. For the moment, he seemed somehow content with just her presence. It was an odd feeling…

"I guess I should be going." Caeda said, turning around with a little smile on her face. It was hard not to break out into a small snicker at what she was doing. This was no different then outwitting some of the old Talys nobles. Actually, it was much, _much_ easier. She heard a metallic sound behind her, knowing that Roger had just taken a step forward.

"W-wait, you're… leaving?"

Caeda turned around with a face of concern. "Well, of course, Roger. What would your allies say if they saw you talking to me? I couldn't risk them calling you a traitor…" She started to back away.

"Er…" Roger paused, feeling a sense of conflict. He watch Caeda's legs start to carry her away, and it felt somewhat like the world was walking out on him. He gulped, turning his head to look at his armored hands, and then his pauldrons. "Um, C-Caeda?"

She had a mischievous grin on her face, but forced it into an expression of innocent curiosity as she turned around. "Yes, Roger?"

"Um… well…" Roger struggled for the words. Caeda innocently tilted her head. "Maybe I could, um… well, I mean…" he took a deep breath, then looked at Caeda's face again. The blue eyes seemed to knock over the last wall of resistance. "Oh, what the heck. Let me fight for you."

There was a strange smile on Caeda's face. Roger would never know how easy it had been for Caeda to break his moderate sense of nationalism. "Then help us with the push." Caeda said, looking to the side. "We've already pushed straight to the mountains."

* * *

><p>"Hmm…" As he guarded Marth, Jagen took a moment to examine the Grustians' tactics. They seemed… utterly blind. Simply coming at the League in a straight line, it was not something that a trained tactician should or would do. Jagen had no feelings of warmth for the enemy, but he had to pity the Grustians. There skill was not something one should be dismissive of, but the tactics the soldiers were using basically had them lining up to be killed. Even as they reached the mountains and reinforcements appeared, Jagen had no reason to believe that this battle would be particularly difficult, so long as arrogance did not get the better of the League.<p>

Caesar was adding credence to the claim that he and Radd were well beyond the Grust soldier's level of skill. Fighting with brute force, his sword hacked through the Grustians. In battle, he was not unnecessarily arrogant, He was wholly dedicated to his employer's cause, and slashed the Grustians to ribbons.

The primary mass of Grustians secluded in the mountains had all come out. Caesar gritted his teeth, a part of him surprised at how quick the battle was coming to its effective end. The Grustians tactics had certainly left something to be desired. He swung his sword again, a Grustian soldier backed away, reacting to the pain of Caesar's sword hacking his hands off.

Radd returned to the battle, the wound on his gut healed by Lena. He took less chances this time, felling the Grustians with an efficiency that was almost cold. He was very effective… but he had nothing on Navarre. Radd paused and looked at the long haired swordsman. Navarre hacked off a Grustian's left arm with one slash, then stabbed the Killing Edge into the soldiers chest as the soldier fell to his knees. He removed the sword as the Grustian fell dead, it looked as though Navarre would slowly sheathe the blade, but then he turned to fight a trio of Grustians. Navarre seemed completely unmoved by the blood that had splattered across his face, or the puddles he left behind.

_Okay,_ Radd thought, _Maybe that guy is kinda approaching my level of skill, but just kinda._

"I almost feel that actually tactics and planning were not necessary." Marth mused as what was supposed to serve as the Grustian reinforcements were being promptly routed. He looked around, everywhere he saw, Grustians were being defeated. Vyland took on no less then eight Grustians, and easily slew them all, elsewhere, Ogma and his three men charged, ripping Grustians apart with their blades. It seemed quite one-sided… then something occurred to Marth. "I don't see a commanding officer anywhere."

"The commander might be at a higher vantage point…" Jagen's eyes moved up the mountains, no man came into view, nor did there seem to be any kind of structure above. He sighed, this unit of Grustians were making little sense to him.

"Over there." Marth pointed, Jagen turned to a fort on a small island connected to the fields north of Port Warren by a small land route. Jagen would have dismissed the derelict outpost. Nothing but a broken down base with some ships docked nearby. Ships that didn't seem to float so much as refuse to sink. He could not quite tell what Marth was trying to call attention to, then he saw it. A man outside the fort, clearly of Grustian heritage, his armor more refined and powerful looking then the common troops, watching the battle.

Jagen's first thought was the question of why the enemy commander would be so far away. He quickly brushed the thought aside and returned his mind to winning the battle. "We should move out there and seize the fort, cutting the Grustian commander down, the battle here is practically won, anyway."

* * *

><p>Wolf was fighting as skillfully as usual. He was near Sedgar, the combination of their accuracy with their bows laid absolute waste to the Grustians. They had been given an order to watch the rear as Marth moved to what was believed to be the enemy commander. Once the Grustian soldiers were decimated, they were to join with the rest of the army. It should have been a simple mission, almost a relaxing assignment, but Wolf's ears registered a peculiar sound in the distance. They were in the middle of a battle, but he did not dismiss it. He heard a strange, metallic… grinding sound? He looked up to the mountains in the distance and frowned. The Grustians attacking him were a side note. He killed one Grustian charging at him without even turning in his enemy's direction, then started to approach the distant mountains with Sedgar.<p>

* * *

><p>Marth, Hardin, and some others at the head of the charge were moving at the rundown fort.<p>

"My soldiers?" Kannival looked at those rapidly approaching him. He blinked, watching them approach. Those were his soldiers, right? The distance obscured everything. The distance has been so great that he could not tell who had been winning. The soldiers he saw continued to approach, then his eyes widened in a dawning realization. "No… no, no! What are _they_ doing here? How did they-"

The sudden grip of fear seized him. His breath was suddenly caught in his throat. He could try to run and… no, the rebels had already seized the bridge.

"You're the Grustian commander." Jagen said, a statement, not a question. "Why were you not directing your troops? What good can a commander do so far away?"

"I…" Kannival's eyes darted fearfully around, the rebels seemed content to hold back for the moment as Jagen spoke. He swallowed hard, then turned to Jagen. "My… my soldiers had their orders. They were supposed to follow them while I awaited a report of success. How could they fail so-"

"…did you really believe that would work?" Jagen scoffed, Kannival stopped talking and took a step back at Jagen's harsh tone. "I greatly overestimated our enemies today. The greatest troops can be made a mockery of if their commander isn't there to guide them. I almost feel sorry for your troops. They were being led by the wrong commander."

"You… I…" Kannival had nothing to say in his defense. His entire body seemed to shake, sweat started to appear on his forehead, he was obviously terrified. Jagen's face twisted scornfully at the fearful Grustian. Kannival looked down at the hand holding his lance. He suspected that surrendering would only result in execution. In his situation, he could only do the one thing that would allow him to keep his pride intact, if not his life.

It was not something he wanted to do, but he was now choiceless. He was surrounded, no chance for victory existed. With a small narrow of his eyes as the only warning, he charged forward. The battle between Kannival and the rebels… lasted only a few seconds, Navarre and Ogma met his charge. He died with several grievous wounds slashed into the flesh hidden under the armor.

"Such foolishness." Jagen shook his head. The Grustian was undoubtedly good at tactics, and his soldiers were well-trained, but they still lost pathetically. The battle was lost for him the moment he decided to not lead his troops personally.

"Is that it?" Marth asked, looking back in the direction they had come from. No living enemy Grustians in sight, the unspoiled grass fields now had blood trickling through them. He remained wary, but began to slightly relax himself… until a voice suddenly pierced through the air.

"Prince Marth! Coyote!" Sedgar called, he moved across the bridge, followed by Wolf. The two came to a stop in front of Marth. Sedgar looked out of breath, Wolf seemed to still be only mildly exerted, but his face revealed that something urgent seemed to have come up.

"What is it, Sedgar?" Hardin came up to his knight. Sedgar gave a mixed-up expression, trying to recall what he had seen. Hardin grabbed Sedgar by the shoulder and gave him a small shake. "Calm down and think straight, Sedgar. You never lost your calm like this when fighting Macedon."

Sedgar paused, taking in a deep, calming breath. His eyes revealed a graveness and direness to what he was going to say, but he had regained his composure. Sedgar was a man who stayed calm when others fell into despair and panic, Hardin was sure he would not want to know what had rattled Sedgar so. Even Wolf seemed somewhat troubled.

"Grustian reinforcements." Sedgar said, looking over his shoulder. "They're far more organized then what we just fought, and…"

The grinding sound Wolf had heard pierced through the air. The Grustian reinforcements appeared behind them. They weren't on foot, or on horseback, or even on Pegasus or Wyvern.

"That…" Caesar looked at the approaching Grustians, riding impressive arrow firing contraptions. It wasn't Grust's Sable Order, it was a lesser collection of knights, but still one of the most elite orders from what was called the most militaristically powerful nation in the continent. "That is the Wooden Calvary of Grust."

"Ballisticians." Wolf said. He looked around at the League. They were all compacted onto the island. "We can't face them, cornered on an island like this. We'd lose more then half our numbers in the most optimistic situation."

Marth narrowed his eyes as the Grustian Wooden Calvery approached. Every soldier was riding in a peculiar piece of machinery, built into the machine was a large arrow, far larger then what the League's archers would fire. He found himself agreeing with Wolf, victory would be too costly if they had to get off the island while under a hail of Ballistician arrows. He grew particularly worried for Caeda, a Pegasus Knight would be the most obvious of targets.

"We need to retreat." Marth said, he looked around. Trying to leave the island at this point would just put them in range of Grust. He turned around to explore his options. The first thing to catch his eye was a collection of ships. They looked fairly old, floating in the water, long since abandoned by their owners. The sails were dirty, but the ships still looked seaworthy.

In an ideal situation, they could simply buy ships of impressive quality from Port Warren, but they couldn't get back to the port right now. Not without a few League soldiers dying pointless deaths. In the current situation, they had no choice.

"Hardin…"

"I understand." Hardin said, the Aurelian prince turned to the League soldiers. "All troops, get aboard one of these ships, now!"

* * *

><p>The Wooden Calvary reached the island. A single ship, filled to the brim with League soldiers, was already sailing away. The Calvary captain dismounted off his Ballisticia, then started to walk toward the remains of Kannival.<p>

"Humph…" Grigas, the Calvary captain scoffed. He looked at Kannival's corpse, now baking in the sun. "You just couldn't slow them down adequately enough, could you?" He kicked the armor that protected Kannival's ribs, then looked to the distance with a dissatisfied expression. No arrow could reach the League's current position, and it would be beyond aggravating to load the Ballista onto a remaining ship. He would have no choice but to let them go. Besides, the only practical place the rebels could go was… Grigas smirked, knowing the rebels' exact destination.

Their push to the Archanean Palace had been derailed. Though if they survived the coming trails, they'd get right back onto their march. Grigas shook his head, if they survived, he'd be fighting them eventually, and in a battle where there could be no retreat. In such a situation, the ground would be covered with the remains of rebel corpses.

He looked at Kannival's remains again, he'd let vultures and worms do with the corpse as they wished.

"To think that they thought the Sable Order would have to be called out. A random pack of rebels who delude themselves into fancying themselves capable of fighting the Dolhr Alliance shan't need Camus The Sable's hand to strike them down."

Taking a moment to spit on Kannival's corpse, Grigas turned around. He and the rest of the Wooden Calvary would be heading back now.

* * *

><p>Malledus was looking over a map, Marth and Hardin were nearby. They boarded the ship with the immediate purpose of retreating from the Wooden Calvary, but now they had to know any practical place the ship filled with soldiers could dock.<p>

They certainly couldn't just wait and turn around. Grust would likely guard that region much more closely. They needed a different route to approach the Archanean Palace with now. Rather then simply dock at Port Warren, they needed to go somewhere else, get their bearings, and determine a different route to move to the palace with.

"…troubling." Malledus said as he looked over the map, he stroked his chin for a moment, glossing over the map, and sighed. "The only practical port we can go to is in Pyrathi. You know exactly what kind of ruler that island nation has, I presume."

Hardin's eyes narrowed. Pyrathi was a nation that rarely factored into anyone's list of the nations of the continent. It was a nation that seldom ever made contact with the outside world… until recently.

Pyrathi's king, a man named Mannu, was exactly the same sort of being that Bantu was. Marth looked up, Bantu was on the deck right now, just as oblivious as everyone else as to where they were going. There was just one small difference between Bantu and Mannu…

Mannu of Pyrathi was a direct descendent of the Dolhrian Manaketes. Pyrathi had no formal alliances, but it was on good terms with Dolhr. It's been rumored that Mannu has been meeting with representatives of Dolhr recently. If such rumors were true, he wouldn't react to the presence of the Archanean League with kingly grace.

"Is there anywhere else we can dock? If we land at Pyrathi, we'll be fighting the moment we land."

Malledus looked back down at the map. He scanned around, looking for any possible alternative. "No, Pyrathi is the only place we can dock. We don't have enough supplies in reserve to make it to any other port safely. We'll just have to accept the fact that we'll probably be fighting king Mannu when we land."

Hardin nodded. He looked at the map, and something else occurred to him. "It's very likely that any port close to the palace will be too well guarded for it to be a viable place to dock at, now that they know where we were trying to go. When we return from Pyrathi, we'll have to use a longer route." Marth looked at the map and nodded.

"This voyage to Pyrathi will take several days at best." Marth mused, looking at the distance between their current position and Pyrathi. He hadn't expected he'd be winning every fight, but this was an enormous setback. "We should not neglect our training, but neither should we allow ourselves to be exhausted on the day we battle."

"Daily trainings for everyone, then?" Hardin thought for a moment, then shrugged. Might as well. He knew some of his own men went stir crazy without something to focus on. "That is well. It is time our soldiers were able to match each other in a calmer environment."

* * *

><p>"Est…" Minerva shook the youngest Whitewing by her shoulder in the damp, rancid cell. Minerva looked completely drained, appearing as if the weight of her armor could pull her down to the ground. The punishment was now over.<p>

By virtue of being Michalis' sister, Minerva had always been spared from being manually punished by Dolhr like this. After the encounter with Xemcel, she wondered if her resolve to defy Dolhr could have remained if Manakete torture was a regular scenario for her.

She had not expected such pain to exist in this, or any world. Minerva was the only one of the four to remain conscious through it all. She barely had the strength to shake Est, it looked like not falling down unconscious was a struggle in of itself. Every part of her ached with pain, and yet, if Xemcel wanted, she suspected it could have been made much more painful.

Palla and Catria had woken some hours after Xemcel and Bulzark left, Catria was sitting down, leaning against the wall without a word. She almost looked like she was in a catatonic state and would be unresponsive, but she did occasionally tilt her head around. Among the three Whitewings, Catria seemed to bare the most physical scars from Morzas and Xemcel's sadism.

Palla was right by Minerva, trying to rouse Est from unconsciousness. Her hands were shaky as they fell onto Est's shoulder. "Est, please wake up."

Est was breathing and her heart was beating, but her eyes were still shut. Minerva and Palla both continued, and after a long moment of seemingly futile effort, Est groaned.

Minerva and Palla relaxed with a deep feeling of relief as Est's eyes opened. Catria, on the other side of the room, saw it and her eyes brightened. The middle Whitewing got up and walked as best as she could to the other three, she shambled more then she properly walked.

Est's eyes weakly darted around, seeing the commander and her sisters looking over her. With a moan, Est slowly started to get up. All she managed to reach was a sitting position.

"We're all alive." Minerva leaned back, her voice sounding weak and relieved.

"Commander…" Catria began, talking as if moving her mouth hurt her. Her words were coherent, but slow. "When do we get into contact with Mar… prince Marth?" She had to catch herself to remember the proper title.

"As soon as… possible." Minerva tried to stand, but failed. "We need to find prince Marth, and convince him to go to-"

Est's eyes widened, Minerva took notice and turned to the cell door. It creaked open and a man walked in. Minerva could swear that she recognized him, but couldn't come up with a name. He _looked_ Grustian, though…

"Princess Minerva." The man opened up, sounding formal and impersonal, yet somehow sounding sorry for the four at the same time. "I am Belf of the Sable Order of Grust. I come with new orders for you."

Minerva felt a flicker of irritation. She needed a free moment for all four of them to find Marth and explain their situation. She forced herself to stand, stumbling at first, before straightening, ignoring the pain shooting through her legs. Teetering on her legs, burning with pain, she spoke. "After being tortured by the Hand of Medeus himself, I think, we are entitled to some rest. We-"

"That is understandable." Belf said, nodding, seeing what she was saying. "Had it been up to me, I would house you in a place more comfortable, but orders take precedence." He took a deep breath. Catria glared at Belf, had she not have been so injured and exhausted, she would have accused him of faking concern for them. Belf continued, "Xemcel, the Hand of Medeus, has reasoned that letting you four remain together is a precarious suggestion. As of now, the three Whitewings are to be separated from princess Minerva."

Minerva and the Whitewings collectively lost their breath for a moment.

"The Whitewing sisters, Palla, Catria, and Est, are to move to Grust and join with the Grustian army, they will act as subordinates to the Sable Order. Princess Minerva is to go to Castle Deil, serving as a guard."

"I…" It took a moment for Minerva's order to be processed in her mind. "I… I'm to… what?" Her eyes widened, wondering if the pain of the torture had damaged her ears. Belf's next words affirmed the order.

"You are to become a guard at Castle Deil, serving General Zharov directly. I was also instructed to give you a message regarding your new duty." Belf held out a piece of paper. "Two messages, actually. One is written by Xemcel, Hand of Medeus, the other by your brother, King Michalis the Great."

Minerva waited.

"The slightest disobedience, and general Zharov is authorized to terminate the youngest member of the Macedonian royal family. That is your final warning, human." Belf read off the paper. "Xemcel." He said, though the fact that was Xemcel's message was fairly obvious. Belf continued reading, this time Michalis' message. "Watch out for Maria. Do not let anything befall her. Save her from any who would torment her."

She blinked. "He wants me to-" she closed her eyes, seeming to imperceptibly relax. It was good to know that Michalis was still concerned for Maria, even if he was the one to put her in that situation. Then something occurred to her. "Is Michalis the one who assigned me to Castle Deil?" She slightly tilted forward almost hopefully. Perhaps, perhaps Michalis had had a revelation, perhaps he was now secretly supporting her planned rebellion, but pretending to be loyal to Dolhr for the sake of keeping up appearances.

"No." Belf shattered Minerva's hope for Michalis with one word. "The one who wished you to be assigned to Castle Deil was the Dark Pontifex of Khadein, Gharnef."

Minerva leaned back, her mouth hanging open. "Why-"

"If you want to know, you'll have to ask him yourself." Belf said, already knowing the rest of that question. "Your guess as to why is as good as mine. Those of Grust, and those of Macedon, do our best to remain uninvolved in that man's affairs."

She certainly didn't blame anyone for having that mindset. The further away from Gharnef that Minerva was, the better. Still, she was assigned to Castle Deil by Gharnef? Was this some kind of sadistic game, some sick joke of letting her be close to Maria but never see her? What was that man thinking?

"You have the rest of today to rest. In the morning, princess Minerva is to go to Castle Diel. The Whitewings are to move to Grust. You are entitled to leave earlier if you so wish. There will be consequences if you fail to reach your destinations by a certain time."

Belf put the slip of paper away, both orders and the message had been delivered, he was done here. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room.

"Commander…" Est said, watching Belf turn a corner outside the cell. "Now what?"

Minerva paused to think for a moment. "We'll still get into contact with Marth. Someone, traveling solo, will briefly detour from their proper destination to find him." She took in a deep breath and set herself back down. "It would be easier if one of you three perform this task. I'm a little more… recognizable, one of you can move past Dolhr Alliance bases a little more easily."

The Whitewings all exchanged a glance with each other, then almost at the same time, all three volunteered.

"No." Minerva raised a hand up to command the three to desist. "The one best suited to traveling should be the one to do this. Which of you is the most capable of movement right now?" She moved to the Whitewings and started to look over them. She scanned over them for a few moments, just almost stretching into a full minute, then sighed. All three of them bore the wounds from Xemcel's torture. She motioned to the one who seemed to be the most capable of movement right now. "Catria, I'll leave this to you."

"Yes, commander." Catria stood up on weak, wobbly legs. The majority of the trip would be on the saddle of a Pegasus, as long as Catria had the strength to climb onto the saddle, she could do this.

Minerva placed a hand on Catria's shoulder. "Find them and explain the situation, then move to Grust." She turned her head slightly to address all three of them. "In Grust, be as respectful to your superior's orders as you can. Once you have reason to believe that Maria is free and that I've joined prince Marth's army, come find me."

They all nodded, the Whitewings all managed to smile despite the pain they were in.

"Catria…" Minerva said, addressing only her again. "Take a white flag with you when you go. Raise it to show that you come in peace. If it seems that they are still intend on attacking even after they see the flag, retreat and head to Grust and… we'll have to think of something from there."

The smiles from a moment ago vanished. Catria respectfully nodded. The plan had been finalized, all that mattered at this point was execution. Hope for Marth to listen, and hope he goes to Castle Diel.

"Out." Came a voice from behind them. Minerva turned to see Khozen, Heimler and Volzhin, and Horace. Volzhin, the speaker, stepped up to them. "Out, filth. This cell is to be used. A new Archanean resistance has been crushed by the Bloodcleaner. We have rebel scum to interrogate."

Minerva tilted her head slightly. A number of Dolhrian troops were holding bound and gagged men and women.

"I suppose such dismissive life forms who do not see the true masters of this world are simply deaf." Khozen said without humor. He looked at Minerva with dismissive eyes. "Go to your assigned tasks, or I shall allow Zharov of Castle Deil to reduce the child to a limp body with blood seeping from her skin and into the ground."

"You…" Catria got up and tried to lunge at Khozen. Heimler calmly stepped forward and grabbed her around the neck. Without saying a word, he lifted her up, unimpressed by her flailing limbs, and threw her across the cell.

"Pathetic." Volzhin said as Heimler folded his arms behind his back. Horace stepped forward, Minerva couldn't tell if he was trying to block Heimler or shield Heimler from a second attack. Try as she might, the Archanean traitor didn't seem so vile a character to her.

Catria forced herself to stand back up, but didn't look like she would try to lunge again. Volzhin motioned with his head, "Get out, or Khozen will authorize-"

"Okay." Minerva said, looking at Catria. Minerva felt a painful twist in her gut as she and the Whitewings left, leaving valiant Archaneans behind with the Manakete and his servants.

"Catria." Minerva said as the cell door closed behind them. "Leave as soon as possible."

She nodded. "At once, commander."

* * *

><p><strong>I dreaded writing Roger's recruitment, but I guess it came out okay. Still a little clunky in some way, but, eh. I believe that it's painfully obvious that Caeda was manipulating Roger, so I stuck that in there.<strong>

**EDIT: Forgot to mention this at first. Bulzark is from BS Fire Emblem. He'll be appearing quite a bit.**

**Please review.**


	18. The Manakete of Pyrathi

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>King Mannu awoke from a dreamless sleep, he found himself staring at the ceiling of his room. Fanciful designs were across the ceiling, carved by Pyrathi's best artisans into the cold metal, but he paid no mind to such things. He blinked a few times to try and wash away his fatigue, then tossed the covers off of him. The wind chillingly swept through his beard, but he barely felt it.<p>

The sleep had been dreamless, yes, but… he had felt something in his sleep. A vague sense of unease and dread was squeezing at him. He found himself unable, or simply unwilling, to stay in his bed. He was oddly out of breath, he got up and looked to the window, the sight of the ocean around Pyrathi greeted him. On this windless, cold night, the moon hide behind a cloudy tapestry and the ocean looked more like ice, not the slightest ripple in the water, but Mannu knew that these warm waters didn't turn to ice. They hadn't frozen in all his life. Still, a sense of uncertainty seemed to grip his heart. Somehow… chaos seemed to pervade all of Pyrathi. Reflexively, Mannu's fingers curled around his Dragonstone.

The Manakete could sense some kind of approaching danger. What it was… he couldn't say just yet. Something, something beyond Pyrathi's borders was coming. He raised a hand up to pull the hood of his robe forward, further obscuring his shadowy face. Twinkling golden eyes shined out from under his hood.

The door to his room creaked open. Mannu paid no mind to the door, but to the sound of footsteps walking in. Without turning around he knew it was one of his servants.

"I am not to be disturbed at this hour, human." Mannu said, his tone containing a thinly veiled threat, and the sound of footsteps ceased. He didn't as much as turn to whomever had just entered. "For what purpose have you invited yourself into my personal chamber?"

There was a small silence. Mannu was accustomed to this, whoever had just entered the room was taking a moment to bow with the deepest respect before talking.

"A thousand apologies King Mannu, but ambassadors of Dolhr have arrived. The Hand of Medeus himself among them."

A pause, Mannu's eyes widened, he turned around, facing the female servant who had delivered the news, she was still tilted forward in a bow. Agents of Dolhr were here… and Medeus' second-in-command, at that. This was enough to justify this sudden intrusion he supposed. It was slightly irritating that the Hand decided to visit so late, but no mind.

In the last meeting with an ambassador, it seemed that all of Pyrathi becoming an extension of the Empire was but a step away. Though he expected to be appraised one final time, he had no doubt that the deal would be sealed today. His uncomfortable sense of foreboding suddenly forgotten, he waved a hand at the servant. "Rise. Return to the Hand. Tell him to meet me in the Banquet Hall. I will be there soon."

* * *

><p>The Banquet Hall of Pyrathi was exquisite. Thick pillars crafted entirely from silver rose up, a golden, gilded ceiling stretched above. Artwork was spread across the ceiling, depicting what looked to be a grand battle between two human armies. It would likely be breathtaking to a human. To most Manaketes, it was less then worthless, the Dolhr ambassadors were no exception.<p>

Mannu had ordered a table set for him and the representatives of Dolhr. A red banquet cloth laid upon a high quality wooden table. With the speed and efficiency of people who had been preparing tables all their lives, servants pulled back the artfully carved wooden chairs for Xemcel and Bulzark to sit. The table meant for three individuals was packed and stacked with steaming food. Choice meat, fruit, and vegetables that Mannu had presumed would be to a fellow Manakete's liking were piled up. Bulzark picked at some food, but seemed uninterested in eating, Xemcel did not as much as glance at the food.

The two Manaketes exchanged looks, they seemed to have a wordless conversation while waiting for Mannu. Bulzark looked up at the expensive decoration of the room, and looked almost repulsed. It was not the way of Manaketes, or of Dolhr, to be surrounded with such wealth. Medeus' throne room, and the Resurrectory, were the only places in all of Dolhr that had any signs of regality. The closest thing to artwork in Dolhr Keep were the runes on the metal walls, which were no decoration.

Xemcel's eyes wandered around. The seductive, wafting aroma of the food meant nothing to him. He was waiting for Mannu. All else who were here right now were Mannu's servants. He observed them for a time, the humans shuddered whenever they realized Xemcel was looking at them, and felt indescribable relief when his eyes turned away.

When Mannu arrived several minutes later, he was met with the aggravated face of Xemcel.

"Xemcel, Bulzark." Mannu opened up with a slightly enthusiastic tone, seemingly oblivious to Xemcel's apparent annoyance. A servant pulled the chair back to let the king sit. "It is an honor to finally have an audience with the Hand of Medeus. I trust your presence means that Emperor Medeus wishes to take Pyrathi as a part of Dolhr? It is my single, greatest desire for Pyrathi and all of its assets to be at the Emperor's beck and call."

There was a long silence where Xemcel simply glared straight at Mannu. Xemcel found Mannu to be speaking with the same tone he associated with Jiol, something he loathed in ways words couldn't describe. Mannu's good mood dropped at the Hand's disapproving face.

"The Emperor has expressed interest in a human nation ruled by a Manakete for so long. I wonder if he will be pleased with what I report." Xemcel looked around the room, focusing on the obvious wealth of gold and silver. "Such arbitrary displays of meaningless wealth… I had not expected you to be so thoroughly corrupted by the things humans value."

Mannu said nothing, shocked at the sharpness of the words, it felt as if he had been solidly punched in the gut. The king of Pyrathi had never heard a voice refer to him so critically, and he was at a loss as to how to respond. Sullenly, he turned to look at the designs of the Banquet Hall. He had made such an emphasis on grandiose metals in the castle, and elsewhere throughout Pyrathi, because he knew that it was what impressed his subjects, humans. He had never once considered how another Manakete would appraise such architecture.

"Fool." Xemcel said, Mannu almost shrank away. "Seek to spark the human's fear, not feed their avarice. Leave them drowning in a pool of horror at the mere _idea_ of invoking your wrath. They are a rebellious people, they must be offered no mercy or comfort."

"Yes… Xemcel." Mannu said, his face creasing with horror all his own. Truly, with all his heart, he wished to become a servant of Emperor Medeus. It was his calling, what he knew he had to do. If Medeus' perceptions were even vaguely shared with his Hand, he would react to Pyrathi's splendor in much the same way.

No, unacceptable. If he couldn't join with Dolhr, then nothing would have meaning anymore…

When he first sat down, the king had expected a good meal surrounded by the finalization of a merger between Dolhr and Pyrathi. Now, Mannu looked at the food before him and found himself to not have much of an appetite.

"Infected by human values." Bulzark spoke up, "And you do not treat humans as they should be. They hold ranking positions and live comfortable lives here. It is not right or proper to coddle their loathsome kind. Humans are one thing. Pawns. They are to be tempered into something useful, used to the full extent of their usefulness, and then thrown aside. If you would seek any alliance with Dolhr, your treatment of humans will have to change."

Mannu took in Bulzark's words, planning to be completely obedient to the barbed words of advice. Everyday life in Pyrathi would soon have… explosive changes. There were many times he, admittedly, felt like he was staying his hand. No more. Nothing even vaguely like pampering would ever occur in Pyrathi again. The people should pray that he can ally himself with Dolhr. As harsh as he now planned to make life for the humans, it was only a pale shadow of what he would do to them if Dolhr refused him. If an alliance with Dolhr could not be obtained, never would the lashes and scourges be held back from his people, he would make them all feel his misery.

The last few encounters with Dolhr ambassadors had been short and easy. Most of them praised Mannu and Pyrathi. As he listened to Xemcel and Bulzark's take on him, he wondered if the praise was simply because he was a Manakete.

"However…" Xemcel said, Mannu's eyes widened hopefully at Xemcel's now calmer tone. "You are not completely lost. Not yet. I am willing to look past your faults if you can accomplish one task."

Mannu felt concern billowing in his gut. A task to redeem himself in the eyes of Xemcel… it would be no simple thing that would be asked of him, he wondered if Pyrathi was up to this task. At the same time, a chance to redeem himself in Dolhr's eyes almost had him rising from his chair in enthusiasm. He waited for Xemcel to speak.

"A human army is approaching Pyrathi. A band of rebels trying to challenge Dolhr. They were attempting to push into Archanea, but were thrown off course. The leader of this army is the descendent of Anri."

Mannu paused. He thought back to the feeling that seemed to course through every nerve when he had woken up. A feeling that something beyond Pyrathi's borders was coming. His face tightened, understanding what he had sensed the approach of, and completely understanding what Xemcel was asking of him. "I will do all within my power to slaughter Anri's worm of a descendent. I assure you, Pyrathi will consume him, as… as my ancestors _should _have consumed Anri long ago."

Mannu was a descendent of Dolhrian Manaketes. His ancestors had… not been there in the ancient war, they hadn't been present in Dolhr to defend Medeus when Anri came, they were committed elsewhere. When the war ended, Mannu's ancestors were shamed, they could not bring themselves to return to Dolhr. Instead, they resigned themselves to subjugating the then primitive humans of Pyrathi and becoming their rulers. Ruling this island had offered no solace or peace.

After several generations, Mannu was the last descendent of those Manaketes. He had lived with the shame of being the child of a lineage that had failed to defend Medeus so long ago. The shame was like a torch that was passed from generation to generation. He, himself, had resigned himself to his fate. To disappear when his time came, erasing his disgraceful lineage forever. With Anri's descendent coming, it would seem that Mannu now had the chance to not disappear, but to make up for his ancestor's failing.

There was a look of deep skepticism in Xemcel's eyes, but it seemed to slowly fade away. "Before you rally your army, Mannu, keep this in mind. One of our kind, a Manakete, is with Anri's descendent. He is like you, he has come to coddle the humans." The tone of voice Xemcel was using seemed to cut deep into Mannu. Never before could anyone talk to Mannu with such a tone and not be reduced to ash. It was even worse that Mannu couldn't offer a rebuttal to the words. "Unlike you, he is beyond redemption. Death is the only mercy to give him."

"Kill Anri's descendent and all of his soldiers, as well as this traitor Manakete." Mannu took the scenario in. He would not fail. Failure was not an option. He rose from his chair. "I beg your pardon Xemcel, I must inform my army to move immediately. They shall be ready day and night until this attack comes."

Xemcel and Bulzark continued to sit for a moment, and then they rose as well. "We won't remain here, but rest assured, we will be watching. Do _not_ disappoint the Emperor."

Mannu looked worried for a moment, then bowed his head respectfully. "I will crush the descendent. I swear on my life, his head will be stored in Dolhr Keep within a fortnight, his attempts at defying Dolhr shall die a quiet death on Pyrathi's shore."

Pyrathi would ready itself to try and strike down Marth, that was well enough, Xemcel and Bulzark nodded at Mannu and wordlessly took their leave. They marched out of the castle, moving down the steps of the castle entrance, distancing themselves from the displays of wealth that made their skin crawl. If Mannu defeated Marth, the wealth would likely disappear, and the conditions of the humans of the island would likely… deteriorate, but only if he attained victory.

For Xemcel, the mere notion of Mannu triumphing was absurd. "He won't be victorious." Xemcel said quietly, looking over the land of Pyrathi. In particular, the peaceful farmlands that dotted the island nation. A disgusting sight. "Coddled humans cannot become expedient humans in a few days. In his current state, even a fool can see that the prince will make a mockery of Mannu."

"Then… you have no intention of revaluating Pyrathi? Make use of the humans?" Bulzark asked, the lower ranked Manakete having none of Xemcel's cold intellect.

"I won't soil Dolhr's name, or the Emperor's, with Mannu's weakness." He shook his head, perhaps disgusted that a fellow Manakete could try to pledge allegiance to Dolhr, and yet be so ineffective in his judgment. "Telling Mannu about the rebels was never for his benefit. We are… letting the prince cut his teeth against a Manakete."

"Letting the prince…" Bulzark's words trailed away, he didn't understand. Then he blinked in realization. "Do you mean… you want the prince to…?"

Xemcel chuckled, a deep, ominous rumble of a laugh. "All I do is as the Emperor's ordains me. Come, Bulzark. We shall take our leave of Pyrathi, to our next errand, we go."

* * *

><p><em>A palace with regality and wealth that seemed beyond human comprehension. Marth and the League marched past marble pillars and gilded artwork that they seemed almost unworthy to walk by. The rich splendor of this palace, crafted as if it was a dwelling place for the divine, more then put the Aurelian Palace to shame. Tracing the regal halls eventually brought Marth and the League through majestic red doors and into the throne room. On the throne was an elderly bishop. With a smile, the bishop rose from the throne. Marth somehow seemed unworthy to be in this building, but this bishop seemed even less so, a heathenish intruder who had simply invited himself onto the throne.<em>

_Marth dashed ahead of the League, but the bishop simply smiled and snapped his fingers, the throne room itself rumbled, and the marble steps seemed to burn aflame. A fire surged from right under Marth's feet, and-_

"-and Marth became ash right there." Caeda recounted below deck. Nyna, the only person she would reveal these dreams to, took it in calmly and patiently. Strange, ominous dreams that kept coming semi-true. Whenever one vision was averted, another came. Caeda bowed her head, her hair falling over the front of her shoulders. The stress of these dreams was deeply effecting her. She almost jumped at Nyna's hand on her shoulder.

Nyna's mind was slowly churning. She thought of every ranking member of the Dolhr Alliance or of Dolhr itself that the described bishop could be. No name or face seemed to come to her. "I have no idea who that bishop was, but… the palace you described…" Nyna sat down beside Caeda, taking her hand off Caeda's shoulder. The Talys princess' palace description had triggered a thought in Nyna's mind, but she left the sentence incomplete, occupying herself on comforting Caeda. Her hand reached out and landed on Caeda's knee. "If I ever think something like this might be about to happen, I'll… find something to stop Marth, let someone else go in his stead."

Caeda didn't seem to feel secure or soothed. She crossed her arms and tilted herself a little more forward. "How long am I going to keep having these dreams?" Silence followed. Nyna wasn't sure of what to say to that. Her hand fell off of Caeda's knee, and she simply looked across the cabin for a second. Caeda couldn't take watching Marth die over and over again, even in the realm of her own mind.

"Well, Caeda…" Nyna tried to change the overall tone of the conversation, if not the subject of Marth. "If Marth sees you brooding, it might make him unable to concentrate in actual combat. You have to put on a strong face, until these dreams stop coming."

Caeda's head perked up a little. A thin smile appeared on her face, then quickly dropped. "He would be the sort to preoccupy himself with that in the middle of a fight." She sighed, it felt like a weight was on her soul, but she forced herself to wear a fake smile. Something Marth would be able to see through painfully easily if he really looked at her, but it would have to suffice for now.

"Let's go back to the deck, Caeda." Nyna suggested, standing up and offering a concerned, friendly hand to help Caeda up. "Something… to get your mind off of that dream."

Caeda wasn't sure if anything could properly get her mind off the dream. She stood up, not accepting Nyna's hand, but decided to accept the invitation. The two began to walk to the deck.

* * *

><p>The sun shone down on the deck of the ship that the Archanean League had commandeered to escape the Wooden Calvary. The ocean was calm and the air clean. To the League's fortune, the wind was generously blowing them in the direction they wanted to go. Despite being a little aged, the wood of the ship was sturdy and strong, easily able to handle people running all over it.<p>

With no ill weather, it would have been the perfect time to relax on the deck. Marth, Hardin, and Jagen, however, reasoned that it was a better time to train. The soldiers offered no argument.

Roshea found himself in a sadly familiar position. Lying down on his back in the middle of training. He was out and fighting in this war with such enthusiasm, and he was sure he was improving by leaps and bounds, but he still couldn't match his brothers in spirit.

"Down already, Little Roshea?" There was a 'tsk, tsk' of disapproval from Vyland. "I taught you better then that, you know."

The youth sighed as he began to pick himself back up. Try as he might, he couldn't ever _really_ match his comrades. He got to his knees, raising his gauntlet to wipe away some drool from his chin. His lance was held firmly in his hand as he got back to a proper standing position. Though he seemed somewhat battered, he didn't seem even mildly fatigued.

"Come on, Little Roshea." Sedgar encouraged from the side, doing a little fist pump. "You almost had him."

"Hey." Vyland turned to Sedgar with a raised eyebrow. "Whose side are you on?"

Sedgar was sitting down on the side, not too far away from Wolf. He smiled in a way that felt taunting to Vyland as he displayed blatant favoritism for the youngest of the four. Crossing his legs, Sedgar turned to Roshea. "You gonna just let Vyland win that easily? What happened to the True Spirit of Aurelis?"

The True Spirit of Aurelis. The Aurelian battle cry, no matter how many soldiers are lost, and no matter how many battles are lost, Aurelis would always prevail. The True Spirit of Aurelis was unbreakable, and so was the nation's soldiers. No one could defeat an Aurelian who was fighting for a good reason. Somewhat reinvigorated, Roshea reassumed a combat stance.

"Vyland leaves himself open too often." Wolf noted, looking at the berserker of an Aurelian knight. "Roshea, watch your opponent. If your enemy outclasses you, holding out and waiting for an opportune moment is something you must do. Vyland's charge is formidable, make your defense more formidable. Outlast him, then seize any presented opportunity."

Vyland turned to Wolf with an irritated crease in his face. "You can see a flaw in my strategy with just some basic observation, huh?" Wolf just blinked at Vyland. Vyland sighed and closed his eyes in annoyance, "Oh, of course _you_ can, Wolf."

"You're leaving yourself open again, Vyland." Wolf lectured. Vyland jolted to attention, and turned back just in time to see Roshea's wooden lance impact his chest armor. Vyland grunted, then fell down.

"Lucky shot…" Vyland said as he got back to his feet, brushing a hand against his chest armor. It wasn't even dented. The same could not be said for his good mood. "Let's see if your formidable defense is… um… formidable."

"Can the one-liners, Vyland." Sedgar said, leaning his head back and rolling his eyes. "Yours… have never been all that clever to begin with." Vyland's brow furrowed in irritation and offense, then he focused himself, immediately charging at Roshea with his wooden sword.

* * *

><p>The deck of the ship had little duels occurring all over it. While Vyland and Roshea were sparring in one area, Cain and Abel were in another, Caesar fought with Ogma elsewhere. There were many other duelers, the vast majority of the army that could fight was preoccupied with some manner of training. Some were not, such as Navarre, who simply stood at the rail motionless for hours on end, looking out at the ocean water. Jagen acted as an overseer of the ship deck training. A stern, fierce instructor, he barked instructions and called out soldiers for their flaws as he paced back and forth between the rotating duelers. Most of the League was made of exceptional soldiers, but their numbers were not many. A sizable percentage of the League were made of ragtag fighters, certainly skilled and loyal, but had little formal training.<p>

Then, between the skilled soldiers, there were those who, while a good member of the League, were clearly unsuited for war. Jagen turned to the drafted Macedonian knight, Matthis, as Draug tried to help the man train. Matthis had proven to be competent in battles, but it was clear that he had no feel for weapons. His lack of confidence also held him back. He shrank away if Jagen as much as looked at him. There was one thing to be said about Matthis, he wasn't built for warfare, nor did he have any drive to excel in it. Perhaps, when this was over, if he was still alive, he should consider a different path in life.

* * *

><p>"Vell, vell, sitting by yourself?" Athena had been wandering around the deck fairly pointlessly, until she took notice of Norne. The girl was just sitting by the rail, looking out at the endless ocean water. Athena leaned onto the rail and turned her head to Norne, noticing an odd look of frustration on the archer's face. "You're normally vith Gordin."<p>

Norne sighed, "He's asleep right now. Cain went a little too far with testing his ability to dodge, and, well… he needs some rest." Gordin was below deck in a bed. Wrys had already dealt with the bruises from Cain's wooden lance. As the pain went away, the feeling of relief mixed with his exhaustion, and he fell asleep as the healing ended. Norne and Wrys had decided to let him sleep.

As the archer sighed again, Athena could tell that Norne was actually annoyed to not be with Gordin right now. They weren't apart very often, were they?

A thought suddenly struck Athena. An almost mischievous grin crept onto her face.

"You have a crush on him, don't you?"

There was a sudden jerk in Norne's shoulders, she bolted up to a standing position, turning to Athena wearing a face that seemed both angry and embarrassed. "W-what? Where did _that_ come from?"

Athena just shrugged. "Ve simply vatched you tvo. Particularly you. You're protective of him. Vorry about him, and as ve can see nov, you don't like being apart from him." Athena's face had only a little smirk at first, but her smile widened at Norne's increasingly reddening face. "Did ve read you vrong?"

"I…" Norne gulped, then forced herself to slightly relax. "I guess you aren't good at reading people, are you?" She chuckled, but the laugh sounded far too nervous. Athena leaned forward to give Norne a slightly condescending look.

"Your expression seems to say that ve read you quite right." Athena straightened back up, "Perhaps ve shall tell Gordin a fev little facts vhen he vakes up." She turned around with a smirk and started to walk off to the door that led below deck.

"Wait." Norne whispered, her voice surprisingly fierce for such a quiet tone. Unintimidated, Athena turned back to the archer, "It is none of your business what I feel for Gordin." There was a small pause, an amused tilt of Athena's head made Norne realize what she had just said. "Um… I mean, whatever I feel _about_ hi… whatever I _think_ about him."

"Cute vhen you're so obviously flustered." Athena said with a smile.

Norne took a step back with an indignant face, a multitude of quiet, incoherent mutters and mumbles came out under her breath, then she glared straight at Athena. "Why do you have to be so _annoying_? Gordin is my best friend, and that's it. That's… _it_. There is no way I think of him like that."

The swordswoman was unimpressed by Norne's threatening tone, and simply smiled. "Very vell, ve shall be sure to tell Gordin that there's not a single thing about him that's attractive or even remotely desirable in your eyes."

"Wha-" Norne's mouth hung open as Athena began to walk away. "No, no, get back here. D-don't… _please_ don't tell him that." Her hands reached out in an almost pleading motion, but Athena just kept walking away. The last thing she wanted was for Gordin to think that she thought he was ugly or unredeemable in some way. She, turned her head to the direction of the royals, wondering if she could report harassment. Taunting her over Gordin had to be something that could justify getting Marth himself to tell Athena to back off. She turned back in Athena's direction, and realized that Athena wasn't in her sight anymore. Immediately she grew terrified.

"Oh no…" Norne looked around for a moment, unsure of where Athena was. Yet she knew full well where Athena was likely going. Feeling nothing but an absolute need to stop Athena from getting to Gordin, Norne turned to the door that led below deck. Without even knowing how reaching Gordin first was supposed to accomplish anything, she started to run across the deck.

* * *

><p>Bantu, quite obviously, wasn't training. His true form would likely capsize the ship, or simply crush it, were he to channel the Dragonstone's power. He stood by the rail, looking in the distance. Ancient, strong eyes that missed nothing caught a land mass. Pyrathi. He sighed, that land was controlled by a Manakete much like him, named Mannu. Unlike him, Mannu would likely answer to Dolhr before the Divine Dragon Clan.<p>

"See anything, Bantu?" Marth came up to the side, placing his hand on the rails. To him, the only thing to see was water and clouds. Actually, it was quite peaceful. He took a moment to close his eyes and let the cool breeze refresh his face.

"Land, prince Marth." Bantu said, briefly turning to Marth, and then back to the distant island he saw across the water. "We will land in Pyrathi in a few hours at this speed."

Marth opened his eyes and squinted them, but he saw nothing. Only an endless sheet of water was caught by his eyes. Deciding to trust Bantu's vision, he turned to the Manakete. "We'll probably end up fighting king Mannu. Bantu, is there anything I should know when fighting a Manakete?"

Bantu closed his eyes, taking a hand out of his robe, clutching his Dragonstone. "There are multiple breeds of Manakete, though most fell to extinction eons ago. If he is the same breed as I am…" he raised a hand up, pushing his fingers into his neck. "The scales on my neck are a little softer then on the rest of my body in the dragon state. Not… quite soft enough to call it a weak spot, but it is the most valid place for a human to strike." He closed his eyes, and his tone changed slightly. "When two Manaketes fight, they will use their talons to try and tear open the other's neck if they're engaging in close combat."

Marth took the information in. "The neck. Okay. I'll keep that in mind. If we're going to be fighting Dolhr, we'll be fighting more Manaketes then just king Mannu."

Bantu looked to the distance, the land was getting clearer. Marth looked again, and it seemed as though he could see the outline of something. Bantu turned to the prince, "Prince Marth, if I may be so bold, perhaps you should allow me to face king Mannu. You've seen little of Manaketes, and… perhaps you should see two Manaketes face each other."

Marth looked to the distance for a few more seconds, it seemed almost as if the ocean was getting slightly rougher as Pyrathi neared. "We'll see, Bantu. We'll just see what ends up happening."

* * *

><p>Gordin turned in his sleep. Norne was sitting on the edge of her bed, on the opposite of the cabin from him, watching him sleep. Athena insinuated that Norne might have had a crush on the boy. She denied it on reflex, and knew it couldn't be true. Gordin, as true a friend as he was, was just that, a friend.<p>

She stood up and walked over to him, even when asleep he seemed to be shy. Pulled back on the wall that was on the other side of his bed. She was tempted to reach a hand out and brush it through his hair and… no. Last thing she needed to do was do something that gave Athena any evidence.

Still, this was the first time she had ever looked at the boy with any thought to this subject. She took a closer look, Gordin's face _was_ rather devoid of blemish… a cute, boyish face.

She pulled her head back, cutting the thought off, suddenly embarrassed to even think that. Her hand nervously reached out and gently touched Gordin's cheek, hoping to the gods above her that Gordin didn't wake up and Athena didn't walk in.

After several seconds, she pulled her hand back. Gordin's presence had never left Norne feeling quite this uncomfortable. At this point, she wanted to get away from him before he might wake up. She absolutely didn't want him to wake up to find Norne staring at him as if she had been doing it the entire time he was asleep, that'd probably do a lot more then just creep him out. Sighing, she turned around, knelt down, and leaned back onto the side of Gordin's bed. The fingers of her own hands intertwined with each other. She knew that she was now in a tricky situation, interaction with Gordin was about to get a lot more awkward… and it was all Athena's fault, too. It was just a good thing that Athena hadn't said anything to the boy. Yet.

Norne was oblivious to the fact that Athena was already in the room, and had been waiting for Norne to enter. Hunched down in the shadowed corner, the woman smiled at the scene that she had instigated.

_Vell, might not admit it even to herself, but let's see what happens, nov that she's looking at Gordin in that vay._

Manipulating Norne on this subject had been too easy. Trying to push further at this time would likely prove too hard. It would be fun to see how Norne might try to tiptoe around Gordin now. Of course, she had done this for the sake of helping Norne, even if it wouldn't seem like that at first.

The door opened. Athena turned to see Jagen walk in. Norne scrambled to her feet. "Oh, um… S-Sir Jagen, I was just, um, checking on Gordin and-"

"Wake him up." Jagen ordered, "Pyrathi has been spotted. All soldiers are to be on deck and alert." He looked over the room, scanning from left to right several times, then took a step back. He didn't seem to notice Athena in the corner. "Get yourself and Gordin onto the deck. We may be fighting within a few hours."

He stepped out. With a sigh, Norne turned around, she didn't notice Athena slip out of the room as she began to shake Gordin's shoulder.

"Mm?" Gordin aroused from his sleep, opening his eyelids lazily. His eyes immediately darted to a silhouette, it took him a second to realize it was Norne. He yawned, then noticed the serious expression in her eyes. "Is there… more training now?"

"Nope." Norne said, placing a hand under his shoulders and head to scoop him up to a sitting position. "Pyrathi's been spotted. Everyone's to get up on deck. Might be fighting pretty soon."

Gordin seemed dazed for a second from being suddenly woken up and then forced into a sitting position. He managed to nod after a second, his eyes ached, wanting to shut, but he didn't try to lay back down. He yawned a second time, then got out of bed, gained his equilibrium on the swaying ship floor, and quickly grabbed his bow and quiver right by his bed. He raised a hand to smack the side of his head to try and get rid of some of his tiredness. "Let's go, Norne. All the soldiers are probably already there."

* * *

><p>"All soldiers are here. Good." Mannu looked over the army of Pyrathi. In what would be the most important battle in Pyrathi's history, all of his knights and soldiers, and even untrained squires and recently drafted soldiers were present. There could be no substitutes, no empty holes in the army formation. It didn't matter how many soldiers died, all that mattered was victory today. Even if all of Pyrathi burnt down and his subjects become mere bones scattered across the island, it would be a small price to pay to become a servant of Medeus.<p>

With the soldiers gathered in front of the castle, Mannu raised a hand as he prepared to speak. Any chatter among the troops was silenced by the gesture. With a deep voice used to being obeyed without question, Mannu began to speak. "Soldiers of Pyrathi, a grave thing is coming upon our shores. A band of encroachers, _invaders_, is sailing to us even now. Their purpose is simple, they seek to take all that is good about Pyrathi for themselves. They are savages, monsters, fueling by hypocritical self-righteousness. Even worse, a man much like me, a Manakete, is counted among their numbers."

The soldiers, who had been quietly listening to Mannu, began to murmur amongst themselves at that revelation.

"Yet, despite the strength of any enemy, Pyrathi shall not buckle. As they come, we shall be ready. We shall litter Pyrathi with their bones and bring back that traitor Manakete's head. We shall not let the stench of their oppression linger in Pyrathi. You must all do your part to push back this invasion. We shall defend Pyrathi, _our_ land, _our _home. Once this fight is over, Pyrathi shall never be the same."

The soldiers raised their fists in the air, shouts of nationalistic pride broke the silence. Mannu smiled. They didn't know just how true Mannu's claim of Pyrathi 'never being the same' would actually be. The humans would never enjoy comfort again. After today, they would crawl at his feet from the day life is gifted to them, to the day death's cold hands spirited them away from this world. His place in Dolhr would be assured. Xemcel would approve of him. _Medeus_, would approve of him.

The soldiers moved away, eager to take the fight to the invaders. Mannu's golden eyes twinkled under his hood. As the sound of the marching soldiers faded with distance, Mannu turned his gaze to a village not far from the castle.

"…attend me." The worlds came out slowly and coldly, not for a second did his eyes wander from the village he saw. A number of soldiers, his own bodyguards, approached him.

"Your will, king Mannu?"

"There is a man in that village. He is an outsider to Pyrathi. I offered him sanctuary because he seemed so incapable and harmless an individual. In light of recent events, I have withdrawn that judgment. Go to the village, and kill him."

"Yes, my liege." The soldiers collectively said.

"After he is dead, torch the village."

Some of the soldiers looked at each other uncomfortably. Others nodded at the order without emotion.

"Everyone in that village has aided in keeping a suspicious element safe. They are guilty of treason, and the penalty for treason, is death." He turned away from the village and to the soldiers standing near him, "Go, and do not fail me. Only the most obedient and capable will partake in the coming future."

There was something ominous about that last sentence that left many of the soldiers uneasy. Some of them fidgeted for a moment, but eventually, they all obeyed.

"King Mannu's will… be done."

* * *

><p>Jeorge was… an oddity of sorts in Pyrathi. He was not a native to the nation, but still lived peacefully with the Pyrathians. They respected him, treated him warmly, no prejudice, no discrimination. He was an archer without equal, and… he had certainly fought Dolhr before. He always seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the harsh, rigid Mannu, even if the Manakete had offered him shelter in the nation.<p>

Yes, Mannu had certainly allowed him a peaceful life, but he couldn't see Mannu as a trustworthy individual. He had met Mannu, and the king wasn't a noble figure. It wasn't that he mistrusted Mannu because he was a Manakete, but because there just seemed to be… something lurking under the Manakete's surface.

He had no intention of staying in Pyrathi forever. He wanted to leave, after he had gotten some measure of support for his cause. So far, he had yet to meet a Pyrathian that had the ambition of leaving the island. The only ones who wanted to leave were some of the more rebellious youth, and they didn't have the battle training necessary for what Jeorge aspired to do.

A strange impulse suddenly hit Jeorge as he stood at the entrance of the village. It was almost like some stimulus he was sensitive to. He recognized the impulse instantly, he hadn't felt this feeling in sometime, but it was something too recognizable for him to forget. Ever.

_War is coming._

He looked far off into the distance. He saw a ship approaching, and knew at a glance that it was filled to the brim with soldiers.

His bow was fastened to his back, he took it in hand now, taking no less then three silver arrows with it. He knew… blood was about to flow, and in no small quantity.

* * *

><p>"What's it look like, Malledus?" Hardin asked, flanked by Wolf and Sedgar. They were nearing the land of Pyrathi, Malledus was looking over the rail to the island's shore. The tactician continued looking for a moment, then turned away from Pyrathi to answer Hardin's question.<p>

"It's just as we feared, and expected." Malledus said with a flicker of frustration in his tone. He motioned to scores of dots that were spread across the ground they would be docking at. Each dot was someone ready to fight. "We'll be fighting the moment we land."

Hardin crossed his arms and sighed. He had not expected any other possibility, but he had hoped to avoid unprovoked bloodshed. He squinted at the distance, he saw much, but there was a limit to what his eyes could see. Instead, he would rely on the eyesight of another.

"Wolf, what do you see?"

Wolf stepped forward and training his eye on the distant shore. An impressive collection of soldiers, with no paltry amount of training. Many of whom had likely prepared their whole lives just for an incident like this, where Pyrathi itself might be invaded. As he looked at the Pyrathian army, something occurred to him.

"They're already in a formation designed to repel an assault. They have the numbers necessary to break even particularly large armies." Wolf noted. Something seemed off to him. "The amount of soldiers out… the Pyrathian army is out in full force, over a single ship approaching the island."

"…and we should still be hard to spot at this distance." Hardin mused, looking at the dots he saw. "Strange, it's like they knew we were coming beforehand."

As Sedgar stepped forward and watched the soldiers in the distance, a thought struck him. "Maybe they were, our enemies knew where we would likely head, perhaps Dolhr-"

"Unlikely, Sedgar." Hardin said, having already considered and dismissed that idea. "If Dolhr had alerted them, rest assured that Dolhr soldiers would be here to back them up. The Empire knows that we now represent the only true threat to their rule. They had to have learned of us by some other way." He looked at the island army. "Regardless of how they learned of us, it's obvious they came expecting a fight. I'd rather not answer their request, they have little to do with what's going on in the continent in general, but king Mannu seems to have made the decision."

Hardin looked over the soldiers again, and briefly wondered why there would have to be so many deaths simply because Mannu, and maybe the people of Pyrathi itself, were going to insist on being so intolerant of outsiders. He looked over the soldiers, everyone was out on deck, ready for this battle. He turned to Malledus, "Bring the ship closer."

* * *

><p>The ship came up right beside the shore, almost, but not quite, crashing on the rocky shore. It stopped, Marth appeared near the rail, rapier in hand. He looked over the Pyrathi army, none of them struck him as being mad or quick to violence, just, following the orders laid out by their king. Most of them looked strong and trained, though not particularly refined, considering the Pyrathian army's emphasis on rugged looking axe wielders.<p>

"Anyone who doesn't wish to fight, turn around now, and we will spare you from having any part in this battle."

An urge to lay down arms and leave. Marth waited after he spoke, not a single soldier of Pyrathi moved away. He sighed, then turned to Hardin and Malledus. "The League is disembarking. The only people who stay are Nyna, and a guard for her."

Hardin nodded. He turned and motioned at Roshea. The youth's eyes widened in shock at the task he was being given, but a confident smile appeared, seemingly happy that Hardin would trust him with something like this. He backed a few steps up and quickly found Nyna, escorting her below deck, where they would likely remain until the battle was over.

The boarding ramp extended slowly, with so many enemies waiting right on the shore, they would not take this too fast. The ramp firmly landed on the ground, offering a clear access from ship deck and solid earth. No order to charge came from Marth or Hardin. Instead, the League waited. At once, the Pyrathi army charged right up the ramp. The beginning of the battle took place on the deck of the ship.

Marth and Hardin reacted to the first of Pyrathi's axemen, evading lethal axe swings and ripping their weapons through the guts of their assailants. More axemen boarded the ship after these initial men, and the deck became a bloodbath.

Ogma's swings sent axemen falling left and right, as many as three axemen fell with every swing. Navarre supplemented the corpse count with his own sword dance, as did Wolf and Jagen, protecting their princes. It was only for a small moment that the Pyrathians seemed to have a stable grasp on the ship deck, in mere minutes they had been pushed back onto their island. The League followed them onto the solid ground and rock.

The Pyrathians fought hard to defend their island, their attacks were fueled by a pride for their land, but the League's strength was much greater. The Pyrathians were pushed back, and back, and back. The League gained a solid foothold on the shore, and began to push further into the island.

"Yes, this is enough space." Bantu concluded, having moved himself to an area of Pyrathi's shore fairly free of battle. He took his Dragonstone out, feeling the familiar pulsing, and the rush of power. With no hesitation, he let the power rush into him, and his human form disappeared under a burst of light.

Bantu's true form, the scaled, ferocious form of a dragon, appeared. The Pyrathians stopped for a moment, fighting the conditioned reflex to fear a draconic figure, then turned their attention to Bantu. They attempted to strike at what they presumed to be the most dangerous enemy present. Bantu's eyes flashed red, and a short burst of flame came from his nostrils as he snorted. He breathed in a massive gulp of air, then let loose flame from his mouth, unleashing a solid wall of flame that reduced many Pyrathians to ash and cut the shore side abttle short.

Marth looked around, holding his rapier ready. The Pyrathian wave had been reduced to a few stragglers who were easily being picked off by Wolf and Sedgar.

"Alright, we have a good foothold." Marth looked over the ash Bantu had just produced. He scanned the structure of the island, and saw what could only be Mannu's castle in the distance. He turned to look over his shoulder at the rest of the army. "We're splitting up, the majority are going for the castle of Pyrathi, a much smaller group will head down a different path to root out any Pyrathians who may try to ambush us from either the side or from behind. Their forces couldn't have been annihilated by this exchange alone."

Hardin and Marth made a brief, just slightly rushed overview of the army, and the smaller group, comprised of Matthis, Gordin, Merric, and Norne, with Ogma acting as leader, were sent off.

* * *

><p>The five moved away from the main army, specifically looking for any small unit of Pyrathians moving to attack the main body of the League. Ogma moved, sword firmly in hand, he led the four swiftly down the path Marth sent them down on.<p>

As a small group, they attempted to avoid making unnecessary sounds that might clue in any enemy group. This would prove to be an irksome objective with Matthis in tow, who frequently overreacted to little sounds. More then once he made a potentially location revealing yelp at a sound, forcing an investigation of some rustling bush. The sound was always revealed to have only been the wind or some creature moving through a bush.

Yet for the most part, it was a silent, speedy, mostly efficient movement across a Pyrathian route. They encountered no enemy soldiers at all, one might wonder if Marth had misplaced his worry about potential ambushes. They came across a village. Filled with noncombatants, it would have been better to simply pass it by, until Ogma stretched an arm out to the side to call for a halt.

"Pyrathian soldiers." He warned. He gestured with a finger, not far from the village was a large number of Pyrathians armed with axes and wearing light armor. Ogma crossed his arms, "Our orders are clear. Kill them before they can strike the main unit in some way that might jeopardize prince Marth's and prince Hardin's tactics. Follow me."

Gordin raised an eyebrow, it didn't… entirely look like they were charging for the purpose of attacking the League from the rear, but he shook it off and followed Ogma. Though Ogma planned to take the soldiers head-on, he would not alert the soldiers to their presence too quickly. They approached carefully, then sprung out in front of the enemy soldiers, placing themselves between the soldiers and the Pyrathian village. There was a look of surprise on the soldier's faces, which seemed to confirm Gordin's thought, but the archer said nothing. This small skirmish began…

Merric began the battle, summoning a few blades of Excalibur, ripping through the first few soldiers. Gordin stood beside Merric, and Norne kneeled down next to Gordin, almost in a bush, both firing arrows from their bows. Matthis reluctantly came forward with Ogma, Ogma managed to single-handedly force at least a third of the Pyrathians off to the side. Matthis couldn't handle any more then two at once.

Starting to push the enemy back, Merric moved forward, Gordin and Norne tried to follow the mage, but Norne tripped as she began to move. She immediately tried to rise, but found that she couldn't. She looked down at her leg, and found that her leg had been snagged by vines when she kneeled down. Struggling for a moment, she couldn't yank herself free, she looked up to see a Pyrathi soldier advancing on her.

"Gordin!" She cried out, her partner had moved with Merric, oblivious to what was happening to her. "Gordin, help!"

Gordin swung around, seeing Norne's predicament, and reflexively fired an arrow at Norne's would-be killer. As the Pyrathian fell with an arrow in his back, Gordin moved back to Norne. He made an initial attempt to tug Norne's leg free, but Norne made a sudden frantic pointing gesture to something behind Gordin. He turned back around to find another Pyrathian charging. With enough distance between him and the Pyrathian, Gordin placed another arrow on the string and fired the Pyrathian's charge was cut short. He breathed hard at the close call, but couldn't spare a moment to turn around and free Norne, more Pyrathians were charging. Gordin took more and more arrows out, Ogma, Matthis, and Merric were preoccupied with other enemies, and didn't notice Gordin's situation.

Gordin took several enemies down, but eventually the charge of soldiers overcame Gordin's ability to keep them at bay, and one of them managed to swing an axe across Gordin's chest. Norne gasped as Gordin fell down on his side, and for a second considered the horrifying thought that her friend had been killed. Gordin managed to spring up to a sitting position with a bloody wound across his chest and fire an arrow at close range, killing one Pyrathian. Another one came forward and knocked Gordin to the ground with a hard hit to the face with the hilt of his axe. Gordin pushed himself up with his arms, breathed, then coughed on the dirt he inhaled.

"No…" Norne looked as the Pyrathian loomed overhead. Ogma had taken notice of their situation, but was already committed to another facet of the battle. Matthis, on a sudden order from Ogma, charged to try and help the archers. With her leg snared and she herself stuck in an awkward prone position, there was no way Norne might be able to properly fire an arrow to save Gordin. She could only look at the Pyrathian soldier. "No… no, get _away_ from him. Get-"

An axe rose up as more Pyrathians appeared, Norne's words stopped… there was no way Matthis would get here in time. Gordin stopped coughing, and looked up weakly. The axe started to descend… and then _something_ whizzed over Norne and Gordin and struck the enemy in his chest.

The Pyrathi soldier fell down, the two archers had to stop for a second to realize what had just happened. An arrow, one that looked to be made of much higher quality then the ones Gordin and Norne shot, was sticking into the Pyrathian's chest. For a moment, Norne just stared blankly, no coherent thought entering her mind, and then three more arrows flew through the air, each killing a Pyrathi soldier trying to approach Gordin.

Matthis, who had been trying to intercede for the archer's sake suddenly stopped, staring with his jaw hanging open as a blonde haired man walked up.

As Norne started to begin to think again, she turned back to the vines that had grabbed her leg, she grabbed it and pulled… managing to pull it hard enough to free her leg. She crawled forward and grabbed Gordin, panicking at the blood coming out of his sliced chest. She used her scarf to try and wipe the blood away, but more just poured out.

"Gordin… oh no, oh no…" she held him tight, bemoaning the fact that Lena and Wrys weren't present. Gordin groaned, raising his hands to clutch at his wounded chest.

"Calm down." The blonde haired man who saved both Gordin and Norne spoke, kneeling down next to Norne as Ogma and Merric began to take down the last few stragglers of the Pyrathi regiment. Gordin weakly looked at the Pyrathians, who had been killed by three arrows each fired at the same time. Even with the pain taking precedence in his thoughts, he realized that he couldn't have made a shot like that. There was no way he could accurately fire three arrows all at once. As the pain started to blur his vision, he felt Norne holding him tight as his rescuer continued speaking. "You need to get him medical attention. Where is the closest cleric or curate?"

Without even stopping to confirm who was speaking, Norne answered with a trembling voice. "The ones with the staffs are with the main army, heading for the castle. We… we have to get Gordin to them. We can't let him-"

The blonde haired man's hand gripped her shoulder. "Then we need to start moving, simply holding him and panicking won't help him."

Norne took a deep breath, calming herself just slightly, then looked at Gordin. She didn't want him walking around by himself, but was unsure if she'd be able to carry him. "Right, we need to find someway to get him to the main-" she blinked, only now did she realize that she didn't recognize the speaking voice, and turned to the man. "Who are you?"

"Jeorge." He answered, reaching out with both arms and grabbing Gordin, carefully lifting the wounded boy out of Norne's arms. Matthis came up, and Jeorge put the boy on the saddle behind the Macedonian. "I've been hiding in Pyrathi after a certain… military loss. I have no love for Mannu, and I saw how he's been attacking your army with little coherent provocation. I felt inclined to help you."

He turned to the direction of Mannu's castle. "The rest of your army is likely heading to the castle, if this boy is going to live, it's where we need to be heading as well."

Ogma and Merric completely finished off the Pyrathian regiment and returned to the others. They saw Jeorge, and the injured Gordin, and seemed to understand completely. They were about to head straight for the castle, abandoning their official orders if it was necessary.

It was something of a gamble, Ogma knew. Heading straight for the castle was heading straight for where the enemy commander was. It was not the ideal place to bring Gordin in his current state, but they had no other choice.

"Let's go." Ogma ordered. "I won't have anyone dying like this, under a team I'm leading."

* * *

><p>Marth had been proven quite correct in believing that Pyrathi's army hadn't been annihilated so quickly. More and more regiments attacked them as they approached the castle. The soldiers were easy foes at first, but seemed to get increasingly vicious as the castle neared. More then once, a fairly concerning injury was inflicted on a League soldier, but Lena and Wrys dealt with it quickly enough, and the attacker was swiftly killed.<p>

The castle was much larger up close, but still small compared to royal castles and palaces that Marth had been in. Even the Talys castle, which was of honestly minimal size, dwarfed the castle of Pyrathi. Yet, Pyrathi looked far more regal then Talys did, the castle seemed to almost be literally made of gold and other precious minerals. Marth was honestly surprised a Manakete would house himself in a structure such as that. He had heard that most Manaketes shunned such designs.

The final wave of the Pyrathi army appeared, Marth and Hardin's tactics laid waste to them. The Pyrathians had been rendered disorganized and doomed. The last enemy squad was reduced to half its proper number well before Bantu's flame ended the fight early with one stream of flame.

"Traitor." A voice echoed chillingly across the field the League was at. Marth looked for the owner of the voice, and found it after only a second. A hooded, elderly man with a shadowed face stood at the gates of the castle. "Coddling the human vermin, fighting alongside the descendent of the most vile human to ever live… how _dare_ you call yourself a Manakete."

"King Mannu." Marth addressed, even if the king wasn't talking to him. "King Mannu, lay down your arms immediately and stop fighting us, we only wish to restore our supplies and leave. If you comply, I give you my word that-"

"Be silent!" Mannu roared, turning his attention to Marth. Having grown angrier with every word Marth had spoken to him. "Spare me the lies of a human. No goodwill can be expected from a human leader, especially the one who claims lineage with Anri. The only thing in Pyrathi I will offer you is the land I'll bury you at."

Hardin stepped forward. "We have no quarrel with you, king Mannu. We came here only because circumstances forced us to flee from Grust. We seek only to replenish our supplies, we never had any intention or desire to fight you." Mannu's hateful expression only deepened, Hardin sighed. "Your unconditional aggression speaks poorly of you as a ruler, you do not possess any interest in your nation or your people. You clearly do not deserve the title of king."

Mannu's face flared in even greater rage at Hardin's words of criticism. "No human can comprehend the burden of ruling, and ruling well. I have ruled Pyrathi for two centuries. You cannot assassinate the great Manakete king, I crushed rebellions greater then you with my own personal hand before you were even born. I have survived assassination attempts with nothing but my own cunning. I have been attacked by more then one army of invaders, and I slaughtered those armies myself. If those rebellions couldn't kill me, if would-be assassins couldn't kill me, if other invaders couldn't kill me, then _you _won't kill me."

The Manakete took a stone out. Marth immediately knew what it was. Mannu smiled in a twisted fashion. "Understand the folly of defying a Manakete. Feel the pounding of your heart, it shall be the last sensation you feel as your soul surrenders to the maws of the afterworld." The energy of the Dragonstone pulsed into him, and he disappeared under a flash of light. Marth raised a hand to shield himself from the light, and when the light dimmed he looked up to see a red dragon somewhat like Bantu standing before him.

"Human scum. Your end… is at hand." Mannu breathed in, readying himself to unleash a fireball, but Bantu charged in his own dragon form. Disengaging from his intended breath attack, Mannu braced himself as Bantu tackled him. Mannu was pushed down by Bantu's tackle, but quickly sprang back up, slashing a talon across Bantu's draconic shoulder.

The rest of the League rushed forward, but Mannu unleashed a wall of flame to force them away, Jagen had to reach out and pull Marth back to keep the prince from becoming ash. A fiery scar was left behind by the flame, the heat was so hot that a person might die to just try to walk over it. The League would have to take the long way around. Bantu, now on his own against Mannu, tried to slash with his own talons, but Mannu managed to swat him to the ground.

"You fight for the wrong cause. That is why you lack power." Mannu lectured as Bantu picked himself back up. "Manaketes are the true, honorable rulers of this word. Humans, especially those associated to Anri's heir, are deserving only of a place for their ashes to settle."

Bantu slashed with his talons, horrifically gashing Mannu's face. "Medeus and anyone who serves him are the only ones who deserve that. Such Manaketes haven't the honor of a bandit tribe."

The eyes of Mannu's now slashed face flared angrily, and flashed red. "If you so desire to side with, and die for, the humans, then I'll be happy to start you down your final journey." He unleashed a wall of fire at Bantu. Bantu grimaced as the lethally hot flames scorched him.

Bantu had to back away from the flame at first, but then pushed forward, ignoring the pain. Pushing straight to Mannu and knocking the Pyrathian king's head off-target with a talon swipe. Mannu growled and crawled back somewhat.

"You're fighting quite well." Mannu admitted. "Yet it will not save you. I am a Manakete who shall come to serve the Emperor. There's nothing that you or anyone can do to defeat me today. Yet it is not too late for you, Manakete, reassume human shape and bend knee to me, I will urge Dolhr to spare your traitorous life."

"So… you have been speaking with Dolhr." Bantu said, "Do you not realize-"

"Dolhr represents our one true chance to restore the world to what it should have always been." Mannu advanced, "The Manaketes shall rule once more. Join me, turn your back on the League, or die."

Bantu was about to retort… when something flew through the air. A silver arrow shot from the side, and sank into the flesh right below one of Mannu's eyes. Mannu roared with pain. Without stopping to ask any questions, Bantu slashed his talons, once against Mannu's left shoulder, and again across Mannu's softer neck. Mannu seemed to stare blankly for a moment, then collapsed as blood poured in vast quantities from his slashed throat.

"No…" he attempted to frantically swing his head around, but only managed to weakly fidget. He weakly looked in the direction the arrow came from, and saw the man he had given sanctuary to, and then tried to execute today. "You… inter…loper…" he turned his eyes back to Bantu. "Fangless… human… loving… co…ward…"

The body of king Mannu convulsed for a moment, his dream of joining with Dolhr flashed through his mind one last time, and then he laid perfectly still. The throne of Pyrathi was now empty. Bantu reassumed human form, and turned in the direction that silver arrow had come from.

A blonde haired man approached, he was with Ogma and the others. Marth and the rest of the League, who had gotten around the scorch in the earth Mannu had made, stepped forward, "Who are-"

"Sir… please, introductions can wait." Jeorge said, turning to Matthis, and the injured archer in the saddle. "One of your soldiers got wounded very badly. He needs attention from a staff user. Right now."

"Gordin…!" Marth recognized the archer, and the slash across his chest, "Y-yes, Lena or Wrys has to see to him immediately." He turned over his shoulder, "Everyone, move into the Pyrathi castle, and Lena and Wrys, you two have a job to do as soon as we get inside."

* * *

><p>Gordin had passed out from a combination of pain and blood loss, and Norne had laid him down softly, his head resting in her lap. She was too intent on seeing that he get attention immediately to find something proper, like a bed, to lay him down in, and she didn't want him out of her sight until he woke up. Lena and Wrys were present with their staffs, shining a glow on Gordin that slowly but surely began to sew his ripped flesh back together. Norne uncomfortably watched it all. This shouldn't have even happened in the first place, she had allowed herself to be put in a bad position, and Gordin was the one paying for it.<p>

Jeorge was also nearby, seemingly taking it upon himself to watch until Gordin got back on his feet.

The Father and Sister chanted archaically for a time, the expression of stress and pain slowly left Gordin's face. He occasionally groaned, even while unconscious. Eventually, the glow from their staffs disappeared, the two brought the staffs down to their sides.

"Is… is he okay? He'll be… alright?" Norne was hesitant to as much as brush a hand across Gordin's face until she was sure he was healthy and the gesture wouldn't bother him.

Wrys looked at the obvious worry on Norne's face, and smiled. "He is well. All you need to do is wait for him to wake up. That shouldn't take much time." Norne relaxed, placing a hand softly on Gordin's face.

"There are other injuries among the League, just, none as grievous as Gordin's. Excuse us." Lena made a respectful bow with her head, and she and Wrys took their leave. Norne sighed in relief.

"I suppose it's fortunate we got here when we did, and that Mannu went down so quickly after I interfered." Jeorge said, looking upon Gordin's now relaxed face. "Had the fight of been longer, he may have expired from the blood loss."

She didn't even want to think about that possibility. "I can't believe it." Norne grumbled. "How could I be so stupid? Getting my leg caught on some vines like that. Gordin got himself injured like that because he was trying to save me." She held Gordin firmly by his shoulders. Her lap had become her friend's pillow. "I'll never make this up to him."

Jeorge listened to the girl, then looked at Gordin. "I don't believe he'll hold this against you. I never spoke to him, but he doesn't look like the grudge-holding sort, and he risked this possibility trying to save you."

"That just makes it worse. He risked his life so selflessly, and I-" Norne was about to continue, when Gordin suddenly groaned again. She looked down as he slowly opened his eyes. The first thing Gordin noticed was Norne, and seemed to smile.

"You… you're okay." he mumbled, he might have tried to raise a hand, but was far too weary to do so. "Is the battle over? Where are we?"

Norne's finger came down on Gordin's lips to shush him. She smiled weakly at being in his company again. "Yes, the battle is over. We're in the Pyrathi castle. You got injured really bad, remember? You're resting now."

"I'm…" Gordin looked around, and suddenly realizing that he was resting his head in Norne's lap. He almost instantly turned red, and tried to rise. Norne, assisted by Gordin's fatigued condition, prevented him from doing so.

"No, Gordin. Until you've had a good rest, you are _not_ getting up."

"B-but…" he gulped, making another attempt to rise, but was held down again. He felt… awkward and vulnerable in this position. He didn't want to keep lying down in this odd spot, but didn't seem to have the strength to get out of it.

Norne thought back to what Athena had said to her back on the ship. She honestly didn't care right now. That woman could say anything she wanted, as long as Gordin was healthy and alive, and if she was going to start feeling awkward around Gordin, well, that could wait until all his strength was back.

"You deserve a rest… Gordin, was it?" Jeorge said, sitting right beside them. Gordin tilted his head up to the same blonde archer who had probably saved him and Norne earlier. "I was impressed by you, Gordin. Most archers would be too edgy to get any shots off with so many enemies coming after them and no real support handy. You even managed to fire an arrow after you had been injured. You seem… a little rough around the edges, but you've definitely got potential."

"I… um…" Gordin was at a loss of words at the compliment. "T…thank you. I… um, don't get complimented for my archery skills often."

Jeorge smiled in an almost paternal way, "That's rather odd. It is no pleasant exaggeration to say that you are exceptional. With the proper training, you could be almost unrivaled."

Gordin actually blushed at the compliment. Norne seemed to laugh at the reddening cheeks, bringing a hand down to poke a finger at the left cheek. After a while, Gordin began to speak again. "Um… who, exactly are you?"

Jeorge blinked at the question, then smirked. "First off, my name is Jeorge. I'm an Archanean Sniper." Both Gordin and Norne's eyes widened in shock at Jeorge's nationality. "Considered one of the best in the nation's history, and that's not empty self-indulgence. I fought just as hard as the rest of the rest of the Archanean knights to keep the palace in our hands, but we all underestimated the sheer power of Dolhr. It did not help that we were… betrayed from within."

"A traitor?" Gordin asked.

Jeorge didn't nod or shake his head. "I'm not sure what to think. The man who supposedly betrayed us to Dolhr was one of the most upstanding men I ever knew. Regardless, I was told to retreat, find some other way to strike at Dolhr. I came to Pyrathi to hide until the proper time, Mannu gave me leave to stay here, but only because, as he put it, I was 'harmless and worthless'."

"And then we came…" Gordin said. He stayed silent for a moment, but then there was something he felt he had to ask. "Jeorge, you… you're Archanean?"

"From the Holy Kingdom of Archanea." Jeorge nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"We… um…" Gordin swallowed, then continued talking. "This army is called the Archanean League."

Jeorge's eyes widened and his mouth hung open. It took a moment before his mouth started to obey him again. When he spoke, his voice sounded almost hopeful, yet disbelieving at the same time. "But… that, wait, neither of you two seem Archanean."

"Well, when this army was formally named, one of the founders was-"

The door to the room swung open. Gordin stopped talking and tilted his head in the direction of the door to see Roshea enter. He looked to have just gotten to the castle, and with him was the one he had been at the ship guarding throughout the battle, Nyna. The princess was patiently indulging Roshea in some light-hearted conversation.

"Ny-" Jeorge instantly recognize the woman who seemed to be talking to an Aurelian knight. He bolted up from his sitting position. "P-princess Nyna!"

Nyna turned away from Roshea looking slightly annoyed, her annoyance disappeared and her eyes widened at the sight of someone familiar. "Jeorge? Jeorge, is that you?" She moved forward and reached the Sniper, a closer look at his face confirmed who it was. "Jeorge, I knew you had been unaccounted for when the palace fell but… what are you doing here?"

"I…" Jeorge, stunned by the sight of his princess, found it difficult to form his words. "When I was told to flee, I tried to hide across the continent, eventually coming to Pyrathi. I've been hiding here… until I saw Mannu attacking a foreign army. I knew his reasons couldn't have been rational, so I interfered on behalf of the… Archanean League, Gordin called it."

Nyna continued to stare in shock, but eventually relaxed into an easier expression and smiled. "Yes, I, along with Hardin of Aurelis and Marth of Altea, form the heads of the Archanean League."

"Altea…"

"Oh, I shouldn't need to tell you to not use… _that_ name to refer to Marth's nation." She took a breath in, then looked at Jeorge with a much calmer look. "If you're here, I would entreat you to lend your skill with the bow to the League. We still have much ahead of us."

"Princess Nyna, for your sake, yes, my skills are for the Archanean League, and shall remain so until the League's fight is over."

"Thank you." Nyna said, "I should find Marth and explain your inclusion into our ranks. Excuse me." Nyna turned around and left the room. Jeorge found himself out of breath, and sat back down. Not for an instant did he think he would encounter the princess out here. Roshea tilted his head, surprised to find another Archanean. Nyna was the only one he had ever met before. He considered trying to speak to Jeorge, but then he noticed Gordin and Norne, and immediately looked away. A funny impish grin appeared on his face at the sight of the close contact of the two archers.

* * *

><p>Marth, Hardin, and Malledus had laid out a map in what was the Banquet Hall. No servants were here anymore. Likely, the Pyrathians would have to pick up the pieces and come up with a king for themselves after the League left. Marth was uncomfortable with the chaos he brought to the island, but first and foremost, the next move of the League had to be decided. They wished to return to pushing into Archanean territory and reaching the palace. The question was… which port did they go to?<p>

It was obvious that any port very close to the palace would be too fortified for docking at them to be practical. Dolhr knew where the League wanted to go, and wouldn't allow them any… shortcuts. A Ballista with a flaming arrow would simply burn the ship down as it approached a defended port, ending the lives of the soldiers as well as the League's hope of defeating Dolhr. It was a guessing game as to which port they should go to. They also didn't want to be too far away from the palace, and let those who controlled Archanea know they were coming, but trying to go to a closer port was a dangerous gamble.

As the time of an hour came and went, various ports were debated by the three men. Some were ultimately rejected, and others were filed away for consideration. The decision they would prefer to make before dusk came. That only gave them two more hours, and it didn't seem that they were even close to approaching a final decision.

"Prince Marth!" A voice rang out, Marth jolted to attention, taking his eyes off of the map and turning to Jagen, who had entered the room.

"What is it, Jagen? We're in the middle of-"

"My apologies, prince. A Pegasus Knight has been spotted approaching the island. We need orders as to how to respond."

"A Pegasus-" Marth hesitated to think for a moment. "Is Caeda in the air?"

"Princess Caeda is accounted for, sire. This is someone else."

The first thing to cross Marth's mind was the idea of a potential assassin chasing him across the ocean. He stood up, needing to see this for himself. "Let me go out and see the situation, then. We may have a new enemy to fight now."

* * *

><p>Catria had followed the trail the League left. She was impressed by the aftermath of the battle at Port Warren, and when she heard that the Wooden Calvary forced them to flee by a water route, she followed as best she could. Finally, the island nation of Pyrathi had appeared in her vision. She took a deep breath, her entire body still ached from Morzas and Xemcel's torture, and she didn't feel at all better then she did when she left the cell.<p>

She had to find prince Marth and get him to listen. That was her sole objective. If she didn't find him, or he refused to talk to her, then Minerva's planned rebellion had failed before it started. She found herself breathing hard from anxiety, entirely too much depended on the Altean prince displaying goodwill to her.

Her eyes caught a large collection of people near the entrance to the castle of Pyrathi. Taking a blind guess that prince Marth was among them, she swooped down. It took a few seconds to remember to take out the white flag that Minerva had told her to take. A swooping Pegasus Knight would be too easy to mistake as an assassin, or perhaps the first member of a larger formation. She had to give them a credible reason to not attack her.

"Pegasus Knight." Sedgar observed as Marth and Hardin appeared. He squinted, focusing on the rider. "It's a Macedonian. Prince Marth, stand back, let me or Wolf-"

"Hold, Sedgar." Marth ordered, looking at the Pegasus Knight. At first glance, he wondered if the Pegasus had three wings, but after a few seconds he realized that what he thought was a third wing was actually a flag. With a loud voice, Marth addressed the entirety of the League. "The rider is carrying a peace flag, do not fire any arrows. No one act aggressively without provocation."

Sedgar and Wolf relaxed the hands on their bows obediently. Vyland, nearby, crossed his arms sullenly as Marth allowed the Macedonian to land peaceably, and Coyote made no argument. The Pegasus Knight landed, and a blue haired woman got off the saddle. Marth stepped forward, with only Hardin, Jagen, and Wolf approaching with him. Holding a hand up to command no form of aggression be made against the woman, he came up to her.

"P… prince Marth." The woman groaned the words out, dropping the flag on the ground. She stumbled and shambled over to him. She still felt the pain coursing through her every nerve. "I… am Catria, of the Whitewings, I come bearing a… message from princess… Minerva, of… of…" she suddenly lost her footing and fell forward. Marth immediately opened his arms to grab her as she fell, and she passed out in Marth's arms.

Wolf's first thought was that this was an assassination ploy. He quickly scanned the Whitewing, his first supposition that she was carrying a knife to stab Marth with proved false. She had no knife, or any sharp object. Nor any vials of poison, or any sort of magic item she might use to harm Marth. He stepped back to let Marth decide what to do.

Marth found that the girl, who called herself Catria, had fainted. He immediately called for the army to head back inside the castle, only a small number would remain outside to watch for anyone else who might approach.

Caeda seemed almost discomforted as Marth personally carried Catria inside and set her up against the wall. Caeda came up and placed a cautious hand on Marth's shoulder. Marth looked over Catria, finding that she seemed to be severely wounded. It looked like the wounds had been afflicted through magic.

Cain stood a step away, looking at the Macedonian woman. He felt almost… swept away. Normally, he wasn't particularly concerned with most women, but he looked at the unconscious Catria, and suddenly felt weak in the knees. He had seen women who were said to have been lusted for all across the continent and hadn't even blinked an eye when he saw them. Yet, this one…

He stared longingly at her for several more seconds, then shook his head. The woman had openly identified herself as a servant of Minerva from Macedon, an enemy. He could not let the… assets, of any single enemy, effect his judgment. The feeling was pushed way… though, perhaps not completely.

In a few seconds, Catria began to wake.

"Uhm…" her eyes openly slowly to the sight of Marth and Caeda, and she backed away in what seemed to be fright. "Ah… ah, p-prince Marth, and… and, um…"

Caeda gave her most disarming and peaceful smile. It didn't seem to calm down Catria at all. "Princess Caeda of Talys. You said you had a message, then fainted."

"I… did?" Catria sounded confused as she looked around, not recognizing her surroundings. It was fairly obvious that she was in no prison cell. "Um… I, I haven't been taken prisoner, have I?"

Marth smiled in a friendly manner, and reached a hand out to her armored shoulder. It seemed to subdue her fear. "As long as you are here, and you make no aggressive action, your safety is guaranteed. I give my word." His hand fell off her shoulder, he didn't seem to notice that she was nervously blushing. Caeda, however, did. "You said you had a message for me, from your princess?"

"Oh… um, y-yes." She tried to bolt up, but seemed too injured to do so. "Um… princess Minerva wants, with all her heart, to rebel against Dolhr. Yet, she can't. Dolhr had taken custody of the youngest member of the Macedonian Royal Family, princess Maria. She is being kept in Castle Deil, which is held by Grust. The moment princess Maria is free, Minerva would side with you, and so would the Whitewings. She implores you to save her little sister, upon that moment, she is your ally, along with me and the other Whitewings."

A growing feeling of uncertainty took hold of Marth at Catria's words. As Catria finished speaking, Marth rose. "I…" he took notice of Catria's almost pleading look, it was reminiscent of a look Caeda might give him. He sighed and stood up. "Does anyone else have an opinion of that message?"

Hardin came forward, staring at Catria critically for a moment, she shivered at Hardin's gaze before Hardin turned to Marth. "Princess Minerva had a great hand in ripping Aurelis apart. She is deserving of much hate and punishment. I won't say that it's out of the question that there might have been extenuating circumstances, but a hostage situation does seem highly convenient for her."

"Of course it's convenient!" Vyland suddenly growled, drawing astonished looks from nearly everyone present. "This is nothing more then a trap. One that the princess came up with, this girl-" he pointed at Catria, "-is simply the one throwing the bait at us. We cannot be so foolish as to nibble at it. It's the typical Macedonian ploy. We go to Castle Deil, we play right into their hands. What we should do is not only avoid Castle Deil, but to kill her right here, right now."

"Vyland…" Roshea said in an unsure tone, cautiously putting himself between Vyland and Catria. "Macedonians are-"

"Macedonians are _evil_. Pure and simple." Vyland cut Roshea off. "You saw them plenty of times in the last two years, Little Roshea. They came and started to murder the people of Aurelis without any provocation. They cut down people, tore apart families, robbed us of what was rightfully ours. No argument can be made that the Macedonians have any benevolence in them."

"Vyland." This time it was Hardin who addressed the red-haired Aurelian, and with a harsh tone. Vyland gave his superior his undivided attention. "It is reasonable to suggest that this is a trap, but you go to far. I have no love for the nation of Macedon. They razed Aurelis until the nation was a shadow of its former self. I am the first to acknowledge that. I was the leader of the Aurelian resistance. Yet you look at Bantu, and see that there is even such a thing as good Manaketes. The Macedonians committed an atrocity, but they are still human. There are good people among them, just consider Matthis and Lena."

Hardin looked at the two he just mentioned. Both Macedonians, and both good members of the League. Vyland looked at them as well, and then Hardin began to speak again.

"I don't yet know what to make of this message, Vyland. Yet I will not surrender myself to such bigotry. I will listen to this message, consider it, and act accordingly. I will not reject it based entirely on the simple ethnicity of the message bearer."

Vyland took several steps back, unable to offer a rebuttal, and lacking the nerve to contest anything Coyote said. His moment of prideful hate shriveled up and died, and he left the conversation. He was obviously still angry, and continued to hate all things Macedonian, including Catria, but he resigned himself to say nothing else.

"Now then…" Hardin turned to some of his other men. "Wolf, Sedgar, you both encountered princess Minerva in the Lefcandith Valley. What do you make of her?"

Catria gasped, seeing the purple haired man who so easily bested her and held a sword to her neck in the Valley. He, who responded to the name Wolf, and the other one, Sedgar, were the ones who fought, and wounded, the commander.

"I had concentrated fully on the battle." Wolf said. "However, it did appear that princess Minerva attacked me for the purpose of saving this one, and another Whitewing, from me. She… did appear to be selflessly trying to save her soldiers." He turned to Catria, approaching her and scowling. Catria found herself unable to not tremble uncontrollably from the man's presence and gaze. She backed into the wall as far as she could go. Marth seemed to notice, approaching Wolf and tapping him on the shoulder to make him turn away from Catria. Wolf turned back to Coyote. "It may be a trap, it may be honest. I do not know. If it isn't a trap, we may earn ourselves a potent ally. If it _is_ a trap, we shall face princess Minerva, and we shall win."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Everyone saw that Wolf was suggesting that they take heed of Catria's message, and whatever would happen, they'd come out on top.

Abel thought back to the pink-haired girl, Est, who he met in the Valley. She was also a Whitewing, and did not strike him as being remotely malicious. Abel stepped forward. "I am willing to believe this message."

Cain stepped forward as well. "I… um, am willing as well. This girl doesn't strike me as a truly conniving individual." He looked at her again, with the revelation that she might not have been a loyal servant of Dolhr, he found the sudden attraction taking hold of himself again. "We can risk it, I'm sure."

Slowly, everyone voiced their opinions. In the end, there were more people who believed, or would at least chance believing, then those who said that they shouldn't bother.

Marth went back to Catria, he motioned to Lena. "Catria, if you have no complaints, Sister Lena will tend to your injuries with a Heal staff, and you will be free to go."

Catria felt herself burn with something other then pain at Marth's consideration and kindness, and nodded. Lena stepped forward and took her staff out. The staff started to glow, Lena began to chant. Catria was familiar with healing staffs, and let the feeling of healing take her. She felt indescribable relief as her flesh, wounded from torture, became as if they had never been damaged at all. The cleric was one of the people that prince Hardin mentioned as being Macedonian. Catria could see it in the cleric's face, she was pleased to find another Macedonian who would want to oppose Dolhr. After Lena finished, Catria stood up without the slightest ache in her body.

"The Archanean League will be heading to Castle Deil, and we shall… see what happens."

Catria bowed respectfully. "T…thank you, prince Marth." She turned around, a part of her wanted to stay. She found herself quickly becoming fond of the Altean prince, but at the same time, she wanted to distance herself from Wolf, who nearly killed her only a short time ago. If she didn't show up in Grust at all, well… princess Maria would likely already be free by the point it would appear that she had abandoned her station, but if she did that, Palla and Est might suffer. She'd have to feign obedience, this one last time. A quick mental smirk appeared in her mind, reasoning like that was more up Palla's alley.

Hopefully, when next they met, she'd become a part of the… Marth called it the Archanean League, she'd join it along with her sisters, and the commander.

Catria got back on the saddle of her Pegasus and took off. Marth and Hardin watched her until she disappeared past the horizon.

"Looks like Catria decided our next destination for us." Marth said. Hardin turned to him, then nodded.

"The port nearest to Castle Deil. That, is our destination."

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	19. Castle Deil Rescue

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>It was like a sick joke.<p>

Minerva had been stationed at Castle Deil as a guard, as ordered by Gharnef. She _could_ just go and see the little sister she hadn't seen in two years. Yet it was forbidden by general Zharov. The stone walls of the castle, the final barrier between Minerva and Maria, the Dracoknight could not even dare to try to tear them down, no matter how much she wished to.

The Grustian general was… very open in his contempt. Zharov never wasted a chance to venomously explain how thoroughly he had come to despise his job as a 'babysitter'. Minerva felt herself course with rage at how a man like this was the one who had Maria in his custody. No matter how mad the world became, Maria should have always, _always_ been able to rest safety in the Macedonian castle.

Yet the time to act to free Maria was not now. It was a waiting game. Minerva was simply waiting to see if Marth would come. It was a wait that more then tested her sanity. Every moment of her guard duty was spent absorbed in the thought of seeing Maria. Somewhere in that castle was Maria… somewhere, so close to her. She had been here for days, almost two weeks. A sense of dread was building in her gut, the fearful idea that Marth was not coming.

She was… honestly frightened. The man who was the one true hope for Maria's safety, and Minerva's freedom, might feel that Catria's words were not trustworthy. The idea that Marth wasn't coming was… beyond nightmarish.

Her Wyvern seemed to understand that something was scaring her, though unable to place what exactly it was. On the occasions that they were on the ground, the creature looked at her with a confused expression, and made an odd, empathetic grunting sound.

Her fears were countered by the knowledge of the fact that Castle Deil was likely far from… wherever the prince was. It would take quite some time before he came here. Yet every day that passed was like a white hot needle piercing her. Every day that passed was a day that Maria _could_ have been free to enjoy whatever childish thought she may might have in her mind. A cell was no pleasant place, especially for someone as young and as… sensitive, as Maria.

The weather was fair and peaceful. A mild, enjoyable day, a very outdoors sort of day. The cerulean breeze blew through her hair as the warm sunlight gave light to her face… it all seemed to mock Minerva. She was being offered gratifying weather while Maria suffered in whatever lightless cell she was in. The weather was cheerful and welcoming as her anxiety was just getting worse and worse as the days passed. The verdant grass that stretched for miles was the sort of thing Maria liked to play in under the watch of one of her older siblings. She grimaced, past days was something Minerva tried to restrain herself from contemplating. Those memories would serve only to drive her insane.

As the days passed her worries became more extreme, and her desire to see Maria all the more pressing. As the time of a month came and went, the desire became too much to ignore. She wished to make a request to see her.

"General Zharov." She said, landing near the armored general outside the back entrance of Castle Deil. Zharov spent a great deal of his time in a private fort atop a plateau to the north west of the castle. Minerva was on her red Wyvern, the creature folded its wings and glared at Zharov, seemingly waiting for an order to snap at the man's face, but obediently did nothing. Zharov turned to Minerva.

"This is not your post." He said coldly, keeping his eyes squarely on the growling Wyvern. He knew just how much Minerva would have wanted to let the Wyvern tear off his armor and gorge on him. He was holding someone who was honestly an enemy at arms length and forcing her servitude. "What is your business here? You must know how thin the ice you tread on has become since the Lefcandith Valley. Another slight could be all it would take, you know… I could easily, and blissfully, give the order to-"

"I know my situation." Minerva interrupted, it was irritating that every superior constantly brought that up, but she cautiously kept the anger out of her voice. Zharov's eyes flashed with annoyance at the interruption. Minerva was angry, and if she could, she'd take Zharov's head right off his shoulders, but not now. "I didn't come to make trouble, I… general Zharov, please let me see Maria. Just for a few minutes, she hasn't seen me or Michalis since she was put in that situation. She's only a child, she shouldn't have to be stuffed in a cell. Let me-"

"Impossible." Zharov said with a cold, uncaring tone, scoffing at Minerva's concern for her sister. "She is a prisoner and hostage, and is permitted no kind treatment." He turned to look at the segment of the castle that held the prison cells. Most of them were empty, the entire castle was being used to house a single prisoner, and one of the most important prisoners the Dolhr Alliance had custody of. "If your sister's safety is your concern, consider displaying obedience. Such as returning to your post in the east. Maybe I'll make some minimal improvement to her conditions."

Minerva growled in the back of her throat at the sarcastic words, but Zharov didn't seem to hear it. A long moment passed as Minerva seemed unwilling to leave just yet, Zharov noticed her reluctance and her defiance and smirked. That expression on her face was a good enough excuse, he supposed. He had honestly been wanting her to do something that would let him do what he was about to do. Minerva made a mistake in approaching him, he started to turn to a nearby soldier to give an order, one that would make Minerva regret having ever come to talk to him.

"General! General!" A soldier ran up as Zharov was about to give his eagerly anticipated order. Enraged at the interruption, Zharov snapped toward the soldier. He almost reached out to grab the soldier by the collar, but restrained himself as he began to speak.

"What is it, soldier?" He spoke venomously. The soldier, who had a body language that suggested absolute urgency, failed to notice Zharov's ire.

"General. Enemies have been spotted. That… League, to our south-east."

"League…?" Zharov paused at the word, swearing he had heard the name recently. A story… a spreading rumor of an army that was trying to oppose Dolhr, and had already made some noteworthy victories. At its head was the prince of Alt… of New Dolhr. "The League, the Archanean League?" The soldier nodded to confirm Zharov's fears. "Castle Deil hasn't the slightest trace of value or tactical worth. For what purpose would they come to this worthless little prison?"

Minerva's eyes widened, but not with the shock and worry that Zharov's eyes were revealing. It was a struggle to wear her gritty warrior expression and not smile in relief. The feeling of dread in her gut began to sink and disappear, but not entirely. There was still the matter of freeing Maria and getting into contact with Marth when the battle was over. For her, it would be a tense battle, with far too many things that could go horribly wrong.

"The same army that overthrew Macedon's control of Aurelis, and decimated our fortifications in the Lefcandith Valley, and our attempt to eradicate them at Port Warren…" Zharov mumbled, recalling all that he had heard regarding the League. "No, the castle doesn't have anywhere near enough stationed soldiers for this."

He shook his head, the irritation and anger that had been held in his eyes when speaking to Minerva had melted and given way to a look of self-preservation. "Send a messenger to the Archanean Palace immediately. We need as many reinforcements as possible, and tell the Pegasus Knights and Dracoknights to form up immediately. Rush and disorganize. As for you-" he pointed at Minerva. "Return to your post immediately. Keep the League at bay. Fail, and I'll present you with princess Maria's head. _That_ will be your precious reunion."

A remarkably empty threat. If Zharov was losing, he wouldn't be wasting his time giving any order to kill Maria. He'd be too busy trying to save himself. If Grust won this battle, Minerva imagined that Maria would die regardless of her performance.

It was fortunate that Zharov's chances for victory were literally non-existent.

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><p>"There it is." Jeorge said, looking at the distance. Castle Deil. It was once an Archanean installation. It had been lost to Dolhr long before the palace itself fell. He had heard the reports, supposedly a small percentage of the Archanean defenders had fled before the incoming horde of enemy troops and survived. What had become of those survivors was unknown. The League soldiers only had a few minutes to ready themselves, Marth wanted to have an element of surprise in this attack. In the few moments he would have, Jeorge turned to see Gordin and Norne, they looked somewhat troubled. Feeling curious, he walked over to them.<p>

"I've just… felt weird lately." Norne said, trying hard to not look at Gordin's face. She was trying to sort out her feelings, she needed to do it by herself, and the shy, friendly eyes of Gordin's face would kill her resolve right then and there. This thing she had to do alone wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, just… important for her, and maybe him.

Gordin looked at her, she was turned to the side, looking at the ground. He wasn't sure what to say, there were a lot of things that left him unsure. All he was sure of was that, if Norne had some kind of trouble, he wanted to help. He reached a hand out, but he pulled it back before it was even half-way to Norne's shoulder. He wasn't sure what to say… but words still came out anyway. "Maybe… I can help? Just, tell me what's bothering you, I… I'll listen, and try to help…"

She expected that, an offer to help her with what she was dealing with. It was so much like him. Unfortunately, this wasn't something she'd dare speak to Gordin about, because what was bothering her involved Gordin specifically. Thanks to Athena… now only one thought ever occupied Norne's mind when she spent time with the boy. It should have been a simple friendship, but now she was thinking of something else entirely regarding Gordin.

This wasn't the first time she had acted like this. Ever since they left Pyrathi she had acted… evasive with Gordin. Sometimes it had gone so far that it looked like she was avoiding him. There was obviously something she was thinking about, and Gordin clearly understood that there was something bothering her. A time or two he had worked up the nerve to forwardly ask her about it, but he never got an answer. Norne felt terrible to push Gordin away when he was trying to help, but…

Gordin knew full well he wasn't entitled to know the ins and outs of every little thing Norne was thinking about. Yet being so… forcibly shut out like this almost made it seem like his friendship with Norne wasn't as strong as he thought it was.

"It… it's something I have to confront on my own, Gordin." She risked turning to him, but made a strong effort to not look him in the eye. "We have a few minutes before the battle starts… I'll come back to you when it starts, but, I want a small moment by myself."

She knew she risked alienating Gordin with what she was doing. He was easy to hurt in this regard, she knew. Yet she also felt that she had to sort out her feelings as best she could, even if Gordin might think that she'd grown cold toward him. Her expression was apologetic as she started to back away. She never wanted to risk Gordin growing cold to her, but this was something she had to think about herself.

"If… you ever feel this problem is too much…"

Norne flushed. Looking at Gordin, accidentally looking straight into his eyes. That look of concern, and hurt, made her feel selfish to want as little as a few minutes by herself. She appreciated his concern, taking a step forward to place her hands on Gordin's shoulders. "When… when I get this all sorted out, we'll go back to how we used to be." She made a little smile as if it was all nothing, and turned around.

As she left, Gordin's head dipped down, feeling that he had failed to reach her. A new hand came on Gordin's shoulder. He turned to find Jeorge standing by him.

"Something happen?"

"I… don't know." Gordin looked back at Norne, who was already out of earshot. She'd be back in a few minutes, but that knowledge didn't stop him from feeling like… something had been torn straight out of him. "She, wants some time to herself. She won't tell me what's bothering her."

Jeorge looked at Norne as she disappeared from vision, then back at Gordin and his odd, miserable looking expression. Having spent several weeks traveling with the League from Pyrathi to Castle Deil, he had become quite good at reading Gordin. Something about how Norne wouldn't tell Gordin what the trouble was seemed to have hurt the boy.

"No clue what the problem is?"

Gordin shook his head. "If… if I did know, I'd try to help her. I don't want her to ever feel bad, and she seemed to be upset about… something."

Jeorge listened to Gordin, and noted how Norne's peace of mind could so deeply effect Gordin's, and smiled. "Let me guess, Gordin…" with a new casual tone of voice, Jeorge tightened his grip on Gordin's shoulder and turned Gordin to him. "You're sweet on her, aren't you?"

He froze at the light-hearted tease. Gordin didn't know what expression was on his face right now, but judging by the amused tilt of Jeorge's head, it must have been a very telling face of comic, embarrassed dismay he wore.

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><p>"They're already organizing." Hardin observed. Grustian troops were mobilizing. Soldiers were in the process of slipping back inside the castle, while others were prepping alongside the outside walls. He did not see princess Minerva, but she was undoubtedly here. His mind was already contemplating whatever tactics the enemy might try to use. There was little the enemy <em>could <em>do under such circumstances, they were still trying to get into defensive positions, they clearly didn't think that they would ever be the targets of an organized attack. "If we're to take advantage of the fact that they didn't know we were coming, we need to move, now. Furthermore, this isn't a simple mission to rout the enemy. We need to seize the prison areas as soon as possible."

Wolf and Jagen, standing by the two princes, listened intently to the words. They were well-founded. It stood to reason that the enemy might understand why the League was here, and act accordingly. Fortifying their defense of the cells… or worse, kill princess Maria, making this assault ultimately a pyrrhic victory.

Marth nodded at Hardin's advice. It stood to reason that the enemy might understand why the League was here, and act accordingly. Fortifying their defense of the cells… or worse, kill princess Maria, which would make this assault a defeat even if every enemy is killed. "We're moving immediately. We need to breach the castle before they can try to fortify it anymore then they already have."

"And…" Jagen spoke up. "We may encounter princess Minerva today. She may be fighting against her will, in which case we should avoid trying to kill her. If this was simply a trap, we won't know until we find the cells."

Wolf closed his eyes. It was rare for him to be in a state of not knowing. He was used to being aware of the entirety of a situation before any assaults or attacks occurred. It would be his preference to find the truth as quickly as possible, and then they could react accordingly. "We need to determine the truth of the Whitewing's words, then we can determine if princess Minerva is truly an ally, or was always an enemy. The best option would be to detain princess Minerva as soon as possible, then bring her to the cells. Whether we release her or butcher her will depend upon if princess Maria is really here, in a cell." He looked at Marth and Coyote, hoping that they would take his advice.

"She is a… strong warrior, if her hand in decimating Aurelis is taken into account. Rather then face her, we should try to reach the cells as quickly as possible. We should rush to avoid a potential battle with her if we can." Marth said. Wolf blinked, then turned to Coyote, Hardin had no objections to Marth's take on the matter. Marth spoke again, this time with a louder voice, addressing not just Hardin, Wolf, and Jagen, but the entire League. "Form up and follow me! We're beginning the assault."

Wolf made a small 'bah' noise, doubting that Minerva was someone skilled enough to fear encountering, but nonetheless followed his two superiors to battle.

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><p>Minerva was with a fairly large regiment of heavily armored knights and horseback mounted soldiers. She was the leader of the eastern defense. Her task was to charge down and rout the enemy as it tried to reach the entrance. She had no desire to face this enemy, but she had to keep up appearances.<p>

She was to charge straight for the League… Zharov was either trying to kill her off, or he thought that Minerva was his ace in the hole. Either way, she doubted things would go as Zharov wanted them to. The bigger question would be how things would go for her. She didn't want to give any wrong impressions by directly fighting them, but that was likely an unavoidable situation. She found herself stressed again. She knew she had gotten off lucky in the Lefcandith Valley, and was lucky again that Marth had listened to Catria's words and come here. Now, if only her luck would hold out for just one more battle. Just one more…

By her expectations, Marth should already be in the castle by the time she and these soldiers reached him. She did not want to risk destroying the League as they were trying to reach Maria, she'd simply hang back as the soldiers rushed forward to get themselves killed. Without their commanding officer, the Grustians would run afoul of the League and lack the necessary coordination to make any significant blows to the League.

She and the soldiers began to move, once they met the enemy, it would be a matter of waiting and stalling, letting the Grustians die and… hoping for Maria to be free before she had no choice but to swoop down at the enemy.

_May this be my last day fighting for Dolhr._ Minerva steeled herself and let the Wyvern carry her forward.

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><p>Another horrible, miserable day in a cell. Maria opened her eyes, pressing her palm at a bruised cheek, courtesy of Zharov. She started to push herself off the floor, and found that her head ached from yet another day of sleeping on the cold, stone tile. Her white dress was dirty, filthy, and wrinkled. Her stomach hurt from the uncooked, unhealthy prison food. She missed her life back in the Macedonian palace. She also missed her siblings, Michalis and Minerva. Zharov never relented from his abuse of her if he could help it, he was a complete different sort of caretaker then Michalis and Minerva. They made her feel safe and wanted, Zharov made her feel like some kind of undesirable object you'd want nothing to do with. Maria still loved her siblings, but as of late she'd been having the thought that she'd been forgotten and abandoned here in this cell.<p>

Two birthdays for her had come and gone, and now she was twelve years old. Michalis and Minerva didn't as much as show up on those birthdays to tell her what was going on, offer her some comfort, or even just to visit. She remembered her past birthdays, the ones she could clearly remember, how Michalis would take her to his black Wyvern and they would both climb onto the saddle. His hand, firm and protective on her, held her in place as they soared through the Macedonian sky. On other, more casual days with no special significance to them, Minerva might take her to the castle town, let Maria see and experience the more 'common' life.

Michalis and Minerva both frequently took her to the royal garden to let her see the flowers. They told her stories, fanciful romantic stories with some rugged hero out to save some noble lady. On a few times, Maria had sometimes asked if she, or even Minerva, might ever have her own knight in shining armor somewhere out there. Whenever that was asked, Minerva always clammed up in what Michalis had referred to as 'awkward silence'.

Outside of her siblings, the only person Maria ever played with was Est, one of Minerva's soldiers. Est was awkward around Maria at first, oddly stuffy and formal, but eventually relaxed around the little princess, listening to whatever fantasy Maria was entertaining at the time. Est's older sisters, Catria and Palla, could never quite drop their strict formality around Maria.

Her daydream of her old life faded away as shouting went into her ears and registered on her mind. She looked to the bars of the cell door and saw the guards of her cell all running in the same direction in compliance with some order she was hearing, but couldn't make sense of herself. They seemed to be running away from their duty to watch her, she tilted her head in curiosity and walked over to the door. It was almost like she was being abandoned or was being considered unnecessary to watch.

"Hey, what's going on?" Maria asked the single soldier still standing by her cell on the opposite side of the bars. He didn't answer, but the way he stood… something was clearly bothering him. The ability to realize certain facts just by looking at somebody was something Michalis had tried to teach her.

She wasn't sure if the soldier heard, so she tried to ask again. "Is something hap-"

"Shut _up_!" The man turned to her, using a tone and a face that had Maria shrinking away in fear. His upper set of teeth grinded against his lower set. His expression was angry, but fearful at the same time. He held his lance threateningly, looking like he might storm into the cell and eviscerate her with just the tiniest bit more provocation. "Someone is attacking us. As of late a new band of rebels have been getting some lucky breaks. Now they apparently think Deil is an easy target."

Maria's eyes widened in shock. The first thing that occurred to her was the idea of Michalis and Minerva coming with the Macedonian army. Finally, she would be saved from her cell, her time in the cell hadn't gone to waste. Yet she dared not say anything, or else the single guard left might open the cell to attack her. Instead, she simply smiled, expecting to be out of the cell by the end of today and be with her siblings again. She imagined that Minerva and Michalis would skin Zharov alive when they realized how Maria had been treated. Zharov had made it clear on several occasions that neither of the two knew what he was happening to her. Now, all she had to do was wait just a little longer…

* * *

><p>The first wave of defenders poured from the entrance of the castle. The Grustian horse mounted foes were of fair number, but hardly an overwhelming force. One of Wolf's arrows speared through a Grustian's shoulder, tearing the man off the saddle of his horse. Marth sprang forward with Jagen at his side, and the rest of the League on their heels.<p>

Jeorge was undoubtedly an elite with the bow. He tilted his bow up and shot a swarm of arrows, it looked almost like a rain of arrows falling down on the Grustians. It was a display of archery prowess that only Wolf might be able to match. The majority of the Grustians disappeared under the hailstorm of arrows, those who got out from under the storm fell to the more melee oriented League soldiers. The paltry first wave of defense lasted only for a short time.

"The gates have been secured." Hardin noted as the last member of the Grustian wave was killed. Yet there were more troops outside of the fort, looking to rush them from the side. "There are more Grustians outside, if we enter now, we risk…" he trailed off, turning to Marth.

Marth took the situation in and began to think. It would not do to let Grust defenders assault them from behind while in the castle's confined interior. This was a small, not well defended castle that hadn't been expecting the attack, but charging in and risking being cornered was a possibility that should be avoided. Better to face any spare exterior defenders out here. At the same time, the cells had to be reached immediately. Preferably long before anyone encountered Minerva. The League needed to be fighting on two different fronts all at once.

"Hardin, I want you to defend the entrance." Marth said, drawing the attention of the Aurelian. "You and your men, and some other soldiers, will be focused on making certain no one can try to enter after us and attack us from behind. The rest of us will clear the fort, crush the Grustian troops, and determine if princess Maria is really here."

"I understand." Hardin prepped himself for guard duty and held his lance, already having blood dripping off of it from the last encounter. "You have nothing to worry about. No one will enter from this entrance. Not even princess Minerva, should she appear."

"Thank you." Marth took a step toward the entrance of the castle. "If all goes well, we should be able to return to you within the hour. Until then…"

A regiment of Grustians appeared just as Marth and his half of the army disappeared into the castle. Jeorge, unimpressed with Grust, immediately shot his first arrow at the Pegasus Knights and Dracoknights. Other archer's supplemented his accuracy even as Hardin led his four men to those swooping down at them. The battle was quick and simple. In only half an hour, the fliers were annihilated, Wyverns with arrows pierced into their chest or wings lay next to Pegasus with a wing or a leg chopped off. Some riders, now deceased, were still fastened in the saddle, others had been ripped free simply so they could scream in the realization of their fate before fatally landing. Hardin and Wolf certainly found it to be an uneventful encounter.

There was no time to rest. Barely a moment after the Grustian fliers were dealt with, Hardin heard a rumble from behind. He turned to see an army of reinforcements appear. Behind the new wave of Grustians was their commander, a woman on a red-scaled Wyvern.

"What do you say, Wolf?" Hardin asked, looking over the new set of charging enemies, including the female commander. There was no doubt that princess Minerva was that woman. "Trap or not?"

Wolf simply fired an arrow, it pierced through the helmet of one armored Grustian soldier as if the helm was as durable as damp paper. "We won't know anything for a fact until prince Marth reaches the castle's cells, Coyote." He looked up at Minerva in the distance. He and Sedgar didn't technically best Minerva in the Lefcandith Valley, but they had certainly had the advantage when that fight ended early. He had no reason to be wary of her. "Until the rest of the army comes back with a report of the truth, we are fighting to keep princess Minerva at bay, not kill her, as prince Marth ordered."

Hardin turned to focus on the battle. He'd keep Minerva at bay, if Wolf and Sedgar could overwhelm her, he had a general idea of her skill. There was a… small part of him trembling with anticipation for the chance to fight Minerva. The woman, and her brother, were in many ways, the real perpetrators behind the Macedonian invasion on Aurelis. He thrust forward with his silver lance to kill an armored Grustian, the lance pierced through the heavy armor like it wasn't there. Immediately he turned to kill a horseback mounted enemy, stabbing into the steed, then ripping up, tearing across the rider. Minerva seemed content to watch the fight, watching the Grustians get so utterly decimated against a much more well-trained enemy force. Unsure as to what she was intending or trying to do, Hardin kept his attention on her even as he and his soldiers tore the Grust regiment apart.

* * *

><p>Deil was not a big castle, and in many ways seemed to have been built to be easily defended. Yet despite the obvious plethora of chokepoints and easily fortifiable positions in the small castle, the Grustians were slow to get into even remotely well seeded defense positions. Two years of doing nothing but guard a prisoner who didn't have the slightest glimmer of a chance to escape had dulled the Grustian's reflexes. Furthermore, they were all focused on defending a certain path through the castle… and only one thing could logically be down that path. Determined to reach the cells, Marth brought the League through the halls of the castle, plowing down the passage.<p>

A trio of Grustian archers appeared, Wendell struck them down with Thunder magic easily enough, leaving them as still twitching corpses on the stone ground. More soldiers, most in thick armor, charged. Ogma faced the charge, roaring a challenge as his sword cracked through the armor effortlessly. The Grust defense was swiftly tossed aside. Solid progress was being made down the path that could have only led to the cells.

Finally, after a good hour of beating their way through the castle, the League arrived at the cells. There was no shortage of holding cells, but most of them were empty and in clear disrepair. The cell doors were rusted shut from disuse. There were not even as much as rats scurrying around, trying to scavenge any contents of the cells or making a little niche for themselves. As the thought that this was might have indeed been a trap started to enter Marth's mind, he came across one cell door that not only wasn't rusted, but looked to be in use.

Raising a hand to tell the rest of the army to back off, Marth sheathed his rapier. He was well aware that the prisoner could possibly be an assassin, but he was sure he could defend himself easily enough if that was the case. He entered into the damp, dark cell.

"Is anyone here?" Marth asked as he walked through the cell. He scanned left and right, then noticed someone in the back of the room, sitting down. He cautiously approached, keeping one hand on his rapier hilt, he knelt down and extended his other hand in a friendly manner. "Hey, who are you?"

Maria blinked at the man approaching her. One look at his face told her well enough that it wasn't a Grustian, nor a Macedonian, the only faces she would have expected. She was a little shocked at the welcoming hand. She was more used to receiving death threats from people these days. Taking another look at his face she found… that the owner of the friendly hand was quite dashing. The sort of face her mind drew whenever Michalis read her old romance stories.

"Um… Maria." She answered the question almost shyly. "One of the princesses of Macedon." She reached out and let the man pull her to her feet. "Who are you… um, sir?"

Marth took notice of some bruises on her face, and was repulsed at the sight. Her age hadn't spared her from brutal discipline, clearly. Still kneeling down, his head was roughly level with hers at the moment. He answered her question. "Prince Marth of Altea, a certain… princess Minerva asked me to get you away from Grust."

Her eyes widened. "My sist-" This man wasn't Macedonian, but he knew Minerva, therefore, he could be trusted, right? A smile appeared on her face, but then quickly dropped. "What about Michalis? He's here too, right?"

Marth had no particular answer to give Maria. "You'll have to ask your sister yourself, she's nearby."

"Nearby? Where?" Maria's expression became hopeful for a reunion with her older sister, and Michalis, who had to be somewhere nearby himself.

"Your sister told us to come here, to rescue you. She's here somewhere, but I haven't seen her. She's likely somewhere outside trying to defend the castle. It was your presence here that blackmailed her to fighting for Dolhr. She'd turn from them the moment she knows you're free."

Maria's head dipped down just slightly. What Marth said somewhat contradicted what she remembered Michalis telling her. She was here so that Macedon could have some room to breath while trying to strike at Dolhr. Her head jerked back up, it wasn't important right now. Minerva and Michalis would probably just correct Marth. "If she's here, she needs to see that I'm safe."

"Yes, of course." Marth rose up and turned around, gesturing for her to follow. "We need to find her immediately."

"Prince Marth." Merric said as the prince exited the cell. "Was it a red herring or not? Was there anyone…" his words trailed off as a little red haired girl walked out of the cell with Marth.

"Princess Maria of Macedon." Marth introduced the little girl. Maria felt a little nervous and cornered at all the quizzical glances directed at her, and tried to hide behind Marth's leg, only peeking an eye out. "We need to get her to princess Minerva before anyone gets killed unnecessarily." He looked over the army, contemplating how to focus on routing Grust and finding Minerva as quickly as possible. "Merric. You will take her to wherever princess Minerva is right now. The rest of us need to finish taking care of what Grustians are here."

"Yes, prince." Merric stepped forward and placed a hand on Maria's shoulder. The princess didn't seem to like the mage's grip, but didn't resist. "Seeing as this wasn't a trap, I'll get her to wherever her sister is."

* * *

><p>Minerva had not wished it, but she found herself fighting the League. The Grustian troops were decimated, there was only her left. With no other choice, she swooped down, and was met by none other then Hardin of Aurelis.<p>

Hardin raised a hand, ordering the rest of the League to back off and let him face Minerva by himself. Partially to prevent anyone else from risking death against the woman, and partially because he wanted to personally cross blades with her, just once.

Minerva came down to attack, Hardin immediately blocked the first axe swing. Hauteclere failed to slice through the silver lance, Minerva was shocked at the resilience of Hardin's weapon, and Hardin easily forced the surprised Minerva and her Wyvern back with a forceful push. The Wyvern stopped itself a safe distance away and then lunged at Hardin, looking to tear through the flesh of Hardin's steed with its fangs and claws. A quick thrust of Hardin's lance forced the Wyvern to back away or have a lance spear into its gut.

The Wyvern was indignant at being repelled not once, but twice. It screeched at Hardin, then Minerva's hand patted it on the head. Calming down on its master's command, it carefully charged again.

From the distance, Roshea gulped, worried for Coyote. That was Minerva Coyote was fighting, more then a few horror stories had circulated throughout Aurelis about the woman and her skill. He knew that Hardin was probably among the most skilled warriors of this, or any age, but he was still worried.

"H-hey, um, Wolf?" He turned to Wolf, who was standing right beside Roshea with his arms crossed. "Shouldn't we interfere? I know Coyote told us to back off but, princess Minerva isn't someone to take lightly at all. What if she manages to k-kill Coyote?" It was a horrible idea to contemplate, but it was a very real possibility. Roshea couldn't stomach going through life without Hardin's calm wisdom guiding him. He'd never find solace if Hardin died.

"There's no need." Wolf said as he watched the one-on-one duel. His eyes were unconcerned and he was unstressed. "I fought the woman back in Lefcandith. She is no threat to Coyote."

"B-but… they're fighting evenly, what if she manages to-"

"Evenly?" Wolf turned to Roshea with a look of slight disappointment. "Relieve yourself of your anxiety and take another look, Roshea. In what direction is the fight going?" Wolf uncrossed his arms and pointed a finger at the battle unfolding in front of them.

Roshea, confused, looked at the battle again. Minerva was… Roshea rubbed at his eyes then looked at the scene again, and almost instantly relaxed. "She's actually at a large disadvantage. Despite a few initial attacks, she can't push any aggression, or even as much as make a counterattack." He smiled, watching as Minerva was forced back, and back, and back. Minerva's Wyvern couldn't even try to snap at Coyote, or Coyote's horse. It was obvious who the superior fighter was here.

"I and Sedgar, by ourselves, forced her into a retreat. What chance does she have against Coyote, the one who trained us?" Wolf crossed his arms again. "Macedon may have numbers to its credit, but they can't face Aurelians in a straight fight. We've proven enough times that the True Spirit of Aurelis overpowers any Macedonian. King Michalis is the only person from Macedon to be concerned about."

Anyone who Wolf could fight evenly, or even have an advantage on, was no match for Coyote. That was an uncontestable fact. Wolf had no reason to fear his commander getting killed.

Minerva was breathing hard. Her hope for simple survival was fast dwindling in this battle. She remembered when she had watched Hardin kill Ruben in Aurelis about a year ago. The skill she remembered seeing the Aurelian prince exhibit was intimidating, but something she believed she could best. The Hardin in front of her completely outstripped her skill. She was… about to lose, and die.

If this was her punishment, very well. She had done enough wrong, especially to Aurelis, which Hardin was the prince of. At least Maria wouldn't be killed today. If Maria just talked to them, maybe the League would try to save Macedon, not just destroy it.

"Stop!" A young and female voice called out, a voice Minerva recognized instantly. Hardin, who was in the middle of a thrust that would have hit Minerva in the gut, which would have most likely cracked her armor and ripped her straight from the saddle, pulled back from his attack. He immediately focused on Minerva, upon ascertaining that it wasn't him she was paying attention to, he turned to the voice.

Merric was at the entrance of the castle, and with him was a little girl, the one who had spoken. She began to run toward Minerva.

"It seems the message was true, after all." Hardin said, backing up for Minerva as she landed and dismounted, beginning to approach Maria.

Minerva knelt down, and Maria jumped forward to hug her elder sister. With one arm Minerva returned the embrace. There was a small tear dropping from Minerva's eye at the reunion. She had her little sister, her precious sister, right here, and Grust couldn't deprive Maria of what she deserved anymore. Her hands had never held Maria so… protectively, before. After what had to have been several minutes, they pulled back.

"Where's… Michalis? He came to save me too, didn't he?"

Minerva's face, previously overcome with joy, started to look troubled. "He… um, he is…" after a moment of searching for some comforting falsehood, she shook her hand, swiftly changing the subject. "Are you okay?" Minerva' voice was weak, relieved, and flowing with emotion at the sight of Maria. "You weren't hurt were-" Minerva began to look over Maria, then saw the bruises on her cheeks. Minerva's armored fingers pressed on the damaged skin. "_Who_ did this to you?" Her voice became surprisingly strong and fierce as she spoke the words.

"The warden." Maria answered, she almost looked like she was shaking with fear. "Zharov. He'd hurt me from time to time. Said that I was what was keeping him from getting into a better place in life. He said he loved to spite Michalis by doing it. I couldn't go a whole… a while week… without him…"

Minerva exploded on the inside. She had talked to the man several times, and had known that he hated watching Maria, but never once thought that he brutalized her sister. Though, it would be a lie to say that this revelation was truly surprising. Minerva began to stand up, her hands lingering on Maria's shoulder for a time, reluctant for the reunion to end so quickly, but she let go. There was something that she had to do. "I have to have a few words with Zharov. We'll have to talk later." Minerva looked worriedly at Hardin. "P-prince Hardin, Can I ask you to… to watch her?"

Hardin looked at Minerva and her pleading expression, then at Maria. His expression was emotionless and unreadable, but he eventually took on a more understanding face. "Yes, I can do that simply enough. She will be safe with us. Though we will have some… things to discuss when Grust had been defeated here."

Minerva nodded, then turned to Maria. "I'll be gone, but only for a very short time. I'll be back within an hour. These people are… they're good people, they oppose Dolhr. You're safe with them." Maria's face flashed concern, scared to be separated again so quickly, but the child, thankfully, understood that it would be a short separation, and let Minerva go. She got to her Wyvern and took off, heading straight for Zharov.

* * *

><p>Zharov paced in front of the small fort atop the plateau. He had heard reports of how the defense of Castle Diel was working, and it was never encouraging to hear. If only there had been more guards here… the defense might have actually been able to <em>do<em> something.

He was sweating inside his armor, this was not… this was nowhere near the position in life he should attain before he died. He wanted wealth, comfort, prestige, and influence, he didn't want to end his life babysitting a Macedonian whelp. He quickened his pace, then abruptly stopped as a new scout ran up to him. The scout respectfully fell to one knee and spoke.

"Sir, they've completely overrun and seized the castle."

"Was that supposed to be an unexpected revelation, you idiotic-" Zharov's sentence suddenly cut off and he gritted his teeth. He could see that the Archanean League was starting to pour out of the back of the fort, the blue-haired prince at the head of the charge. Zharov swore, turning and looking up at the mountains behind him. Where _were_ those reinforcements? The main army up at the Archanean Palace might as well have just used the message as a signal to begin building up their own defenses.

His head jerked in realization. That's _exactly _what happened. Master Khozen at the palace had decided to instead shore up the defenses of the palace and stop Marth there. Zharov was on his own. His survival or his death was in his hands.

"Sir, they're upon us!" Zharov returned his mind to the battle, seeing the League bearing down on his troops.

"Repel them, idiots! I shouldn't have to tell you that! Kill them, or you'll find yourself in the cells you've been guarding!" His soldiers charged forward to meet the enemy. They put up a good fight, they fought desperately for their lives and lasted several minutes against overwhelming odds, and even managed to administer a few wounds to the League soldiers. They lasted until the elderly paladin killed the last soldier with a thrust of his lance.

"Worthless simpletons." Zharov scowled at his soldiers, now limp bodies strewn across the grass. Holding his lance firmly, he turned his attention to the League. "Tch, do I have to do everything myself? This armor is _impregnable_ to your weapons, it's nothing like the shoddy plate that Emereus or Harmein wore. You won't fell me, rebel scum."

Immediately, Ogma charged forward. The sword connected with Zharov's armor and was immediately bounced back. Zharov made a counter-thrust against the disoriented mercenary, but Ogma backed away before the lance could reach him.

Several more League soldiers came forward. Zharov's armor, not his skill, was what allowed him to last in the fight. Cocooned under the red plate, he was able to attack safely. He endured for some time, but it was not long before some of the attacks were straining his armor, and he had a legit reason to grow concerned when Jagen's silver lance managed to grievously crack his chest plate. Afterwards, Wendell called down a bolt of Thunder, electrocuting the armor and rattling the flesh safely hidden underneath.

"I'm meant for better then this. I… I won't die while babysitting that filthy brat." Zharov swung his lance again, just narrowly missing Abel's head and forcing the green knight back. Cain rushed forward, his sword impacted the damaged chest armor, and broke off enough to reveal the fabric of Zharov's tunic.

"No…" Zharov covered the exposed chest with one of his gauntlets and looked back at the League. Several of the soldiers were charging, and it was obvious what they would try to strike at. Zharov swung his lance once, forcing several of them to back off. Then Marth dashed forward, ducking under Zharov's next attack and thrust his Rapier forward. Zharov's eyes widened in doomed realization as the rapier pierced through his hand and into his chest, he could swear that he felt his heart being stabbed.

There was a short pause where Zharov gurgled some inarticulate threat out, then Marth pulled the rapier back. Zharov looked at Marth with an expression that projected both fear and murderous rage and… tried to talk. His words came out garbled, and he coughed up a small bit of blood as he started to groan in the pain. Shock set in, he resisted the feeling of death at first, but quickly gave in. He fell to his knees, then crumpled to the ground. His last thoughts, undoubtedly centered on whatever lofty rank he wished to have achieved, or his frustration with watching Maria, left him, and he died on the grass.

"That was the commander of the castle." Marth looked at Zharov's corpse, bleeding from the chest and staining the grass. He looked around, finding no enemy left. "Was that it? We-"

"Prince Marth, above!" Jagen warned, Marth immediately looked up to see a Wyvern swooping down. He jumped back, but the rider of the Wyvern wasn't trying to attack. Instead, the Wyvern landed, impacting the ground with enough force to make Marth lose his footing. The rider, who Marth immediately knew was princess Minerva, dismounted. Her first action was to move to Zharov's corpse.

"So, he's already dead." She muttered with a disappointed tone. She looked over the remains of Maria's warden for a time, then fiercely kicked Zharov in his gut, knocking the corpse onto its back. "Lucky for him."

She continued to look at the corpse, frustrated that Hauteclere hadn't torn Zharov apart limb by repulsive limb and that Zharov had most assuredly died too painlessly, then turned around. The first thing that she saw was Marth, flanked by multiple soldiers. The commander of the army she wanted to ally with, she knew what she had to do… immediately she dropped Hauteclere on the ground and approached weaponless. Her Wyvern grew concerned as she dropped to her knees in front of Marth, it looked at Marth with an expression that seemed almost pleading for him to show mercy.

"Prince Marth, Maria is safe, secure with the soldiers guarding the front entrance. For her rescue and safety, I can never thank you enough." She paused, waiting for some manner of response. All she heard was some unintelligible murmuring from Marth's soldiers. "Prince Marth, Macedon has gone mad, my own brother willingly supports Dolhr, despite my opposition." She bit her lip, unable to fathom her brother's reasoning. "I… if you would have me, I wish to fight with the League and correct Macedon's mistakes with my own hands. You've given me the chance to not be just a pawn anymore, I wish to fight Dolhr, in order to take responsibility for what Macedon has done. I wish to fight at your side… no matter how zealous I am in my opposition, there's a limit to what I can do by myself."

She clenched her eyes shut, waiting for an answer. There was a long pause, and a nameless fear was born in Minerva's gut. Had she come so far, only to find that Marth wouldn't trust her in the army?

"You may come with us." Minerva's eyes snapped open, she looked up at Marth with a hopeful expression. He was smiling down at her, and extended a hand. "I saw princess Maria myself, I understand what circumstances you were in. You can count yourself among our numbers."

Minerva blinked, then took Marth's hand and slowly got up to her feet. The plan she had begun forming in Dolhr Keep a few months back had ended up succeeding. It was… only a shame that Merach wasn't still alive, and that the Whitewings were nowhere nearby. She seemed to have won Marth's good faith rather quickly, and was thankful for his understanding. "I will always be in your debt for this, prince Marth. Unfortunately, I'm the only Macedonian who can join you right now. Dolhr sent my soldiers, the Whitewings, to Grust. I'm sure they'd seek you out and join you the moment they hear of Maria's freedom." She turned around and picked up her axe, briefly patting her Wyvern on the head. The creature looked at Marth, it seemed to be oddly thankful for his choice. Minerva turned her head back to Marth. "Where exactly is the Archanean League heading next?"

"The Archanean Palace." Marth answered. "We have freed Aurelis, now we will work on freeing another nation that resisted Dolhr from day one. We will begin moving tomorrow."

Perhaps she had hoped that their next destination would be Macedon. She wanted to settle things with her brother and free Macedon from Dolhr as soon as possible. Yet for her past actions, making any sort of demand would have been unacceptable. Instead she just nodded.

"We'll be moving into Castle Deil for tonight." Marth looked at the recently conquered castle. This was a nice opportunity to see if there were any usable resources left behind by the now deceased Grustians. "We'll begin moving in the direction of the Archanean Palace tomorrow."

* * *

><p>"No, no, you must be joking…" Maria collapsed in a chair, holding a hand to her temple. "He… he wouldn't… Michalis would never…"<p>

"I'm sorry, Maria. It's the truth." Minerva placed her hand on Maria's shoulder. She had just finished telling Maria the sad truth of what Macedon had been doing during the two years Maria had been in her cell. It was painful to see Maria's innocent desires be torn apart like this, but she'd have found out eventually. The family reunion that Maria had wanted was not to be. The little girl trembled as Minerva continued speaking. "Michalis has authorized atrocity and manslaughter in the service of Dolhr. He told me, and you, that he was working to undermine Dolhr, but in these two years we can see that he's not doing that. Macedon has actually been one of Dolhr's more prominent supporters."

Maria sulked in her little chair as she talked with Minerva. Marth, Caeda, and Nyna were also in the room, listening to Maria and Minerva compare and contrast their opinions of Michalis and his recent actions. The Macedonian king was an individual that the three had only heard second-hand stories of.

Minerva took a small glance at the three. She had been a little confused at the army being called the 'Archanean League' at first. Then she had seen Nyna and understood. She didn't really want them in the room for this, seeing Maria react to what Michalis had become, but she knew full well that she was in no position to be making demands or requests. Besides, it might be beneficial for them to hear some more… pleasant things regarding Michalis. No matter what, Michalis wasn't someone to… hate.

"If he's really done things like this…" Maria sullenly spoke after she had spent a few moments thinking. "Then… then we have to save him."

"What are you talking about?" Minerva asked, "He-"

"You said it yourself, he's working to undermine Dolhr. Then… then he just… didn't know what he was up against. We have to save him from the situation he's in right now. We can be a family again after Dolhr is gone."

Minerva sighed at Maria's at this point blind attachment to Michalis and the family. "It won't be that simple. If we speak to him, our words will be lost. He is set on this path, no matter how misguided it is. He's not the person we once knew, he willingly serves Dolhr with no remorse."

Maria's face twisted in offense. "No. We _have_ to help him, somehow. I know he wants to do the right thing, he just… made some mistakes, and Dolhr cornered him. I know he wants to get away from Dolhr. I _know _he does."

Help him… Minerva did fully intend to help Michalis. Yet the only way to spare Michalis from his situation was to forcefully take the throne from him. He would not surrender it willingly, Minerva knew exactly how things would end up. She did not doubt that Michalis wanted to do the right thing, at least initially, but he had become increasingly heartless I his ruling. He was no hero, no matter what some, like Orridyon, thought of him. All of Macedon suffered under him, and the nation itself went astray. Macedon had to be set right, and Michalis wasn't the one who would do it.

"Yes, we will help him." Minerva's hand fell on Maria's shoulder in an almost tender manner. "Somehow."

Maria smiled. "Of course we will. He's family. He's always helped us and saved us before. Just once… we should do the same for him." She felt sure that she and Minerva would have a happy reunion with Michalis. She wasn't aware of what Minerva expected, or what her older sister intended to do.

The door to the room they were in opened. Minerva raised her head to see Jagen walk in. One of Marth's advisors, as well as his bodyguard.

"Forgive my interruption." Jagen opened up. He turned to Minerva. "Prince Hardin has requested to talk to princess Minerva, he did not say why, but it seems to be over a serious matter."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, then sighed and began to stand up. She knew full well what Hardin wanted to talk to her about, and it awakened a deep feeling of dread. Hardin was going to speak of her role in the invasion of Aurelis. "Tell him I'm coming." She would not side-step the issue, she had to at least face an Aurelian representative over this.

Jagen politely nodded and left the room. Minerva turned back to Maria. "I'll be back soon, stay with these three for a moment." She hurriedly left the room, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible.

* * *

><p>"Vell, vell, ve aren't the only vuns trying to tease them, are ve?" Athena said as she approached the Archanean sniper. Jeorge turned to her. "Ve heard you speaking to Gordin. Ve vonder vhat you think those tvo feel for each other…"<p>

"I think it's fairly obvious what their feelings for each other are." Jeorge said with a somewhat pragmatic tone. He glanced around, making sure neither archer was nearby before continuing with the conversation. "It will just take a while for them to acknowledge it, and appreciate those feelings."

Athena placed one hand on a hip. "Ve vonder… perhaps ve and you should give those two a fev… pushes."

Jeorge sighed and shook his head. "Trying to force them to communicate with each other, or make them feel awkward around each other, is not the way to go about this. Right now, it would be better to watch, and only intercede if things look like they're breaking. They'll decide what to do, and when to do it."

She shrugged. "Ve aren't sure vhat to make of Gordin, but ve can tell how Norne feels about him. It vould not do for those tvo to not at least try vith each other."

"…who made you the love expert?" Jeorge rolled his eyes, "I'd rather they not get distracted by an affection that goes beyond friendship, especially on the field of battle. Yet off the battlefield… I'd enjoy watching them interact."

"Ve vill probably talk to Norne again. It vouldn't be hard to get her to-"

"No, Athena." Jeorge interrupted, sounding like he was trying to tell a defiant child what to do and not do. He felt the need to stop Athena from trying to force anything between the two, that would only make it harder for them to ever try with each other. "The best thing to do right now with those two is simply to wait, and watch. Those two might be a little unwilling to accept their feelings, especially Gordin, but they'll do it eventually."

Athena rolled her eyes at Jeorge's desire for passiveness, but apparently decided against arguing. "Ve'll just vait see vhat happens, then. Ve and you vill offer a push if things start to look bad. The tvo are obviously close enough, it'd be a shame if they didn't at least try."

Perhaps she was right, but Jeorge was finding Athena to be a remarkably… nosy woman. He sighed again and walked off.

* * *

><p>Minerva knew she had been in the wrong for a long, long time. As Minerva approached the Aurelian prince, she found herself growing anxious and nervous about how this talk would go. She was not a person who was used to receiving praise or compliments, but as she approached Hardin, she saw the looks of skepticism and doubt from League soldiers and stiffened slightly. The red-haired Aurelian knight seemed to display one of the fiercest looks of disapproval. She was tempted to close her eyes as she walked through the halls of the conquered Castle Deil, but forced herself to keep them open.<p>

Finally, she came to Hardin. He wasn't in a combat situation, but seemed no less impressive a figure. The man who had infuriated Macedon every step of the way during the invasion of Aurelis… he would have many grievances with her. He seemed to be speaking to two other Aurelians. She recognized them as the same ones she had gotten into a fight with back at the Lefcandith Valley. Hardin turned and noticed Minerva, he said something Minerva couldn't quite make out, she guessed it was something directed at the two knights near him. He stepped forward, the two Aurelians flanking him.

"Prince Hardin." She began, keeping her arms limp by her side. "You wished to speak to me?"

"Princess Minerva, we have much to discuss." He said, rather coldly.

"About… Aurelis." She said, honestly nervous as to what Hardin would have to say, but happy that he wasn't wasting time with false pleasantries or courtesies.

"You, and the nation you love so much, have laid waste to Aurelis, that which I am sworn to defend." He closed his eyes. "Tearing families from their homes and butchering them. Raining savage death down on people who had nothing to do with the war. Ravaging Aurelis until it was a shadow of its former self. You are guilty of all of these acts. You are just as guilty of them as general Emereus, and as guilty of these acts as your brother."

Her eyes went downcast. There wasn't the slightest thing she could say in her defense. "Princess Maria's plight forced me to regard Aurelis as if the nation was my enemy when I knew it was not. For Hauteclere to have been brandished against innocent people and selfless knights has left both I and my axe as tarnished and dishonored as you."

Hardin regarded her coldly. "You stand there with only your honor tainted because of a hostage situation. I stand here, having spent two years gathering up corpses of good people. Many of which died at your hand. Who has lost more then the other?"

Minerva couldn't counter those words, or even answer. Instead her head dipped down apologetically. Though she knew it would take more then an unspoken apology to redeem her in the eyes of the Aurelians.

"I asked you a question." Hardin said sternly. "Who has lost more then the other?"

"…you, prince Hardin." She said reticently. "For all the crimes that will haunt me, I have yet to lose anything to the extent that you have."

"For all you've committed, few in Aurelis would be angered if I were to kill you right here. In fact, many would rejoice, and call it divine punishment." Hardin said, Minerva fearfully looked up straight into the man's eyes. If Hardin were to cast such a judgment on her, she wasn't sure if she'd have the heart to resist. She certainly had no words of refutation she could use. Hardin continued, "Yet such pettiness is not the Aurelian way. I cannot so easily forget what you did in Aurelis, but I acknowledge your circumstances with your sister. Rather then be punished in a way that, by all accounts, would seem just and appropriate, you're being given a chance to redeem yourself. I won't be satisfying grudges or feeding hatreds against someone who I'm not inclined to call a true evil."

Minerva took in a breath, a small amount of her anxiety leaving her. "Thank you, prince Hardin. I swear to not do anything to make your mercy on me end up seeming misplaced."

There was a small look of repulse in Hardin's face, and his eyes narrowed. He still did not like her, and Minerva could not blame him for that.

She was willing to accept responsibility for her actions, despite the fact that she had done enough to deserve death countless times over. Hardin was impressed by that. He extended a hand. His voice became deathly quiet. "You are a soldier of the Archanean League, as of now. You say you wish to fight Dolhr, you now have that opportunity."

She reached a hand of her own forward to accept his, speaking with the same quiet tone. "I will serve the League, and serve well."

Hardin looked around. The soldiers present seemed pleased, or at least had no argument with his decision to accept Minerva. Except, perhaps, Vyland, who said nothing with his arms crossed in the corner. Vyland still despised Macedonians, while Hardin's other three men didn't seem to have any spoken or unspoken objections or grievances.

Hardin let go of Minerva's hand and turned around. "Return to any duties you have. My business with you is done as of now. I must focus on examining the route we will take to the palace tomorrow."

Minerva stood motionless for a moment, then bowed respectfully. The conversation had been less painful then she imagined, and Hardin more tolerant of her then she expected. The soldiers around her seemed to take some cues from Hardin, many of them seemed to regard her more patiently and understandingly as she turned and left.

* * *

><p>Minerva hurried back to the room that the other royalty were at. Marth and Nyna seemed to have already left, with only Caeda and Maria still in.<p>

"Oh, Minerva." Maria was sitting down, but sprung up as she saw Minerva. She had an oddly confident smile on her face. "Did you hear yet? I got Marth to make me an official cleric in the League."

Minerva stood still, looking almost stunned, then shook her head. "The battlefield is no place for you, Maria. You don't know anything about hardship and-"

"I was mistreated in a cell for two years. I think that counts as hardship." Maria said with a slightly defensive tone. Lena had already dealt with the bruises on Maria's cheeks, but she still bore some metaphysical scars of Zharov's treatment of her. "I can handle this, Minerva. Besides, I got Marth to agree, as long as I promise to be really, really careful about where I am on the battlefield."

"No, Maria. You do _not_ belong on the battlefield. Trying to force your way onto it is just being self-"

"I am _not_ being selfish." Maria countered before Minerva even finished her sentence. "I'm just… tired of everyone always watching over me and making me a helpless bystander to everything. How can you expect me to be able to handle myself if you never back off?" She took a deep breath. "I'll be in the battles from this point on, and that's that. No protesting."

Minerva's expression hardened initially, but eventually relaxed. She looked at Caeda, the exhausted, slightly irritated face of the Talysian princess made it clear that Maria had made a battle over her inclusion. She looked back at Maria, she couldn't fathom her little sister on the battlefield, but Maria was clearly being adamant about this. Minerva was not skilled at telling Maria 'no' in a situation like this. She thought hard, trying to find some great counter argument to Maria's desire to join the battlefield, but found nothing that satisfied herself. She considered simply invoking her authority as an older sibling, but found herself oddly weary.

"If you feel that strongly about this, Maria, I suppose I can't deny you." She privately admitted that Maria had a point on needing to go out and learn to handle herself. She put a hand on Maria's shoulder. "Just… I want you to be careful. More careful then you've ever been. Your time in this prison was most likely a horrible experience, but I doubt it scratches the surface of what war is really like."

"I really need to do this. Thank you." Maria gave Minerva a hug. Minerva sighed, she'd rush to Maria's side if she was ever in danger on the battlefield. That didn't need to be said. Any enemy who targeted Maria would end up as pieces on the ground.

In short order, Maria left the room to head to bed. It would be her first night sleeping off of the hard cell ground in two years. Caeda began to speak up.

"Princess Minerva."

Minerva gave Caeda her undivided attention.

"Your sister told us much about… king Michalis. Her reasoning seemed naïve in many ways but… I'm willing to believe that your brother isn't a truly evil person…"

"I assure you, he's not." Minerva said, a feeling, a longing for past days present in her chest. She tamped it down quickly. "Yet what he is or isn't is unimportant. He's allied Macedon with Dolhr, and is showing no guilt over his actions. He needs to be forcefully removed from the power he has, one way or the other. He's… he's proven that he is unable to handle having power."

Caeda looked hard at Minerva. "How do you suppose he'll react to this attack on Castle Deil? If he really cares about you and your sister as much as princess Maria claims he does…"

Minerva looked away. She… was not sure of the answer to that question.

* * *

><p>Michalis felt oddly anxious. He stood beside his throne in the royal castle's throne room, looking out the window. It was storming hard, it had been years since there had been a storm this bad in Macedon. The drops of rain pelting the glass… the ominous clouds… it was strange. Something seemed to be unnerving him, but he wasn't sure what. It had been a long time since he had felt quite this uncomfortable.<p>

The dark clouds overhead seemed to be threatening to flood all of Macedon, almost reflecting his strangely dark thoughts. He could see the rain sluicing through the paved roads of the castle town. Orridyon was down there somewhere, as ordered by Michalis, his most reliable soldier was managing a system to keep the people from panicking and lessening the chances of anyone drowning in a potential flash flood. He wondered if the place Gotoh had taken residence in was safe from any flooding risks. After a moment of thought he shook his head, Gotoh could just command the water to leave him if he was honestly bothered by it. The White Sage's power was nothing to scoff at. Michalis sighed, returning to pondering whatever it was that was troubling him.

It was almost uncharacteristic for the man hailed as King Michalis The Great to be bothered or vexed by much of anything. He himself wasn't sure what was bothering him. The strange feeling of dread had come a few hours ago and hadn't left since he first felt it. He flicked some of his red hair back as he began to form thoughts. It wasn't the countless decisions he had to make each day as a king that brought this feeling, nor was it the stress of the power struggle between Macedon, Grust, and Khadein. This was something else, some mystical sense that something was wrong. Here? Elsewhere? He didn't know.

His black-scaled Wyvern seemed to notice his anxiety from its stable. Looking at Michalis, it tilted its head whilst making a confused sounding grunt. The blood-red eyes, for once, didn't seem frightening at all. Michalis didn't turn to it, the Wyvern laid its head down on the hay of its stable, making a sound almost like a purr, trying to empathize with its master. Then it inhaled through its nostrils and smelled something. The scent was familiar, and repugnant to the creature. It raised its head up and started to make a low growl.

Michalis' head, which had been slowly dipping down, raised up as he heard the familiar growl of his Wyvern. He turned around as Adeline, the archer, entered the throne room. Entering the throne room of her own volition was becoming an increasingly annoying habit of hers.

"What is it?" Michalis waved a hand at her to speak. His strange sense of discomfort temporarily gone, he was again the feared Macedonian king, and he could crush her as easily as one might crush ants underfoot.

Adeline bowed respectfully. Then fished an envelope out of a pocket. "King Michalis The Great, there is a letter addressed to you." Michalis raised an eyebrow at the clean envelope in Adeline's hand. "I am unsure of the contents, but it's related to something that happened at Castle Deil."

Michalis' eyes widened, and a shiver went down his spine. That foreboding feeling he had felt over the last few hours returned and spiked. He stepped toward Adeline, trying to not look panicked. If anything had happened to Maria, He…

He shook himself free of concern. He needn't react in any particular way until he read the letter. He extended a hand that he forced not to tremble. "Give it to me, Adeline." His voice was a little more anxious then he wanted it to sound… he could swear that Adeline almost seemed to smirk as she handed the letter to him. He took it in hand, noting the seal of Dolhr. It would seem that a Manakete had penned it. That was all the more troubling.

What did this mean? Had Minerva crossed the line for the last time, and Maria had been executed? Or perhaps some hostile force had taken Castle Deil, and Maria's life had been extinguished. It was a struggle to keep his hand from shaking, and simply hold the letter between two fingers in a manner that seemed calm. He could not… could not stomach anything happening to Maria.

He glanced at Adeline, noticing that she almost seemed to be studying him in one of his rare moments of clear agitation and restlessness.

"Get out." Michalis ordered coldly. "I'll read this in peace."

Adeline looked uncomfortable for a second, she clearly wanted to stay in the room as he read the letter. "My king, I-"

An aggressive roar from the Wyvern, one that Michalis did not immediately silence, ended the conversation. She looked deeply frustrated for a second, like something of integral importance had been denied to her, but then regained her composure and bowed with the deepest respect. She turned around, letting her blonde hair fly across Michalis' vision for a second before leaving.

With a sigh, Michalis moved to the throne. His Wyvern moved to the front of its stable, seemingly anxious itself as to how its master would react to the letter. Sitting down in the golden chair, Michalis, with almost protracted speed, began to break the seal…

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	20. Assassination

**This chapter is quite a bit shorter then previous chapters, about 8000+ words not counting the AN, rather then being in the 13,000-16,000 range.**

**This chapter is another 'interlude' chapter, like chapter 12 "Meanwhile, Elsewhere" was.**

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><p><em>King Michalis of Macedon, it is to be brought to your attention that the heir of Falchion led his army, the Archanean League, to attack Castle Deil, putting all, including general Zharov, to the sword. What's more, your younger sister, the rebellious Dracoknight, defected to the League in the late stages of the battle, and they made off with princess Maria.<em>

_In the Dracoknight, we lost a useful soldier, and in Maria, the pawn that kept that soldier in place. Both of your sisters now side against you and with the Archanean League._

_Affectionate mercy is something I avoid, Michalis. It may seem an acceptable action to humans and their imprudent kind, but I despise it. Princess Minerva was a valuable pawn, but far from indispensable, and we can continue on without her without incident. There is no need to try and bring her back into our ranks, rather, it is better this way._

_No measures may be taken to get into contact with your sisters, nor will any attempt to aid them be tolerated. They have made their choice clear, and are to be regarded as enemies and treated as such. They are traitors, and you will have no standing with Dolhr if you choose to assist traitors to Dolhr's cause. If any clear evidence of you assisting the League for the sake of your sisters come to light, Macedon itself will be burnt down as retribution. If agents of Macedon approach the League, it is to be for the purpose of harming the League in some way. When next Macedon encounters the League, you will slaughter them, bringing me the head of every enemy soldier, including your siblings._

_Your sisters are enemies now. Do not approach me or write to me or send a messenger seeking for any leniency to be shown toward them. Rather, as a servant of Dolhr, should you ever approach me about this matter, you will be holding the pikes that have their severed heads impaled on them._

_I expect to hear of your full support._

Michalis had the letter in front of him, already crumpled into a paper ball. The initial shock and horror at the news had since worn off, but he still felt the impact settling in, crushing onto him. His two younger sisters had now joined Marth's army, and they were fighting against him and Macedon. Doubtless the Whitewings would follow suit once they heard the news…

He placed his head in one of his hands, finding that the strange sense of foreboding he had felt hours earlier was a pale shadow of what he felt now. His entire body trembled in his deep worry, fiercely wanting his sisters back, more so Maria, who was far too young and petite to be involved in a war.

After two years, Minerva had still stubbornly refused to see what needed to be done for Macedon to attain its rightful place in the world. He was no more fond of serving Dolhr then she was, but he had the grasp of the bigger picture that she didn't. He made the decision to use Maria to keep Dolhr from administering judgment on Minerva, and to give Minerva time to understand. Yet he hadn't expected the reaction she ended up giving… but in hindsight it was not even barely out of character for her. She refused to reflect on what Macedon needed, and rebelled against Michalis and Macedon in the most violent way possible. She burned with her self-righteousness and turned against both.

Likely, she would swear that everything she was doing was for the sake of Macedon. Michalis wondered how the people would react to that statement, as she slaughtered Macedonian soldiers and laid waste to the country. If this… Archanean League, won this war, Minerva would declare herself as a friend of Macedon or even the nation's savior, never mind that she would have assisted in reducing the nation to a smoldering, war-torn shadow of what it had once been.

She was becoming a hypocrite, presenting a honest desire to aid Macedon in anyway she could, never mind that all she could do as a League soldier would simply harm it. She was a woman who was innovative on the battlefield, but always seemed to leave a certain something to be desired in other fields.

More important then Minerva's no doubt flawed perceptions was Maria. Minerva would drag Maria into her hypocrisy. Even worse, Maria was in a dangerous scenario, war was no place for her. She had always been a delicate, easily bruised girl, and she was always sensitive to pain, she would not take to the battlefield easily, where a simple mistake or a miniscule miscalculation spelled death. Yet, she was stubborn enough to go onto them, and that meant she was stubborn enough to risk death when she still had years of life ahead of her. The risk of her getting killed was… great, too great for his peace of mind. Maria's safety was a bigger worry then Minerva's, he knew Minerva could defend herself easily enough, but Maria was no soldier. All Maria had was a Heal Staff…

Minerva didn't have a knack for telling Maria 'no', even in situations like this. That was more Michalis' field… and with only Minerva around, Maria would likely be getting her way to the point that she would be cheerily putting himself into _very_ dangerous situations. There's no way she'd get away with it if Michalis was there…

His distraught demeanor was plain and clear to all who looked at him, but there was only one person nearby. Not a soldier, a caretaker, or an official advisor, not even his Wyvern, but someone he made no attempt to hide anything from. Michalis was not even at the castle right now, through the lightning and the rain of tonight he had come to a small village secluded in some mountains, to a house somewhat isolated from the rest of the village. It was a surprisingly frequent destination for him, whenever he had something he wished to speak of, it was here that he came. Piercing through the rain on his Wyvern, he had come to the one person he would ever confide in. His Wyvern was outside, seeking shelter from the aggravating rain under the roof of the porch, which was too small for the majestic, black scaled creature.

Inside, the White Sage, Gotoh, took the crumpled paper ball in hand, unraveled it, and slowly read the message from Dolhr. The letter was not signed with the writer's name, but it was clear that Medeus himself had penned it. Gotoh sighed, releasing the paper, letting his magic guide it back to the table. It landed flat, without the slightest crinkle or crumple on it.

"Michalis." Gotoh said, he looked at the Macedonian king, who was still disturbed by the defection of his family. Michalis was emotionally frustrated, and Gotoh could see his turmoil, he practically saw straight into Michalis' mind and plucked his thoughts out to read. "You want Minerva and Maria back, perhaps under your care, perhaps not, but your wish is for them to not side against you."

Michalis raised his head to look at Gotoh, the face of misery lingered, then vanished in a second, and he was again the unshakable Macedonian king. "Minerva has made her choice, she has chosen to fight a fruitless battle against the Dolhr Empire, something that, in its current state, cannot be defeated. I must continue to serve Macedon as its king. Where my two sisters are, and what they are doing, will not distract me. Everything I do is for the sake of Macedon itself."

"Very well, Michalis." Gotoh said, still seeing that Michalis was troubled at Minerva's betrayal, and Minerva, wherever she was right now, most likely was undergoing heartache at the mere idea of striking at Michalis. No matter how much they opposed each other's standpoint on this matter, some affection was still there, and Gotoh clearly understood that.

Taking a moment, Gotoh reached out with his magic, searching the entire continent for Minerva amongst the sea of minds and their thoughts. It took little time for the White Sage to find her… he made no effort to contact her, and instead just listened to her thoughts for a while as she moved to the Archanean Palace with the rest of the League. To Michalis, it looked like Gotoh was meditating, and he simply crossed his arms and waited. Minerva's thoughts were on her brother… she was frustrated with Michalis, regarding him as a traitor to Macedon and wanted to take the fight to him immediately. At the same time, she was happy that the march to Macedon was likely far off, she had no enthusiasm at the idea of crossing her axe with Michalis' lance. She didn't want to fight the brother that, in many ways, she still admired.

"Michalis." Gotoh spoke as he stopped observing Minerva so far away, "You must concentrate yourself on what is unfolding in Macedon." Michalis became confused at what the White Sage was getting it, Gotoh continued to speak, what he was saying was far more important then Michalis could possibly imagine. "If there are any in the castle who plan ill on you, they will choose now to act. No matter how well you hide it, your… emotional vexation is plain."

"Any who plan ill on me?" Michalis pondered those words. He looked around the unassuming, dusty living room they were sitting in, as if he expected some attacker to spring forth. "What are you speaking of, White Sage?"

"There was been something… incorrect and out of place in your castle, Michalis. From the moment I first came… I sensed malice directed at you. A naked and obvious ambition, someone is in the castle, and that person's sole reason to be there is to try and kill you. Do you know of anyone who might plot death upon you?"

Michalis stared down at the table in front of him.

"You are the king of Macedon, you have the name 'Michalis The Great', you are a man who lets nothing past you. Not a man any person would seek to have as an enemy… is it truly surprising to you that among your loyal ranks, you have an enemy?"

Michalis' eyes widened. His head jerked back up at Gotoh's bearded face. "No." He said. "It's not." He rose up from his chair, a certain individual at the forefront of his thoughts. His thoughts were no longer on his siblings. He respectfully nodded at the White Sage. "Excuse me, Gotoh, I… have business to attend to tonight."

He had come here hoping that Gotoh could give him some reasoning or comfort over his younger sisters, now he left, needing to deal with something he should have seen to long ago. He found his Wyvern huddled on the porch, trying to hide from the rain. It wasn't… quite able to keep its entire body under the roof. It managed to keep its head under the roof, but its tail, even while coiled up, fell off the porch, and its folded wings were catching a little bit of rain. It did not help matters that the wind was blowing in, making it difficult for any part of the porch to be safe from rain.

It looked up as Michalis approached, its scales glistening thanks to the frigid rain, making it almost look like it had polished, shiny armor affixed to it. It was looking forward to the chance to return to the familiar castle. On this cold night, even its warm scales and warmer flesh were not immune to penetration from the cold air.

"We're returning to the palace." Michalis stated, the Wyvern's face conveyed as much joy as the creature possibly could, hoping to return to its warm stable, then noticed its master's face. It went beyond a stern expression, the Wyvern was one of the few who could read Michalis easily, and it understood that some matter needed to be attended to, immediately.

Michalis got up on the Wyvern's saddle, the beast had no strong fondness to move back out into the rain, but it did not protest when Michalis bade it to move. It crawled off of the porch to give its wings enough room to spread. It cried an eerie shriek, and lifted into the air, not pulling back from the sky or the icy cold rain. Its leathery black wings beat across the wet, chilly air, not absconding from its duty to follow Michalis' orders.

"Naga help you, Michalis." Gotoh said, having stepped out on the porch. He waved a hand, creating an invisible barrier to prevent any of the irksome rainwater from reaching him. He looked at Michalis, who would have been impossible for any human eye to spot through the rain and the bursts of lightning. Yet Gotoh's eyes were not truly human. "The presence of Khadein is in your castle. I pray you find it Michalis, before it catches you in a moment of weakness."

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><p>Orridyon was pacing anxiously. When the people of the castle town were safely organized in a way that even a massive flash flood could not claim anyone, the elderly knight had returned to the castle. He returned only to find that Michalis had made another visit to Gotoh over a letter the king had received. Maintaining order in the castle until the king returned was now his duty.<p>

He disliked it when Michalis disappeared like this. More so when it was taken into account that the only soldier close to his rank here was Adeline, a woman he, along with many other soldiers, had grown to despise. Rather then talk to her, he started to patrol the castle of his own accord. The soldiers were operating splendidly, handling their patrols with maximum attention despite the late hour, they saw in all directions, and made no mistakes.

He would have been more pleased with that… if it weren't for the fact that the patrols were issued by Adeline. As he walked around the castle, he was surprised to find no sign of the woman. He was not at all upset that she wasn't nearby, but the woman was always around, looking for something that would let her attain favor with Michalis. He did not see her doing her usual stalking around the castle…

He had seen her when she first enlisted and was so inferior to him in rank. Even then, he had disliked her. As she grew in rank, she started to make a habit of talking down to all but Michalis, and she only became more confident at speaking to Orridyon with so arrogant a tone as time progressed and her rank grew further. Arrogant and cocky, two traits he despised to see in the Macedonian troops… he could only wonder why Michalis kept her around. Other soldiers with such attitudes never lasted very long once they had found a place in Michalis' elite.

There were few things he hated more then dwelling on the woman, and he forced his thoughts aside. He found himself by the doors to the throne room. He turned to them… not audaciously inviting himself inside like Adeline would do. His armored hand pressed on the doors, fingers moving across the complicated gold ornamentation of the doors… past them was the station of the great king, Michalis. Orridyon could spend a thousand years thinking about Michalis, and he would never find one thing undesirable about the king or his ruling style. It was a great honor that Michalis allowed Orridyon the responsibility of so much in Macedon, that he had gone so far as to name Orridyon his second-in-command in both military and courtly affairs.

It wasn't just Orridyon, the entirety of the military positively adored Michalis and his aggressive expansion of the nation, and his inscrutable war tactics. The very inscape of a warrior king, as long as Macedon had him, it could not fail. The people loved him for his clear consideration for them… he was the finest king the nation had since Iote, the nation's founder. Iote, the slave who rebelled against Dolhr and founded the nation of Macedon. It would be no pleasant exaggeration to say that Michalis was practically the reincarnation of Iote, freeing Macedon from its yoke and dragging the people to a better future. Whereas Iote freed them the yoke of slavery, Michalis dragged Macedon from its stagnancy, dragging it kicking and screaming into the great nation it could have always been.

The same words of praise could not be said for the older of Michalis' two younger sisters. Orridyon wouldn't dare decry Minerva in front of Michalis, but… the woman was not half of what Michalis was in any field. He almost pitied the Whitewings, and their servitude to someone so obviously inferior to Michalis.

There was a flash of lightning, and a sound of thunder. Orridyon only sighed while a squire might have jumped at the sound and the small moment of illumination in the castle hall. He looked out a nearby window, not even a dog should be put out in this weather. Michalis had been wise to send him out to manage the castle town… the people would have likely gone into a deep panic at the sight of the rising water. Deep enough to potentially drown hundreds of people in the midst of uncontrolled panic…

"Orridyon." The elderly knight jerked to attention, he turned to the voice, surprised to find Michalis right by him. Michalis was wet from the rain, his normally bright red hair was damp, and his clothes were dripping wet. Michalis' Wyvern was behind the king, it was wet and soggy, dragging puddles across the royal carpet, but Michalis didn't seem to mind. Orridyon was shocked that he hadn't realized that the large creature was near him, Adeline might have regarded him as having grown senile for his inobservance. The Wyvern grunted at Orridyon, the man being one of the few that the beast _somewhat_ tolerated, yet Michalis and Maria remained the only ones the creature genuinely liked.

"King Michalis The Great…" Orridyon ridded himself of his shock and sank to one knee, one hand over his chest and his head bowed. "My king, the hour grows increasingly late and you are likely weary, may I be so bold as to suggest that you get some rest? The patrols-"

"No, Orridyon." Michalis cut the elderly knight off. The king had a peculiar face, one of absolute urgency. Something was happening, and Orridyon had to know of it. "Rise, come with me to the throne room. There is something we must discuss."

Orridyon was perplexed, but nodded, rising to his feet as Michalis turned to the doors of the throne room.

* * *

><p>Adeline was walking through the torch-lit halls of the castle, her eyes darted around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary tonight. She reached a hand back to toss her blonde hair behind her, the multiple locks of hair returned to her back after a second.<p>

She had long since memorized the layout of the castle's passages, ahead of her was the doors to the royal throne room… she contemplated entering to see if Michalis had returned yet. If not, perhaps there might have been something of interest in the throne room, it was always nice to be able to enter when the Wyvern was out. Then the doors to the throne room opened when she was still several paces away, and Orridyon stepped out.

"What are you doing here, Adeline?" Orridyon asked with an irritated tone. He turned to her, tempted to reach for his lance. One look at her face told him what she had been considering doing. "Must I remind you to not invite yourself into the throne room? The king is not even in right now."

Her eyes widened. "Where… where is he?" She just slightly tilted forward, hoping to get an answer. The man in front of her was rarely forward or forthcoming with her. "Where is our king? Is he still out? Where… where is it that he goes? What-"

Orridyon's eyes narrowed on her. The last person he wanted to speak to _would_ invariably be the first to question him about the king's current whereabouts. He disliked talking to the woman, she always seemed so calm when talking, and always seemed to have a peculiar upper hand in a conversation with anyone besides Michalis. Still, tonight was something of a… special case. "There was an attack on Castle Deil, one that princess Minerva aided. Princess Minerva and princess Maria have joined the enemies of Macedon, an ever growing army called the Archanean League. They are enemies now, Emperor Medeus had ordered us to give them no quarter. King Michalis The Great is… troubled by the treachery of his sisters, and that they must now be seen as traitors and enemies good only to be killed. He has already retired to his room for the night."

"He is… restless, and off-guard, due to his sisters' betrayal. So he has gone to bed somewhat early." Adeline summarized. She blinked, relaxing herself. A part of her wondered why Michalis would be concerned for his sisters at all, he was the one who had put both of them in the situation as prisoner and slave, respectively. Without the slightest remorse, she was sure.

"Yes, amazing they would rebel, when he always did so much for them. Regardless, he is not to be disturbed tonight." Orridyon said, specifically noting Adeline's tendency to be far too nosy for her own good. He knew that she understood what he was referencing. "It is time you retired as well, Adeline. Don't go to the king's chambers hoping to find something to use to advance your position. The guards won't let you by, and there is nothing you can do to bring Michalis' trouble to an end."

The archer waited for a moment, some wheels turning in her head. "Perhaps I am able to do something to ease his suffering." She said, Orridyon's eyes narrowed into menacing slits. She backed away from the threatening expression. "Perhaps not today. The night is stretching on and perhaps I _do_ need to retire myself. I suppose I'll see you with him tomorrow, then." She looked at him with a cocky face, she had practically made an art out of getting under the man's skin with just a few words. She turned around, she walked away in a manner that seemed emotionless in all senses, but then her lips rising into a devilish smirk.

Orridyon watched her walk off. She wasn't aware of just how much he now knew about her. "You'll be putting up with me again sooner then _that_, Adeline." Orridyon said, his voice deathly quiet. He turned around and walked off… in the direction of Michalis' room.

* * *

><p>Hours passed, the storm above the Macedonian castle began to break. Strands of moonlight pierced the breaking clouds and vaguely illuminated what rooms had windows. Michalis' Wyvern was in a rare moment of appearing peaceful and serene, humbly slumbering on the hay in its private stable. It was thankful to be out of the rain and in the warmth of the throne room. For the sake of the creature, a fireplace was kept burning all night in the throne room on cold nights such as this. The servants who tended to the fire were almost soundless as they did so, they had to be, or else risk waking the creature up. The creature slept lightly, very little would be necessary to wake it up, it could change from innocently sleeping to viciously charging at a target in an instant.<p>

Despite the late hour, patrols were only just slightly lighter then usual throughout the castle. Only the treasury, and Michalis' private chamber, had a surplus of guards. The throne room didn't need to be guarded, the Wyvern could handle that all by itself. The creature could break out of its stable effortlessly if it determined that there was a need to do so.

The hour of twelve came.

In the dark of the night, when the castle seemed motionless, Adeline rose from her bed. She smiled in a manner that seemed almost cruel, she grabbed her bow and slung her quiver over her shoulder, then moved to the door. Her door creaked open, Adeline poked herself out of the doorway of her room, walking out into the hall. A quick glance around told her that no one was nearby.

_This is the night to act._

Nodding to herself, she began to move. Stealthily, she made no sounds. Hunching by corners, darting when it was clear that there were no guards, the elite Macedonian general clearly did not want to be seen right now.

A silhouette running through the halls, she moved with a methodical, careful, single-minded purpose. There was something she had to do, and tonight was the single greatest opportunity she had to do it.

She came across the occasional selection of patrols, she swiftly slipped by them without a sound. None of them caught the slightest whiff of her presence. Her movement was quick and flawless, and she only slowed her movement to a crawl near the throne room, not daring to risk waking the Wyvern up with faster movement. She continued, passing the soldier's allotted personal chambers and the royal dining room, moving through the halls that snaked off in every direction, reconnecting somewhere else. At last she came to the doors to Michalis' private chamber.

The door was heavily guarded. She pressed herself against the wall, then tilted to look around the corner, seeing an impressive rotation of patrols, making sure no one approached Michalis as he slept. Adeline was not intimidated by the formation of patrols. She was the one who issued these patrols, and knew of a flaw in their execution. As the soldiers came to examine the hall, Adeline sprung. The soldiers were seeing in all directions, and the Macedonian elite were taking their job very seriously despite the seemingly uneventful night. Yet there was just one tiny fraction of a second where the soldier's routine patrols left them blind in one particular direction. Taking advantage of this gap in the soldier's collective vision, she managed to slip past them. Someone may have seen a movement out of the corner of their eye, but when they turned, there would be nothing to see, and the soldier would eventually dismiss the strange shadow of a movement they had spotted. She smirked, it had all been too easy.

The hard part was over, and it had all been quite easy. She stood up, straightened up, and walked calmly. She came to the door to Michalis' personal chambers, soundlessly, she turned the knob, stealing one last cautious look over her shoulder to ensure that no one was coming, and stepped in.

Michalis' room was almost pitch black, but the moonlight from the window offered a clear, albeit dim, view of Michalis' bed. The king seemed to be completely under the covers, sleeping. Adeline stepped forward, then stopped for a moment. She took her bow in hand, and paused.

_Considering he put his youngest sister in a cell, and turned his other sister into a slave, I'm pretty much performing a justice._

Holding her bow in front of her, she placed a single arrow on the string. She aimed-

-straight-

-at Michalis. Her king.

For a moment, she was completely motionless, seemingly savoring the moment of holding the sleeping king at her mercy, then fired. The arrow pierced through the sheets of the bed, Adeline smirked. Based on the outline of the body she saw, she had pierced the king's heart. The king had likely died instantly. The reason she was here, the entire point of working through the Macedonian ranks had been fulfilled, Michalis was dead.

Yet, just to be sure, she took a step forward, and pulled the sheets off the bed. She expected to see Michalis, drained of all life, an arrow pierced into his chest at a slight angle. If he was still clinging to life, a second arrow would be all it would take. Instead she saw…

"Just… a bunch of pillows?" She stared wide-eyed, what she had shot at was just a bunch of pillows and cushions, arranged in a way that suggested a human form when an obscuring sheet was placed over it. Her arrow had simply pierced into a pillow, not the chest of a king, spilling feathers rather then blood.

"Surprised?" Came a woefully familiar male voice. Adeline froze, then slowly, reluctantly, turned to the voice. There, standing in the doorway of the second entrance to the room, was Michalis.

"How-" Adeline took a step back, her voice thick with confusion, shock, and embarrassment over her failed assassination. "How did you-"

"I've been wary of you for quite some time, Adeline." Michalis stepped forward with an air of confidence. There was no doubt who had control of this situation. "Ever since I noticed that flaw in the patrols near my chamber in the system _you_ created."

"You… you were aware of that? Why didn't you-"

"Why didn't I correct it?" Michalis asked. He tilted his head, looking quite disappointed in the archer. "I was curious about you, I wanted to see how you'd react if I left it in. I became increasingly doubtful of your loyalty, but I allowed you to continue to rise through the ranks, because I wanted to keep an eye on you. You are far from the sort of person I'd keep among my elite, as Orridyon knew, but to ensure you were watched, I kept you close to me, I ignored the desires and wants of my soldiers and kept you in a lofty place of authority. All to ensure you were in a position where I could watch you, and determine what was going on in your head. Then, the White Sage warned me that someone in the castle was plotting against me in my moment of emotional vulnerability, you were the only person of suspect loyalty." Michalis raised a hand up, flicking some of his red hair to the side. "You thought you had my trust as a Macedonian general. You never did."

Adeline stood quiet, shaking with rage at the fact that she had been found out long ago, but then relaxed. "…excellent detective work, Michalis." Subtly, she began to reach for her quiver. She was doubtful that Michalis didn't notice the movement, she was banking on the possibility that he'd be arrogant enough to let her grab an arrow. "Yes, from the _very_ beginning, I was here to kill you. You may have found me out, Michalis, but I still have every intention of completing my mission."

Michalis didn't look at all intimidated by Adeline's threat to follow through on her assassination mission. Instead, he continued to speak. "I have many enemies, but few who could employ an assassin this patient and effective. I look forward to when you tell me who sent you."

She pulled a new arrow out and placed it on the string. "Maybe someone will tell you, but not in this world." Michalis didn't flinch as a new arrow was pointed at him. He also didn't flinch as a hand appeared and grabbed Adeline by the throat.

"My gut instinct was right about you, assassin." Orridyon said as he walked out of the obscuring shadows, lifting Adeline off the ground, she accidentally dropped her bow as she glared down at Orridyon. "Had you have targeted the Gra king, I've no doubt you would have succeeded. Yet against King Michalis The Great, you never stood a chance." He began to tighten his grip, Adeline choked and gasped as she struggled to draw breath.

"I desire to question her, Orridyon." Michalis said with a voice of warning. "Do not suffocate her to the point of death." Orridyon obeyed, relenting from his grip just slightly. Then, without warning, spun and flung her across the room, Adeline's head connected painfully to the metal wall. She collapsed to the ground, clutching at her cranium as it throbbed in pain.

Orridyon began to walk forward. "Ade-" Orridyon began to speak, then stopped himself. "No, that's not your real name, is it? Whatever your name is, prepare for your interrogation. Whether you cooperate and make it painless, or whether you force us to rip the secrets from your flesh, is entirely up to you." He stopped a few feet away from her, Adeline, through her pain, managed to struggle to her feet. Orridyon just smiled. "Please, assassin. Your bow isn't even in your hands right now. How do you plan to resist me without a weapon?"

"I… cannot offer information, or leave a telling corpse." She swallowed hard. "One way or another, you'll both end up dying, but not today, it seems." She darted to the side, managing to run out the door of the room.

"Alert the entirety of the castle." Michalis ordered. "That archer must not escape."

Orridyon nodded, then stepped out of the door. "Guards! Sound the alarm! Wake everyone! Detain general Adeline _immediately_!"

* * *

><p>Adeline was racing through the castle, already, the soldiers of Macedon were chasing her. The cries of 'traitor' and 'assassin' were following her, and getting louder, but having dropped her bow she had no means to slow the Macedonians down. She heard the clanging of armored soldiers moving and charging after her. People that, a day ago, would have answered to her were now attempting to seize her.<p>

What good was her memory of the castle's passages in this situation? All of her pursuers knew them just as well as she did, and they also knew which parts of the castle were being blocked off. For them, it would be a simple matter of simply herding her into a certain passage, crushing her between the pursuit and a fortified door.

She quickened her pace, trying to stay calm even as she recognized the near hopelessness of her situation. Yet she did not believe she would fail in her escape. She evaded soldiers and packs of guards, each looking to take her in alive, she could not afford to be caught. She might have mocked their inability to capture her if simple escape didn't take such precedence right now.

She had underestimated Michalis, she admitted that to herself. Now she had to get out of here before she was interrogated for information. She doubted she would last long under Michalis' brand of persuasion. Without her bow, she stood no chance against Orridyon, or much of any of the Macedonian elites in a fight either.

Not even close to escaping, she was still on one of the highest floors of the castle. The same floor as Michalis' private chamber and the throne room, with enemy soldiers still chasing her. Her lack of armor was something of a lucky break, nothing to weigh her down.

She was running past the throne room now, she moved as fast as she possibly could. That… was a grievous mistake. The Wyvern inside the room broke from its light sleep as Adeline's footsteps were heard by the creature. It woke up to the sound of shouting. Wyvern's were intelligent creatures, and it understood the shouts, Adeline, the archer that… rankled the Wyvern, was a traitor, and an assassin. Releasing an eerie shriek, it immediately charged forward, breaking the bars of its stable and turned to the doors of the throne room.

Adeline felt an impulse of fear throughout her entire body. She heard the familiar sound of Michalis' Wyvern, a shriek that made her skin crawl, and immediately afterwards a crashing noise. Her movement briefly stopped, and she turned to the throne room. There was no sound for a moment, she calmed down and began to move again to distance herself from the pursuing soldiers again. Then she heard another shriek, and knew that Macedonian soldiers were the least of her worries.

The doors to the throne room suddenly burst off their hinges. If one of the now flying, violently spinning twin doors hit her, she might have died. Both of the expensive, painstakingly decorated doors hit the wall to the left and right of Adeline. The Wyvern was standing in the doorway, and lunged at the woman who had attempted to harm its master.

She made one scream as the creature fell upon her, pinning her under its talons, snarling at the frequent intruder it had come to hate the presence of. Adeline tried to move, but the Wyvern's weight on her was far too great. Its fanged mouth came closer to her face, and she was certain that her life was now over.

"Restrain yourself." Michalis appeared nearby. The Wyvern turned its head to its master, then back at Adeline. It had been ready to try and devour her, but now it simply kept her in position, no longer growling, but seeming to have the same calmness as its master. Michalis came up to the now obviously captured woman, whose every hope for escape had been extinguished, long before she had come close to escaping the castle. He had saved her life… only because he at least wanted to know where she came from first.

"Now then…" Michalis began to kneel down to look straight into her eyes. "…about who hired you to kill me…"

* * *

><p>The woman screamed. Electricity from the mages channeled into her. Every nerve was on fire, the lightning was inside her, scorching her on the inside. Nearby, Michalis watched his would-be assassin's pain without sympathy. He raised a hand to command the mages to desist for a moment.<p>

Adeline fell to the ground, finding that the electricity had mostly paralyzed her. Even if the mass of nearby soldiers were to become unobservant of her, she still could not have made any move to escape.

She had not been well liked in the military, her cocky attitude had irritated and frustrated many of the soldiers. Now they enjoyed seeing the king punish her for a grievous lapse in judgment. She remained as friendless as she had always been in Macedon.

"I can keep this up for a long time, Adeline." It was doubtful that was the woman's real name, but it was the best thing to call her right now. Michalis grabbed her by the top of the head and forced her to look straight at him. "You can make it stop early, simply give me the information I want."

She narrowed her eyes at him, most likely too resentful of the torture and the man to tell him anything. Yet.

"Every time you refuse to answer me, your punishment continues. Stopping it from coming again would be the single, simplest thing. Merely tell me who sent you, and why."

Her expression didn't change. Michalis sighed, and stepped back. The assassin's expression changed to a worried one as Michalis raised his hand again. Once more, agonizing electricity surged into her, she screamed again. She felt no temptation to give in and talk to Michalis, but instead focused herself on her bitterness and resentment toward him.

It… offered little solace.

The interrogation continued. Time crawled at a sadistically slow speed in what had to have been the most painful moment of the woman's life. It continued until the sun was rising and most of the soldiers had left the room. Hours of torture had left her severely weakened, and she likely could not stand by herself right now. She trembled with pain. Michalis did not seem even slightly fatigued from being up most of the night. Neither did Orridyon, or the Wyvern, who were the two remaining witnesses to Michalis' powers of persuasion.

"Al…" she began, after hours of torture, her voice had grown weak, it was nothing like the confident tone she normally spoke with. She coughed, then tried to talk again. "Al… al… right, M…Michalis…"

Michalis raised a hand, ordering the mages to relent for what might have been the final time.

"I… I'll… spe-" a final look of hesitation and defiance was on her face, but when it looked as though Michalis would start the torture once more, she forced herself to continue talking. "Ever… every…thing…"

"Very good." Michalis knelt down until he was level with her. "We'll start with the beginning, 'Adeline'. Who _hired_ you?"

* * *

><p>It was rare and peculiar, and he was not accustomed to the feeling. For perhaps the first time since he had risen to power, Gharnef, the Dark Pontifex, was confused and worried at the same time.<p>

He had been summoned to the Macedonian Castle, right into the throne room, by Michalis. For Michalis, a 'rival' of his, to extend an invitation to him was bizarre and out of the ordinary. Yet that wasn't what was bothering him.

There was one other person that Michalis had demanded to be present in the missive Gharnef had received. Gharnef turned to his one companion. He didn't know how, or why, but Michalis specifically identified this person by name.

Eremiya, his secret aid, and the trainer of his assassins, was right beside Gharnef. She looked uncomfortable, being here in a castle where there were so many who could see her. Few had spotted her yet, but every second was a risk. She waited patiently, but was more then a little nervous on the inside. She wished to return to her private areas back at Khadein as soon as possible. Taking a deep breath in, she waited.

They were in the Macedonian throne room. They had walked through doors that looked like they had been rather shoddily put on the hinges. It looked to be quick repair job. In the throne room, the only being to keep Gharnef and Eremiya company was Michalis' Wyvern. The creature growled at the two from its stable, Eremiya kept at least half an eye on the creature, while Gharnef paid it no mind.

It was unlike Michalis to have any guests of his wait. Gharnef imagined that the man had something ready to present to Gharnef, something that he believed would put the Dark Pontifex in a difficult position. It was unlikely to be anything that would frighten the Dark Pontifex, but he found himself uncharacteristically anxious.

Nearly half an hour crept by, and Gharnef realized that Michalis was _trying_ to make him anxious. Gharnef was, admittedly, in a rare moment of stress. Eremiya also looked more disconcerted then usual. She had never been in a situation where her master did not fully understand what was going in.

A soldier appeared. Gharnef recognized him as Orridyon, just as much as a servant to Michalis as Eremiya was to Gharnef. Orridyon began to speak with a voice that would carry in a crowd of thousands.

"Pay your respects and give homage to King Michalis The Great, king of all of Macedon and descendent of Iote!" He looked at Gharnef and Eremiya, noting their presence and lowered the pitch of his voice. "…and as you two will find, elite representatives of Dolhr are here as well."

Gharnef felt a flicker of concern, but quickly squashed it. No matter what, there was no chance of him losing power or authority today.

From the door Orridyon came from, Michalis walked in. Behind the king were two hooded figured, Manaketes. The representatives Orridyon just mentioned. Gharnef recognized Xemcel easily enough, he had seen this Manakete many times before. Next to the hand of Medeus was Bulzark.

"Gharnef, we have much to discuss." Michalis said, starting off the conversation. He moved to his throne and settled in.

"About what?" Gharnef asked. "It must be something of importance… why else would you summon me, and Manaketes, to your castle?

"The Emperor has been unconcerned about the malice Khadein directs at Macedon and Grust. If anything, he has encouraged it, only the strongest and most capable humans are worthy to serve, and if one gets consumed by a rival, then they deserved no place in Dolhr."

"Yes, I am aware of that, Michalis." Gharnef said impatiently. "Emperor Medeus desires the strongest servants, and allows his servants to purify their own ranks of weakness." He thought back to how many Khadein mages he had crushed, one way or another, to make his position unchallengeable. "Get to the point. Why have you called me here?"

Michalis smirked. "The Manaketes have always encouraged competition amongst the humans, it allows them to be tempered under some of the harshest possible circumstances. Yet, there are limits to what the Manaketes allow in these… competitions."

The doors opened again. Michalis directed Gharnef to look at two Macedonian soldiers who walked in, firmly holding a blonde haired woman in place.

"Recognize this one?" Michalis asked.

"That's…" Eremiya began, her eyes widening in recognition, but almost immediately cut herself off. She didn't want to put Gharnef in a bad position or otherwise implicate him… but her slip of the tongue looked to have been enough to do both of those things.

"This woman attempted to assassinate King Michalis and failed. Under torture, she confessed all that she was here to do, and who had sent her here to do it." Xemcel spoke up. The assassin pinned to the ground was shamed to face Gharnef and Eremiya. "Through her confession, we learned about your assassins, Gharnef. Including the name of their… matron and trainer." He looked at Eremiya, the white-robed woman shrank away from Xemcel's gaze. "Do not think yourself as indispensable asset, Gharnef. Continue to hide your strengths and resources, and Dolhr will use all the power at its disposal, to crush you and toss your dust to the wind. Do not think your cursed tome allows you the power to defy _us_. We of Dolhr do not overflow with patience for your kind, even those that can be called… less then human."

Xemcel walked forward, coming straight to Eremiya, but his words were for Gharnef. "All assassin operatives you have are to be pulled back to Khadein, Gharnef. You are forbidden to employ them outside of Khadein without Dolhr's supervision. You may use them to silence those who disrupt your power and position in Khadein, but nowhere else."

Gharnef's eyes flared in anger. "I suppose… the secret is out, then."

"Not quite." Bulzark spoke. Gharnef turned to Xemcel's aid. "All Manaketes of Dolhr are now aware of these assassins of yours, Gharnef. Outside of we absolute rulers of Dolhr, only Michalis and Orridyon are aware. Emperor Medeus has reasoned there to be a use to an assassin force that is entirely unknown to the rest of the world. Provided it is subservient to the true rulers of this world. We will call on these assassins as we see fit."

"So, the assassins are now Dolhr's plaything." Gharnef grunted.

"In the final analysis, I doubt your assassins are effective enough for this to be much of a loss to you." Michalis said, drawing Gharnef's attention. The Macedonian king smiled, unable to resist giving Gharnef a subtle dig. "A few days ago, I heard of a small army of completely identical masked axe men trying to attack Camus the Sable, and failing rather pathetically. It was a completely unprovoked attack, one that Grust suspects your hand was in, Gharnef. If those who were doubtless elite assassins fail like this, what good are these… agents?"

The Dark Pontifex narrowed his eyes at Michalis' taunting tone. "You survived this, Michalis, and so did Camus, but don't get ahead of yourself. I have many-"

"Enough." Xemcel said. He was well aware of how hostile Gharnef was with both Michalis and Camus, and he reached his hand into his robe and clutched at his Dragonstone, just in case he had to break up a fight more directly. "You both are truly human. Ignorant, short-sighted children." Michalis' smile fell, and Gharnef's expression became more neutral. "Gharnef, Dolhr's judgment of this scenario is plain. These assassins are to never be operating outside of Khadein unless under the watch of Dolhrians. With that order given, you have no further business here. Take your… assassin and the assassin matron, and leave."

Bulzark turned to the archer and waved a hand. The two Macedonians let go of her and let her stand on shaking legs that still bore the scars of torture.

"I trust there will be nothing further today from either of you two." Xemcel said, making a thinly veiled warning at both Gharnef and Michalis. "We depart, now."

Particles of energy appeared around Xemcel and Bulzark, and then both vanished in a burst of light. It was… like they had used a Warp staff, yet neither of them had a staff.

Gharnef shook his head, knowing that the day of challenging Dolhr was a day still long off. Having no further business in Macedon, and having no interest in staying longer then intended, he turned to leave, Eremiya and 'Adeline' followed him. The doors to the throne room closed behind them, leaving Michalis and Orridyon alone in the throne room.

"Unfortunate." Gharnef muttered. "This restrains me more then they could possibly think."

"Master…" Eremiya approached cautiously, not wanting to say anything that would incite Gharnef's rage. She was slightly confused… Gharnef was, as he put it, restrained, but he didn't sound honestly upset. "Master Gharnef, shall I execute this failed puppet for this display?"

Gharnef turned to Eremiya, then to the spoken of puppet. "No, that won't be necessary. I had not anticipated failure, rather, I was counting on success." He turned away, the puppet was thankful that he didn't look at her. "Yet I prepared even for this scenario. Michalis' rule doesn't end now as I had wished, nor does Camus' life, but they will only last for so much longer. You needn't worry about disciplining the assassins. I have… unknowing servants, who approach even know."

"Master Gharnef?" Eremiya went deep into her own mind, trying to from an idea of who Gharnef was referring to. If not the assassins, then… who? Then her eyes widened in realization. "Do you mean… to say…?"

Despite the defeat Michalis had handed him today, Gharnef still chuckled. "They are more capable then you think. We needn't do anything, but wait. We will leave everything in… _their_ hands."

"Yes, Master." Eremiya bowed her head. "When the time comes, your plans shall uproot the Shadow Dragon himself from his place of power."

Gharnef smiled. Michalis had bested him today, but Gharnef had little chance of losing this war. Things would soon swing… explosively in the Dark Pontifex's favor. It was simply a matter of waiting for every enemy and rival to disappear, one by one. "Now, come Eremiya. The failed assassinations of Michalis and Camus are but… minor nuisances. We shall return to Khadein, and watch the situation unfold. We'll obey Dolhr and the Emperor… for just a little while longer."

* * *

><p><strong>In FE312, Gharnef has his assassins. A particular assassin is a Sniper named "Kuraine". (Name also translatable as "Kleine", apperantly) From the get go of Adeline's introduction much earlier in this novelization, she was planned to be a Kuraine working undercover.**

**Seeing as the assassins are a working force during the events of SD in this fic, (I hypothesis they were a working force in FE11, you just don't ever see them in the game) I figured it would be understandable if Gharnef sent assassins after Michalis and Camus at some point. Note the implication of Roro attacking Camus. However, while Kuraine and Roro are noted as being active at this point, a... _certain someone_ I prefer to think has had no real assignment before FE12.**

**I didn't identify Kuraine/Kleine by her actual name, due to being indecisive about which translation to use. *shrug***

**Next chapter we'll return to Marth and co. Please review.**


	21. Bloodbath In The Divine Kingdom

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>Midia opened her eyes, seeing exactly what she expected to see. Well-structured stonework, obviously man-made, stretching across her vision. The blue-haired Archanean noblewoman rose from her prone position on the ground, her once shining armor dirtied from long months of sleeping on the same filthy prison floor. In a sitting position, she moved a hand through her now unkempt hair, getting it somewhat back into proper position. She bent forward to swipe away a few rats that were crawling over her legs.<p>

She shook her head, shaking off her fatigue and reminding herself of where she was. In all her years, she never once thought she would be a resident of a palace cell. Midia, the paladin, had fought long and hard to defend Archanea, she, and Astram, and Horace, and so many others. Archanea lost ground steadily, the holy nation had undoubtedly underestimated the power of Dolhr's human soldiers. Yet they had both supplies and troops, they were ready for a siege, nothing could have gone wrong. Then, at the very end, when Dolhr had reached the palace, Horace, without warning, defected to the enemy. She still didn't understand why. Even in that bitter time she could have pictured herself defecting before Horace. When Horace left, taking his soldiers with him, it left an exploitable hole in Archanea's army and tactics, and it was a crushing blow to Archanea's moral, it was all enough for Dolhr to bring the holy kingdom crashing down on the Archanean's heads.

She stood up, her armor groaning with the movement, the noble, high-quality armor was far from being in a good condition. Ignoring the sound of her armor, she looked around the familiar cell to see some familiar faces. All Archanean loyalists who fought, and fought, and fought, all well past the breaking point, to defend the holy palace, but ultimately were defeated. Tomas, an Archanean archer, the passionate young man's personality always left something to be desired, but Jeorge, who was unaccounted for, was the only person who could ever beat Tomas in archery competitions. Dolph and Macellan, valiant knights in heavy armor, Dolph the aggressive one, and Macellan the more patient. They were both mountains of muscle hidden under that thick, nigh-impregnable armor. Both were true loyalists to the end.

Lastly, there was an elderly Archanean wearing a robe. Bishop Boah, an old friend of the king, and the caretaker of princess Nyna, he was a pillar of irrefutable logic and knowledge. These long months of living in a cell had done great… damage, to the Bishop, and his body had grown increasingly frail. Yet, he remained strong in mind as his body began to fail, he remained a man of wisdom and knowledge.

There was one person missing from the cell, and that was Astram, Midia's lover. He was regarded as Archanea's finest knight, and even Dolhr seemed to come to acknowledge his skill. Holding Midia's life in his palm, the Manakete usurper, Khozen, forced Astram into Dolhr's servitude. The Manakete sweetened the pot by saying that he would ease up on his treatment of the Archaneans if he cooperated.

Astram had certainly had no love for the idea of becoming Dolhr's glorified leg-breaker, but understood that it could make Archanea's condition more tolerable. He also knew that the royal family he swore absolute loyalty to would want him to aid the people in some way rather then be so filled with pride and stubbornness that he'd let them suffer. Serving the holy family, and the holy nation, came before his pride. He reluctantly left the cell and joined Dolhr. Stuck in the cell with no contact outside, Midia had no idea if Khozen had been true to his word to let the people of Archanea have more tolerable lives, but, she was doubtful.

Their situation seemed utterly hopeless, yet not once in all their days in the cell did Boah lose hope. Nor did Midia. Boah steadfastly believed that Dolhr would understand the price of trying to carve the holy nation apart soon enough. Even if not in their lifetime… people such as the rulers of Dolhr never met pleasant ends. The constantly growing Empire was doomed to collapse.

Midia was just as ignorant as to where Nyna walked now as anyone else in the cell was, but she had unshakable faith that their princess was still alive. In time, Nyna would certainly return, army at her beck and call, and take the palace back. Whether Dolhr killed her and her fellow knights or not was irrelevant, Archanea _would_ rise again, with Nyna on the throne.

"Another day in the 'ol prison cell." Tomas cracked his joints, stood up, and moved to the bars of the cell. He sighed as he wrapped his hands around two of the bars, not liking the cramped environment. He had always been one who _had_ to be out and moving around. He jerked his head up to toss some of his hair out of his eyes then looked at the door out of the room. "I can think of a few people who belong in a cell more then me. A certain blue-haired traitor tops the list."

"That scum." Dolph mumbled, the conversation shifting to the traitor. Discussions about Horace were common among the captured knights. "After everything the king did for him… and to think I used to admire Horace as a symbol of what every knight should aspire to be. He showed his true colors against Dolhr. In reality, he was never anything but a small-minded, self-centered coward."

Tomas turned to Dolph and nodded, letting go of the bars and clenching his fists, trembling in his rage. "What did he do it for? Money, or maybe power? Things he would have gotten in time. I used to think that he and Astram were the best the knight order had to offer in all of its history, it seems that one of them left something to be desired when under pressure."

"Stop it!" Midia called to the two. She tired of hearing the same old discussion and putting up with that same anger from her fellow knights day after day after day. "We can properly condemn Horace once we know why he turned his back on us, not before. He never had any interest in power and money before. He only took what he needed to survive. Why would he suddenly put that kind of priority on them when Dolhr was right at our gates?"

"He turned against the holy lineage of Archanea. That is more then enough reason to condemn him to death." Macellan said, rising to prevent the discussion from potentially turning violent. "He is a traitor, and we may have succeeded in repelling Dolhr had it not been for that sudden treachery. He is to blame for the king and queen's death, and is to blame for the current state of Archanea, as is every soldier that left with him. Obviously he didn't think highly of the holy family, he only could have done it for self preservation."

"I've fought beside both him and Astram for years. Cowardice and petty self-preservation sound nothing like what Horace would do. There had to have been some reason for it…"

"Don't tell me you're trying to defend him." Tomas said through clenched teeth, his tone conveying his utter disgust, his eyebrows falling. He crossed his arms in a manner that made it seem as though he was trying to restrain himself from lunging at Midia. "_Everything_ Archanea has gone through is his fault. The nation is probably being gutted, while he lives comfortably as a Dolhr general. Nothing could excuse him from what he did. Rather then defend him, we should hunt him down, and when we find him, we should-"

"Enough." Boah spoke, he looked at both Midia and the other knights with a reprimanding expression. Everyone quieted down respectfully as the Bishop spoke. "Cease your discussion. There are things we should fight besides then each other. Right now, we have something besides Horace to focus on."

Boah turned to the door, footsteps could be heard, the Archaneans turned as one. The door opened, Dejanira The Bloodcleaner of Dolhr walked in with a shiny lance in hand, right behind him was Horace.

"Man, you guys should up your living standards, or something." Dejanira taunted, faking a face of repulsion at the damp, dripping cell and the rats scurrying around. Dejanira and Horace looked out of place, the almost dilapidated state of the cell completely contrasted at how pristine their armor and their weapons looked. Dejanira continued to mock them, his effective hobby ever since the Archaneans had been captured. "Getting flashbacks, here. Oh, wanna know what living in Dolhr was like? I tell ya, it was like-"

"Horace!" Tomas practically jumped on the cell doors, screaming the traitor's name. The blue haired knight took a surprised step back, then looked away, disturbed by the venom directed at him from an old friend. "Dolhrian… no better then a _Dolhrian_. Get over here, I'm going to kick your-" Midia's hand grabbed Tomas' shoulder and yanked him away from the bars.

"Horace." Midia said, her voice not dripping with disgust like Tomas', but stern and forceful, and demanding Horace's attention. "Why did you betray us? Tell me, there had to be some reason. In all these years as a knight, you were always…"

He had looked away when Tomas spoke, but now turned to Midia. She was one of the best knights of Archanea, and elegant and rational as well. She seemed… willing to listen to anything he might have to say. Horace sighed, feeling as though someone had just punched him in the gut. The simply question of 'why' was something he could not answer. The reason he betrayed Archanea was… his mouth started to move. "I'm sorry Midia, but I can't tell you why."

"Horace…" Midia spoke again, the force of her voice breaking and just a slight hint of pleading could be heard in her tone. "I can't believe someone as loyal, calm, and honorable as you would just… just defect. Why? Just tell me that, Horace."

"Hey." Dejanira said, waving a hand in front of Horace's face before shoving himself in between Horace and the captured knights. "I took the time out of my hard and long day to pay you all a visit, and you all just pay attention to Horace? That hurts me you know. Right _here_." He slapped a hand to his chest, right over his heart and gave a mock hurt expression. He then smiled, "You could at least give me something to eat. Maybe, oh, something like those peeled grapes I've been eating at the king's table? Is that so much to ask for?"

"You…!" Dolph tried to charge, but his shoulder tackle failed to break the cell bars. Failing to escape, he just glared at Dejanira. "Don't you _dare_ eat at the king's table! You, you…"

"Gosh, that was close." Dejanira said, completely calm as the bars were not even remotely shaken by Dolph's tackle. "I could have been hurt! And here I figured holy people wouldn't use violence to solve their problems."

"What are you here for?" Boah asked, stepping forward to talk for everyone in the cell. He would not rise to anger like many of them would, and met Dejanira's mocking tone with calm words. "Simply to mock us? You've done that enough times."

"Oh, perhaps I have." Dejanira slightly tilted his head down, his smile not fading. "Though today is something of a special case."

"What?" Boah almost blinked, he grew confused.

Dejanira's smile dropped. "Just came in to get my kicks, something is happening. For the first time I might be honestly challenged with my whole 'stop all rebellious elements' job."

"What are you implying, Bloodcleaner?" Midia demanded, "Dolhr is in a difficult position at last?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Just… going to have a busy day. Got some honestly skilled guys out there. A lot better then what Archanea ever had to offer. I might have to halfway concentrate today." He noticed the eyes in the cell widening, and his grin returned. "Oh, now don't you worry, these guys will be dead by the end of today. You'll be snug and comfy in that cell for _years_ to come." Dejanira laughed a high-pitched, almost unnerving laugh. Making a mock bow, complete with a sweeping gesture of his arm, he started to back up. "Come on, Horace, Master Khozen awaits us."

"Horace…" Midia called one last time, "Wait. Please. Just tell me…"

The former knight paused for a long time, long after Dejanira left. A final apologetic look was on his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry. I was choiceless."

Midia blinked, then watched Horace leave. The door closed behind the traitor knight. She should have been upset that Horace refused to state why he defected, but her mind was concentrated on something else.

"What was Dejanira talking about? Who is coming here?"

* * *

><p>A few candles burned lightly, seeming to unstably shift between lightly flickering and burning brightly. Hot, melted wax dripped down the side of the candles as the burning wicks dimly illuminated the throne room of Archanea. The room, revealed by candlelight, seemed appropriately overwhelming and divine. Fanciful, if confusing artwork lined the throne room near pillars crafted of marble. Purple drapes hung down on the side of the room, and a blood red carpet was across the floor of the room, from the entrance to the room to the beginning of the silver stairs leading up to the throne. The throne was crafted of gold, and adorned with jewels. The throne room almost perfect in its detail, the only blemish being thick splatters of long since dry blood near the divine throne, running down the otherwise perfect stairs. Archanean blood, which had never been cleaned up.<p>

It had been a long, long time since the throne room had an air that could be called tense. Dejanira was cocky and sure of how things would go. The others in the room took this far more seriously.

The Archanean League was approaching. A message from Castle Deil revealed their presence, again trying to reach the palace after being briefly knocked off-path at Port Warren. Deil was only the first installation taken from Dolhr's grip by the League these last few weeks. All forts, defense outposts, and fortified castles along a certain route had been seized by the League, and the resources in them likely put to effect in the war against Dolhr. Now the Archanean League was practically at the doorsteps of the Archanean Palace, the League was in the valley between the mountains to the south.

One look at the way Khozen was standing told the others that this was a very serious encounter. The first truly serious encounter any in the room had faced since Archanea had fallen to them.

"As you plainly know, Anri's whelp is leading his army to the gates of this palace. Taking the palace would be no small victory for them." He looked over those present, Volzhin, Heimler, Dejanira, and Horace. There was also Camus The Sable of Grust, and his three men, Belf, Robert, and Leiden.

"Ever since the attack on Castle Deil, princess Minerva has been an ally of the League. It would seem that she played a role in them attacking Castle Deil in the first place. One of our more prominent soldiers has turned against us, and now they march on a place of… obvious tactical and psychological worth."

Some of the people in the room might have begun to think of the Whitewings at the now old news of Minerva's treachery. The news likely hadn't reached them yet, but it would in time. A defection was about to occur, and the three sisters would race to join the League. Yet Dolhr seemed disinterested in ordering an execution, and no honest effort was being made to keep the information from reaching them. Volzhin found it an interesting thing… it was almost as if the Emperor either wished them to defect, or that he didn't care one way or the other. Regardless, he didn't voice his opinion.

"They are fools." Khozen said plainly, "To make their march so obvious… it has allowed us to draw in a vast quantity of resources, including a small army of Ballisticians. We have the technology and the manpower necessary to end their rebellion, here. The Ballista give us no reason to fear the traitor princess." A few people in the room might have relaxed at the ease of the battle, but Khozen's expression didn't change. He was taking the coming battle very seriously, no matter how tipped in Dolhr's favor it may have been. "Nevertheless, despite our clear advantages in both fortification and weaponry, I am not fool enough to surrender myself to overconfidence, and allow a defeat today to be unnecessarily crippling to the Empire. Archanea's sacred relics, the Regalia, will be removed from the palace prior to the attack. Denying princess Nyna the weapons that serve as the insignia of her family, and denying the League the power of those same artifacts." He motioned at Camus. "That is why you are here, Grustian."

The leader of the Sable Order stepped forward. "You wish me to take possession of something?" Camus inquired.

Khozen slowly nodded. "There are three Regalia. Gradivus, Mercurius, and Parthia. Legendary, sacred weapons seldom allowed to be used. Only those the gods choose are entitled to wield them… as the Archaneans believe. Regardless of the truth of that…" Khozen revealed an exotic lance from his robe. "Camus The Sable, Emperor Medeus has granted you the right to wield Gradivus, a lance with power unlike any other in the world. To be told you are allowed to use the weapon by the Emperor… it is undoubtedly a greater honor then a god's blessing."

Camus reached out, folding his gloved fingers around the weapon, and nodded. "This lance shall serve Grust and Dolhr both. For so long as Grust supports Dolhr…"

Khozen surrendered the weapon to Camus, though he seemed mildly annoyed by Camus' words. "Let us hope you consider loyalty to Dolhr first and foremost. Your skill led the Emperor to spare you once, do not test his patience again. Let this lance never be raised against Dolhr."

Rumors of stories regarding a grandiose act of treachery perpetrated by Camus were common throughout the Dolhr Alliance, though no one knew exactly what had happened. The rumors were conflicting, and complicated, enough so that no one knew exactly what Camus had done. Whether the web of confusion was just something that happened, or a well-constructed web of lies and half-truths created by Dolhr, it couldn't be said. What _was_ known, was that Camus' skill was so great, that Medeus, who viewed all humans as expendable, decided against killing the Grustian general.

That fact seemed to make Camus all the more intimidating a figure. To know that his skill was so valuable that Medeus did not wish his demise… that he wished for Camus to continue to serve for the time being seemed frightening to many. The idea of facing Camus in battle had become a terrifying concept to many members of the Dolhr Alliance. Even to the Manaketes, who would be executed quickly by Medeus without being given any chance at redemption.

Camus nodded at the Manakete's words, though his loyalty did not waver. Khozen waved his hand and Camus stepped back. "As for the second Regalia…" Khozen motioned at one of Camus' men, Leiden stepped forward. "Mercurius… not a blade as repulsive as Falchion, but a putrid 'divine' blade all the same. You are not entitled to wield this sword, human. Merely take it to Grust for sake-keeping. Dolhr will decide what to do with it from there."

As they talked, Robert moved unnoticed to the side, soundlessly opening a regally decorated drawer and slipping his hand inside, seemingly searching for something.

"What of Parthia, Master Khozen?" Volzhin asked. "Is it to be taken elsewhere as well?"

"Oh, that…" Khozen closed his red eyes in contemplation, then shook his head. "There is no need. That weapon is of no concern. Even if they took the palace, one Regalia will not allow them to turn the tides. I have left the bow and the supposedly enchanted arrows in the royal treasury."

Volzhin nodded. "Forgive my question, master."

Khozen acted as if Volzhin had never spoken at all. He simply returned his focus to Camus. "There is no further need of the Sable Order here. Return to Grust. There is no need of you… and I have no trust for you on _this_ field of combat."

Camus looked at Khozen for a moment, recalling the events of his last stay in Grust, the day of his act of treachery. He obeyed Khozen's words, turning around and walked away, followed by his men, including Robert, who seemed to be holding… _something_, in his hands. The item he was holding went unnoticed by the Dolhrians.

Heimler looked at those still in the throne room as the Grustians left the room and the door was shut. All who swore loyalty to Dolhr… this would be the first time the League would face Dolhrians, wouldn't it? They would find the imperial army of Dolhr was cut of a much different cloth then Macedonians or Grustians. The normally silent Heimler stepped forward. "Master Khozen, shall I take our forces out? Splatter the League's blood across Archanean soil, as I and Dejanira have done with so many past packs of rebels?"

"…hmm." Khozen looked at Heimler, the face of an absolute servant was on the man. Not desiring honor, or comfort, or prestige, but merely to perform actions that aided his masters. Khozen was pleased with Heimler, rare was it that this servant tasted the lash of a scourge. Sending Heimler out to battle was a tempting suggestion, but he ultimately decided against it. "No, that will not be necessary, Heimler. I will lead our troops from the palace, personally. You shall stay in here and watch the battle. They must understand what it means to stand before Dolhr. Only one of the rulers of Dolhr can instill that knowledge into the human in their final moments."

"Yes… master." Heimler bowed his head and stepped back.

"I needn't waste the manpower inside the palace. Dolhrian servants are not precious to me, but neither are they infinite. The soldiers outside, they should be enough for this." Khozen looked at his servants. "The throne is yours, Volzhin, until I return."

Volzhin turned to the holy throne, and a small twinkle of excitement was in his eye. He moved over to the golden chair normally occupied by Khozen, and settled into it.

"Dejanira." Khozen said, gaining the Bloodcleaner's undivided attention. Dejanira tensed, all but reaching for the chance to go out and fight enemies that might be worth his time. Khozen's words brought Dejanira's hopes crashing down. "You and Horace are to return to Horace's land. I do not desire Horace to look at this rebellion and see any… opportunities."

Horace was slightly shocked by the words, and turned to the Manakete. Even when not in Khozen's sight, he was careful not to smirk. Khozen was fearful of a sudden betrayal… though he knew the Manakete would never word it like that. He also nearly smirked at how he knew Dejanira would hate being torn from the field of battle. Dejanira scowled, "I could be out there fighting the League, and I'm to baby-sit the traitor knight? There are other things I could be-"

"Dejanira." Khozen said coldly, the candles in the room almost snuffed out, as if the chill of Khozen's tone was trying to steal their warmth away. Khozen's eyes flashed red and he reached into his robe… there was only one thing his hand could have been searching for. "Are you _questioning_ my _orders_?"

"Ah…" Dejanira backed away, gone from confident and indignant to trembling in fear in a second. He raised his hands, they shook fearfully, nonverbally taking back what he just said. "N-n-no Master Khozen, I-I'll depart immediately." He turned around with an obvious panic to his steps. In contrast, Horace followed Dejanira with a calm air. The former Archanean knight's thoughts were centered entirely on how the battle would go…

Khozen growled, but after a second calmed himself, turning to Volzhin and Heimler. "I doubt there will be need of it, but the soldiers are to remain in defensive position. If the gates are breached, the throne must be defended. We must not risk the palace being wrested from our grasp."

"Yes, Master." Volzhin said, rising off the throne. "Dolhr will not fail today. I assure you."

* * *

><p>Camus paused outside the Archanean Castle. He sighed, turning in the direction of the southern mountains, where the League was supposed to be. He knew that… <em>she<em>, was part of the League. It was precisely because of the presence of someone in particular that he sought to aid the League in some small way.

"Robert." Camus said on the saddle of his black steed. He looked forward and tilted his head up, already some Pegasus Knights were mobilizing, they'd by the first wave of offense against the League. He briefly thought of the Whitewings, who were currently stationed in Grust, directly subordinate to him and the Sable Order. Defiant and indignant day in and day out, and they enjoyed spitting on Grust's name, whether subtly or bluntly. Carefully hiding a small kernel of irritation, he turned to the Sable Knight he just addressed. "Did you find it?"

"Never fear, sir." Robert, on his own saddle, revealed a tome in his hands. Thoron, a staggeringly powerful magic tome, very few copies of the tome existed. It had belonged to Bishop Boah, prior to Dolhr stealing it. 'Magic of this class has no business being in Archanean hands.' Volzhin had said with glee as he took the tome for himself. "Volzhin will be… rather upset when he realizes this is missing."

Camus reached a hand out and took the tome from his subordinate. It was Archanean in origin, he'd have to see to it that the tome returned to its proper owner eventually. "This is well. It is all the help we can offer them. I can only pray that she and the League succeed today."

* * *

><p>After so long, Archanea was almost unrecognizable to Nyna. The fields had once been verdant, filled with farmer's crops, and the farms were filled with grazing animals. The towns were lively, filled with traders, workers, families. The people shouted and scolded and went about their lives…<p>

Bandits were never something worth fearing. Archanea's military had been all but indomitable, and were well-coordinated to a point that seemed almost supernatural. Stories of traitors and overambitious generals was just the occasional incident, and they didn't last. The nation's designation of 'holy' was well founded. Only Altea, and perhaps Grust, could have matched Archanea's prosperity or power, and the simple happiness of the people.

Then Dolhr came. Nyna could still remember that cold, dark day. In the chaos of the palace invasion, she was separated from Linde, from Boah, even from her parents. Archanea fell against Dolhr's onslaught, Astram and Midia tried to get her out of the palace, but they were both defeated by a Dolhrian named Heimler. By the time Astram and Midia fought Heimler, Nyna knew that her parents were dead. As she would learn, they were gutted in the throne room, and their eviscerated corpses presented at the palace gates as a grim warning to any loyalists of the royal family. She still didn't know what had become of Boah or Linde, but… she hoped them to still live. Especially Linde.

She herself had been captured, held in Dolhr's custody for months. She expected to be executed, or tortured to death. Instead, she was not immediately killed, or even barely mistreated, her captor was humane and… considerate of her. Never did that man treat her as some piece of trash… he had been a peculiar jailer.

The events surrounding her capture, and her escape to Aurelis, she kept a closely guarded secret. No one must know what happened, or what transpired.

"Nyna." She broke out of her thoughts and turned to a voice that called her name. She turned to Hardin, the speaker, and Marth, who was with him. "I'm sorry to bother you, you must have much to think about here in your own land, but the march will begin in a few hours. You should relocate, I don't want you anywhere near the front wave."

She nodded. She'd simply move back to the rear of the army, where Maria probably was right now. Even if this was her land, she was neither a warrior or a tactician, all she could do was depend on Hardin and Marth. "I… I want my people's nightmare to end today, Hardin. I want Archanea to be free. That's all I want to see happen today."

Hardin looked at her. He studied her face. "That's not the extent of what you want to see happen, is it, Nyna?"

"Wha…" Nyna looked at Hardin with a face that a look of shock, she hid the expression quickly. "What do you mean?"

A breeze blew by, tossing Nyna's blonde hair. The wind made Nyna's eyes water. Hardin sighed. He looked at her with a deeply sympathetic expression. "Your desire is for things to go back to the way they were. Your family, your friends, your routine, your _life_, you want _those_ things back. You want everything to be as they were before the Shadow Dragon was revived. Yet so much of it is impossible to take back."

Nyna looked at Hardin for a second, and her head dipped down, she refused to cry, but she did tremble. Hardin had practically plucked out her hidden desires and presented them to her. He likely didn't know how strongly his words had pierced into her.

"Forgive me." Hardin said as he realized the deep look of sorrow on the princess' face. "That wasn't how I should have said it."

"N-no-" Nyna hiccupped, then raised her head. There was normally a latent forlornness to her face, but now her beautiful features creased with a more pure sadness. "Everything you said is completely right. I want them back, I want it all back, but, I know it won't be that simple. I must take back what I can… and…"

"Nyna…" Hardin reached a hand to her, "I know it can't go back to the way it used to be, we all know that. Yet, I will fight for you to take back what I can for you. I will fight, and fight, and struggle, and strain, far past the point when a man should break and fall onto the ground. For you, Nyna, I will give life and more, all in the hope that you can achieve some measure of closure, peace, and happiness. My life, my men, my nation, all for you. For your sake."

"H-Hardin…" she accepted the hand that was reaching out to her, a little shocked at the declaration. Her fingers pressed onto Hardin's strong palm. She was trembling, but managed an unforced smile. She took the comfort Hardin offered, even though… even though… he was not the person she would have sought to take comfort from. The man she pined for the company of… was…

"I… I'm sorry for that." She released Hardin's hand, and it fell back to the Aurelian prince's side. "I am the princess of Archanea, and I can't act like this, on a day that should end in triumph. That _must_ end in triumph, and celebration." She brought a sleeve across her face, wiping any tears that were trying to leak out. Her face returned to a mostly untroubled expression. "When do we begin marching? You said a few hours, didn't you?"

"We'll be marching forward as soon as the scouts return." Marth said. "Wolf is examining the enemy right now. We'll begin moving once we have a clear understanding of how the enemy is operating."

"…and, isn't Roshea on an errand for you, Nyna?" Hardin asked.

"Yes." She answered, turning to the side. "I… wanted him to give me a report of the closest city. I want to know exactly how the people of Archanea are doing. It's likely a dangerous mission, but if his stealth skills are half as good as he claimed they were…" she turned back to Hardin as a thin thread of worry pierced through her heart. "Did I… only succeed in putting Roshea in danger? Should I have sent someone-"

Hardin smiled confidently, not the worried look that he could have given. "Roshea isn't one to stretch the truth, I have great faith in his abilities. He can be completely noiseless, even when in his armor. He will complete the mission you assigned him, and return without a scratch. You didn't send the wrong person, because you didn't trust a stealth operation to Vyland."

Nyna nodded, too much on her mind for her to smirk at the small jab Hardin made at one of his own men. "Then we wait, for now."

* * *

><p>For all that she had done, Minerva imagined that she'd be relegated to a clear subordinate position in the Archanean League. As would the Whitewings if they ever managed to find her. Not that she and the Whitewings would be intentionally killed off, but that they would be clearly low in the overall hierarchy. She, a princess, would be more like a drafted knight then someone of any real authority. People like Jagen, the hardened veteran, and Wolf, the Aurelian elite, would completely outrank her. It was too her surprise that Marth, Caeda, and Nyna were very openly friendly to her. Hardin clearly had no love for the woman, but even he treated her with respect.<p>

She was allowed to give her input, her opinion and thoughts on the things Marth and Hardin chose to do. She was told to be as blunt and forward as possible… in other words, as honest as possible. Her point of view didn't always gel with the view of the others, but she was never shut out… she found herself pleased with the scenario. Though clearly ranked below Marth, Hardin, Caeda, and Nyna in any and all matters, she was still clearly an elite of the army.

As for her little sister, Maria seemed to have found an odd niche in the army. She got along quite well with Marth, Caeda, and Nyna. She liked to talk to those three about Michalis, and tell them of how she and Minerva were on a grand adventure to save him from the situation he had found himself in. For now, Minerva would let Maria entertain her thoughts and dreams, no matter how much they would contrast with the reality. Perhaps, in time, Maria would understand what had to be done.

Minerva rested in the saddle of her Wyvern. The creature was just as temperamental as one would expect a Wyvern to be, but it seemed to understand that no one in the League was an enemy. Not once had it snapped or growled at anyone, and for a Wyvern, that was saying something. It even seemed to have some manner of strong respect for Marth… though Minerva doubted it had enough respect to let the prince, or anyone besides Minerva or Maria, climb onto the saddle.

She looked ahead, the palace of Archanea was ahead of them. The building Nyna knew as her home… he doubted it was a pleasant sight for the Archanean princess. The palace had likely grotesquely changed from what she remembered, perverted by Dolhr into something that was, put simply, unnatural.

She knew better then to speak to Nyna about it.

* * *

><p>Roshea stole quietly around the village Nyna asked him to investigate. He nimbly darted between the buildings and hid in the alcoves. Even in broad daylight, he was like an invisible shadow.<p>

As time crawled on, he wondered if stealth was really necessary. The village seemed to be literally devoid of life. He traced the motionless streets, finding that there wasn't as much as roaming wild dogs or some other form of wildlife prowling the cobble roads. Were there people in the houses, simply too scared to come out, or was it a ghost town? A shiver went down his spine at the idea of ghosts.

As he was contemplating whether or not he should return and tell princess Nyna that the village seemed to be uninhabited, he heard a sound. Sudden enough to nearly make him jump, but faint enough to make it clear that it came from far away. It was faint to the point of being nearly unhearable, though he imagined that Wolf would have heard it as if the sound had gone off right by his year. Just as he knew Wolf would do, he did not dismiss the sound.

What was it? The noise produced by horses left to roam outside their stable? Maybe the clanging sound of battle?

No. What he heard was yelling and screaming. Coming from the direction in front of him. He felt a little uncomfortable at the thought of approaching the sound, but did not pull back from his duty.

He darted between buildings, approaching the sound of the screaming. The village offered many ways to approach the direction stealthily, and he quickly saw what the shouting sound was about.

The center of the village, right by a nearby arena, filled to the brim with people. Several large, muscular men who didn't seem to be Archanean were forcing a seemingly uncountable number of people to walk in single file. One of them had tried to break away from the file and escape. The fleeing man had been caught and pressed into a wall.

Roshea shook with rage and horror as he saw one of the muscular men bare a whip and approach the man pinned on the wall. In an instant, he knew exactly what was going on…

Rather then let the rage overtake him, and knowing he likely wouldn't be able to solve anything single-handedly, he tried to have the same calmness as Coyote would have, and continued his investigation. Slipping around, trying his hardest to block out the sound of whips, both the ones in the village, and the ones in his head.

* * *

><p>"This will be a… big battle." Gordin mused, testing the quality of his arrows, and managing to lightly prick his right thumb on one arrow of satisfactory sharpness. His face creased with mild discomfort as a trickle of blood came out of his thumb. "I have to be ready, this'll be much bigger then the Aurelian Palace."<p>

"Having trouble there?" Jeorge asked from behind Gordin. He had a friendly smile as he looked at what the younger archer was focusing on.

"Nothing in particular." Gordin answered, "Just making sure I'm ready. I already put a new string on my bow, now I'm checking my arrows, and-"

"You stringed your bow?" Jeorge stooped down, grabbing Gordin's bow and looking it over. He gave it a little tug, then another, and shook his head. "You call this a good, strong string, Gordin?"

"Um… y-yes." He said nervously, turning away from his arrows, feeling uncomfortable as Jeorge continued to examine the string. "I… just re-stringed it, did… I do something wrong?"

Jeorge sighed. "Well, it's not bad, but I wouldn't call it good, either. Hold on…" He untied the string, then began to retie it, Gordin blinked at the way Jeorge's fingers moved as the senior archer did the job, and then Jeorge was done. "There… try that, Gordin."

Gordin took the bow back and tugged at the string. "N-not too tight or too loose, it's… almost perfect."

"As a good archer should keep his bow." Jeorge said, Gordin felt briefly elated at the quality of the string tying, but his mood sunk as Jeorge's almost criticizing tone. "Not to say that you're unskilled, but, how well were you trained?"

"Um… t-that…" Gordin's voice trailed off. He had risen well through the ranks back in Altea, but he was far from being considered a master. This war had already put him to an incredible test, but he was still far from what he could someday be. "I was just… some forgettable archer in Altea. I was just lucky enough that prince Marth found me when he was escaping. Gra… was using me as a hostage, he had to save me first." He thought back to the day two years ago… no, two and a half years at this point. Ambushed and captured in a tower, and used as a shield by that Gra captain. It was terrible to know that Marth's situation had been complicated by him like that…

"Forgettable, huh?" Jeorge took a step in and placed a hand on Gordin's shoulder. "Norne has a different viewpoint. She apparently admires you as one of the best archers she knows."

Gordin blushed, and knew that Norne would say that, and probably _did_ say that when he wasn't around. "S-she's just being nice. I'm not…"

"Perhaps if you had more self-esteem, you'd be better." Jeorge said. Gordin's head sunk down. The older archer sighed, he plainly saw that Gordin was not a person who you could encourage to get better by pointing out faults for him to rise above. "Well, there are probably some things you can work on besides your confidence. Show me how you fire arrows, Gordin."

* * *

><p>Hardin had his eyes lightly closed. He had finished speaking to Nyna. He now stood near the other direct leaders of the army. Marth, Malledus, Caeda and Minerva were all busy discussing tactics and troop placement. Nyna was also present, sitting down nearby, most likely just… thinking.<p>

Without the foresight of exactly what the enemy was employing, the leaders were stuck in a cycle of trying to make the army have a flexible setup, rather then capitalize on what they expected from the enemy.

"Coyote."

Hardin's eyes slowly opened, as if he had been roused from a deep meditation, he turned his head to see Wolf. His eyes briefly traced back to Marth and the others, and he smiled at how they were oblivious to Wolf's presence. Surely, Wolf was the greatest practitioner of stealth in the continent. "Have you finished scouting?"

"Yes, Coyote. I have a clear picture of our enemies."

Hardin stood up. "Follow me." He walked forward, Minerva and Marth seemed to be contesting on the exact placement of one soldier or another, and were both raising their voices, they had two completely different ways to conduct warfare, clearly. They both noticed Hardin and Wolf's approach, and pulled back from their exchange of differing opinions. "My scout has returned from examining the enemy positions." He turned to Wolf.

Wolf stepped forward. He bowed his head, then took in a breath and began to speak. "Their formation is entirely defensive in nature. They're centered around the palace. They have… some horse mounted soldiers, and some archers, but the core of their defense plan seems to revolve around Ballista. I also saw some Pegasus Knights, whether they'll attack us at the same time as the Ballista do will depend upon how expendable Dolhr regards them to do. Also, the Manakete who controls Archanea appears to be personally handling the defense."

"Ballista…" Marth mused, "Then there's only so much that Caeda and Minerva should be doing today."

Minerva's eyes narrowed at the idea of being kept out of the fighting, but reluctantly understood her odds against Ballista. "So, the Dolhrian soldiers seeks to keep us at bay with Ballista? I highly doubt-"

"The soldiers stationed outside the palace are… Grustian." Wolf corrected. "The _inside_ of the palace is filled with Dolhrians, those stationed outside are Grust troops."

Minerva made a small 'pah' noise, unconcerned about being corrected and unimpressed with the enemy. "The outside force is nothing of note, what's inside the palace?"

"There was little I could clearly see from the outside." Wolf said, "However, I saw several formations of troops through what windows I could see through. Based on their numbers, I reason that they're more intent on stopping us when we breach the palace gates. Unless the Manakete is far stronger then the one in Pyrathi was."

Marth nodded, recalling the fight against Mannu at Pyrathi. Bantu had done well to defeat Mannu, and Mannu had nearly killed Marth with one blast of flame. He might have reduced the prince to ash right there had Jagen not forcefully pulled him back by his shoulder. "I understand, the Manakete who is ruling Archanea has decided to come out and face us early. I had no fondness for the thought of facing one in some confined throne room. This is probably for the bet-"

"Princess Nyna!" A young, familiar voice called out, Wolf turned, a young knight was running up, clearly agitated about something.

"Roshea." Wolf said, he turned his head to the younger Aurelian as Nyna began to stand up. Before Roshea reached the princess, Wolf stepped forward and grabbed Roshea by the shoulder. "Calm down. Losing your calm is… beneath an Aurelian knight."

"Ah." Roshea took a breath in, calming and composing herself, and then Wolf noticed that Roshea looked angry. He turned to Nyna, "I've scouted the village you wanted me to go to. I…" he took another breath in as he felt himself growing excited again.

"What did you find?" Nyna asked, stepped toward Roshea, almost fearful to hear what had frustrated the little knight to this extent.

"When I first reached the village, it was like a ghost town. I didn't see anyone. I considered returning, but I suddenly heard a noise, I wasn't sure what it was at first, then I realized it was the sound of screaming. I approached the noise, and found some people being ordered around by men with whips in their hands. I realized immediately… it was a slave market."

"A sla-" Nyna began and then suddenly cut off. She reached out and grabbed Roshea by the shoulder. Her grip was surprisingly firm, and her voice was angry, anger not directed at Roshea, but at the news he brought. "They… they'd _defile _Archanea with a slave trade?"

Wolf stood nearby, exuding calmness on the outside in the face of the revelation of a slave trade. Inside, he was enraged. As… clearly upset and angry as Nyna was growing, she couldn't understand how deep an Aurelian's wrath would be over the mere existence of a slave trade.

"It doesn't end there." Roshea said, Nyna's eyes widened in horror. "There's an arena in the village. The slaves are thrown into the arena, forced to fight for the amusement of Dolhrians. The only reward for victory is survival… it's all death matches."

"Slaves… and death matches." It was rare for Nyna to be visibly angry, but this seemed to be just too much for her. That arena was supposed to only display the prowess of the Archanean knights to the public, fights to the death were forbidden. She doubted Roshea investigated the arena too deeply, but somehow she just knew that the principles of Archanea were likely further mocked with people gambling on these death matches. "Things my father condemned over and over again. How… could they go so far as to…" she took a deep breath in, mirroring Roshea's attempt to calm himself down from a moment ago. "I'm sorry, Marth, I know we're trying to reach the palace gates, but, I can't just… I _need_ someone to go there. I will _not_ tolerate that slave trade continuing."

"…I understand, Nyna." Marth said after only a moment of thought, "Their defense of the palace shouldn't be so formidable that I can't spare a few soldiers. Merric can-"

"I recommend my men, Marth." Hardin suddenly said, "Wolf, Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea. All could make short work of the slave masters, especially if backed up by the mage."

"I doubt the slavers are skilled enough to warrant all four of them." He turned to the two Aurelians present, perhaps just one would suffice, but that might be an unnecessary risk. He made a few short thoughts, considering who he could reasonably have not participate in the main skirmish, and nodded to himself. "Wolf, Roshea, go find Merric, you two and him will deal with these slavers while we attack the palace defenders. Return to us when you're done, offer your aid if the battle is still ongoing."

Roshea nodded, looking almost excited. "I'll find Merric immediately." He walked off, Wolf followed him.

"They both seem… angry." Caeda noticed. She turned to Hardin, noticing that the Aurelian prince's face was a twisted face of aggravation as well. "Actually, the Aurelians seemed angry over those pirate slavers back in Aurelis too."

"If there is one thing Aurelians value, it is freedom." Hardin said, turning to Caeda. "Something that there is little of these days."

Caeda was sure that freedom was a precious thing to Aurelians. Yet, she couldn't shake the notion that, to the Aurelians, slavery was… personal, somehow. She was perceptive enough to tell… slavery was bringing back unpleasant memories of _something_ for the Aurelians.

"Those three will handle the slavers. We need to be focused on the palace." Marth said, he and the others returned their focus to troop movement. "Now then… mostly Ballista he said. Let's work with that in mind…"

* * *

><p>Khozen stood at the gates of the Archanean Palace. He looked over the grassy plains that encompassed the ground around the palace. The blades of grass were just as healthy as they had been before Dolhr came, though now they were untended and wild. Khozen's red eyes narrowed.<p>

"I swear that this grass shall be red with human blood by the end of today. The blood of those fool enough to surrender themselves to the delusion of the idea of a continent not under Dolhr's grip." He reached into his robe, clutching his Dragonstone. He did not assume his true form, not yet. He began to wait.

"Sir, the enemy has started its approach." A nearby Ballistician, Jake, reported. A drafted Grustian soldier, one that was surprisingly skilled in the seat of a Ballista, and one not particularly concerned with the overall scope of the war. Khozen liked that, a skilled soldier that didn't ask questions. "Orders, sir?"

Khozen grunted, wrapping his fingers around his Dragonstone a little tighter. "Send the Pegasus Knights out. Kill what enemies they can, and then leave the Pegasus and their riders to die. Rain a storm of arrows on the heads of the League, leave them as corpses upon the grass. Guide them to me, like lambs to slaughter. My fangs and fire shall send them from this world to the next."

"Um… y-yes, sir." Jake said, a little intimidated by the coldness of Khozen's voice. He looked over the controls of his Ballista and started to slowly move it into position. It moved away from Khozen with a profound grinding noise.

"Anri's whelp shall go no further then this. The only remaining worthy wielder of Falchion shall perish today."

* * *

><p>The League progressed steadily, with a tense air to it. All were aware of the Ballista, and all expected to fight a battle under a steady rain of arrows falling upon them, it was not something to look forward to. As Marth and Hardin had stressed, assaulting and shutting down the Ballista as fast as possible was of absolute importance. Yet the Manakete who controlled Archanea, who was out here leading the defense against the League, was the most integral threat.<p>

Wolf, Roshea, and Merric were traveling with the rest of the army at the moment. They would break off in time to seize a nearby village, nothing of vital importance, but something Nyna insisted be liberated.

As they continued their march, a flapping sound was heard, the beating of feathered wings. Sedgar immediately looked up at the sound. Several figures were silhouetted by the high noon sun, he squinted his eyes against the glare, what these figures were was plainly obvious.

"Pegasus Knights!"

As the squadron of Grustian Pegasus Knights was swooping down, Gordin placed an arrow in the almost perfectly tied string and aimed at the Pegasus Knights. Taking a few suggestions that Jeorge had given him as to how to fire an arrow into account, he shot his first arrow of the battle. It flew… so much better then what he was used to. It perfectly sank into the gut of one Pegasus, the creature stopped swooping down and instead tumbled out of the sky, fatally impacting the ground with a sickening crunching sound, both it and its rider passed on.

"Th… that was good." Norne said, for a second forgetting the battle and marveling at the speed of Gordin's arrows. Gordin also seemed to be in shock at the swiftness his arrow had just flown, but quickly shook his head. Norne continued to stare in awe at the deceased Pegasus, but eventually she also shook her head, returning to the battle.

The Pegasus Knights continued their swoop. Marth directed the League forward, even as Jeorge and Sedgar and Gordin begin slowly shooting the Pegasus Knights down. A few descended into the mass of League soldiers and tried to attack. They failed to make as much as a scratch on the League. A few riders was skewered on Jagen's lance when they tried to attack prince Marth, while Minerva's axe made a vicious mockery of the remaining Pegasus Knights. Too many months of resentment and spite over playing the puppet seemed to empower Minerva. She worked so fast that barely anyone else had a chance to strike at the enemy Pegasus Riders. It would be hard not to be appalled as Hauteclere mutilated and all but eviscerated the elegant creatures, pouring blood and viscera upon the grass.

"Keep moving!" Marth ordered, pointing with his Rapier as the squad of Pegasus knights were routed and deposited in pieces on the ground, "Keep marching to the palace! And you three get to the village."

Wolf nodded, leading Roshea and Merric to the south. Marth and Hardin led the rest of the League north, following the mountain path to the clearing that the Archanean Palace was it. Their approach was greeted with a deep, mechanical noise. The sound of enemy Ballista launching giant arrows.

The arrows seemed to hiss through the air, giant arrows far too large to be shot out of a hand-held bow plummeted to the ground.

It was to the League's fortune that their accuracy was horrific. The arrows came down far from the League soldiers, arrows so large that in some ways they more resembled thick spears then they did arrows. They sank into the dirt, close enough to be concerning, but not close enough to frighten the League away.

A force of Grustian cavaliers and Grustian archers appeared, their numbers were almost token. Yet under the hail of Ballista arrows, routing the Grustians on horseback and foot couldn't be done fast enough. Wendell's Thunder tome laid waste to the Grustians, electricity circling around the battlefield, channeling through the Grustians and dropping them to the ground.

As Wendell and a number of other soldiers dismantled the Grustians that were directly meeting them, Hardin and Marth led soldiers to the Ballista. The Ballista would be overrun, the pilot would be killed, and the machine damaged to a point where it could no longer be operated. In time, a few Ballista were already dismantled, broken metal pieces strewn sporadically across the grass alongside the now limp bodies of the Ballista operators.

The defense seemed almost paltry. Then a loud, inhuman roar was heard. The League stopped in its tracks, and turned to a growing light in front of the palace gates. The light dispersed after a moment, revealing a hulking dragon.

Lethally sharp talons dug into the ground, the behemoth flailed around briefly, as though it was taking a moment to grow accustomed to its size. Its red scales gleamed a morbid blood red color in the sun, and it turned to the Archanean League and snorted. An expression of deep, pure hatred in its eyes. It would not show mercy, nor ask for any.

"Burn! Burn! Boil down to blood and flesh upon the ground! Die at the gates of the palace you sought to liberate!"

"Dolhrian dragon." Bantu looked at the looming red dragon threatening death. It looked little different from Mannu back at Pyrathi, but somehow, Bantu sensed a greater threat. As the rest of the League attempted to annihilate the Ballista force, Bantu clutched his Dragonstone and leapt into the battle.

* * *

><p>The village closest to the palace seemed a place of despair. Archaneans that lived good, peaceful lives before the invasion were now reduced to slavery. They felt the lash of Dolhrian whips, and were forced to work long hours to try and recreate the nation in Dolhr's image. Many parts of the nation now felt foreign to the people, and what wasn't foreign was in ruins and disarray.<p>

Attempts to escape, or resist, were common among the people turned slaves. No attempt ever succeeded, the slave with a sudden spike of courage was either pinned to a wall and viciously whipped as punishment, or just flat out executed.

There was likely no shortage of slaves who, at this point, would desire the latter to escape their situation.

One slave was struggling to carry a crate, it seemed much too heavy for him… the slave had arms clearly not meant for carrying such a heavy loud. The cloaked slave groaned from the weight and, almost immediately afterwards, tripped. The crate fell from the slave's arms, breaking open on the ground, and spilling work supplies all around. The slave watched in horrified disbelief, and then heard someone approach him from behind.

"You. Get up." A slaver grabbed the slave by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. A trio of Dolhrians appeared and dragged the slave away, forcing him into the wall. The slaver cracked a whip and stepped forward. "Five lashes will remind you to _never_ throw Dolhr's supplies on the ground like that." He raised the whip back, holding it in a hand that could tear flesh from bones with every single lash. The slaver… tried to strike the slave's back, but instead the whip jerked back, as if it had been snagged on something. He pulled at it, but then the whip was suddenly yanked from his grip. So quickly and forcefully did it fly out of his hand, that he was actually pulled onto his back.

"Slavers." An unfamiliar voice spoke with clear disgust and venom. From his back, the slaver looked behind him, seeing three unfamiliar figures. A young man on a horse was the speaker. All activity in the village ceased, slaves and slavers both stopped their prior activities to look at the developing face off.

"Slavers deserve only one thing." Wolf said, his hand still holding the end of a whip. He tossed the whip over his shoulder and began to reach for his quiver. "Run, and you might survive."

"Ha!" The slaver Wolf had taken the whip of stood back up, cracking the knuckles and posturing threateningly with his almost unnervingly muscular body. "What? _Another_ rescue attempt? Pal, you had better start working, and _you_ might survive." The other slavers rallied to the one that had spoken. Wolf, Roshea, and Merric were unconcerned. The slaver only smiled. "I think just standing right there is your answer. Prepare for the lashing of a lifetime, then, you can join these fine folks here."

The slavers, with whips cracking, charged forward. Wolf fired three arrows from his bowstring all at once, and began to reach for more even before three slavers were killed by his first attack. Roshea moved forward, easily ducking under the black whips, his steed carrying him to the muscled Dolhrians. His sword ripped into them, cutting them down, even as Merric summoned blades of wind via Excalibur to rip through the men.

Having spent so long just dealing with slaves that could do little even when they chose to fight back, the slavers were wholly unprepared to face actual trained combatants. Especially a team of combatants that counted a mage amongst their ranks. They could do nothing but stare in horror as near physical blades formed out of wind appeared and gashed their bodies open, spilling blood upon the white stone ground.

A complete mockery was made of the slavers. More and more of them kept appearing, some not armed with whips but with blades of steel and silver, and none of them laid a finger on this strange trio of interferers. The slavers just kept pouring in… and then simply trickled in, until finally no more appeared.

The last slaver fell down, his back sliced open by a slash from Roshea, and his legs hamstrung from another slash administered by the young Aurelian. This last slaver tried to crawl away weakly, and then Wolf sunk an arrow into his back. The slaver grimaced, raising his head while gritting his teeth in pain, he gasped one final time before his face slammed down onto the pavement.

All the slavers were dead. The slaves stared curiously, wondering what was about to happen? Were the three saviors, or…? They started to talk to each other in hushed voices, some elated, others cautiously nervous, and then Merric turned around. All talk ceased, but he smiled warmly. "I know you've all been through a lot. You can go back to your families, Archanea will be free by the end of today. No new slavers will come."

There was a small silence, and then someone cheered, followed by a shout of joy by nearly everyone present. The slaves fearlessly tore off the sackcloth they had been forced to wear and ran off, free from the shackles of slavery. They ran off, likely to return to the houses Roshea was sure were unoccupied right now. Roshea smiled, it felt good to break up a slave trade like this. He was… disturbed that the amount of slaves fleeing had to have numbered in the thousands… but it made it all the more satisfying to know that he had played a part in wrecking a trade this large.

As the mass of slaves cleared, it was time to go to the palace to offer what help they could. The incident with the slavers had been both easier and quicker then expected, the attack on the palace was likely still progressing. Roshea turned, and noticed that one slave, the one that had dropped a crate and had been about to be whipped before they appeared was just sitting at the base of the wall. He, along with Merric and Wolf, approached the slave, which… looked to be a young boy. "Hey…" Roshea stopped in front of the now freed slave. "You're free. What's stopping you from going home?"

"I…" the boy reached up to his hood as he stood up. "I don't have any home. Not anymore." He pulled the hood back. Roshea blinked at the former slave, realizing that _he_ was actually a she.

He also realized that she was about a full head taller then him. The girl was shorter then Wolf, and about the same height as Merric. She had a pretty, teenage face with a full head of brown hair. Roshea guessed that she was about sixteen, or maybe seventeen. "I'm glad you saved me. My name is Linde, I used to be connected to the Archanean nobility. You may not believe me, but-"

"L-Linde?" Merric blinked, drawing a quizzical glance from Linde. "Princess Nyna says that a girl named Linde was the only friend that she had around her age. That she and Linde were separated when Dolhr came…" Linde's eyes widened as Merric spoke of Nyna. "You… you're Linde?"

"You know where Nyna is?" Linda asked, turning full body to Merric with a deep urgency in her voice. "Is she safe? She hasn't been tossed in a cell, has she? Last I heard she had escaped Archanea, but…"

"I-" Merric was about to answer, but then he realized that he needed to get to the palace now that the slavers had been routed. "The long story can wait. I'm part of an army called the Archanean League, a collection of the armies that oppose Dolhr. Princess Nyna is one of the heads of the League, and we're here to liberate Archanea." He smiled, "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you. The village is safe now, just wait here, and we'll come back when-"

"No." Linde cut Merric off. "I'm a mage, I can fight."

Merric looked at her and sighed. "I know you're a mage, but you probably don't have much besides a Fire tome, and I doubt you're experienced with war. It'd be… better, if… you…" his voice slowly trailed off as Linde revealed a white tome unlike anything he had ever seen before. Merric blinked, and stared in confusion. "That, what is-"

"My father's tome… before, before Gharnef killed him." Linda said with a deeply somber tone. "Aura. It's among the strongest tomes in existence. He, my father, taught it to me. The White Sage allowed the spell to be taught to a specific family line, he chose my family."

"I see." Merric said, surprised at the sight of the tome. He recalled being told that Linde had learned the spell… he slightly chided himself for not remembering that she'd probably have that tome. He wondered how well it would match up against his Excalibur, and the smallest shadow of a smirk appeared on his face. "If you really want to fight, I guess you can."

"I do." Linde removed the slave cloak she was wearing, revealing a more noble attire underneath. Roshea looked at it, and almost immediately blushed. He had seen her as a generally pretty girl when he just saw her head and her hair, but now… he wasn't particularly familiar with women, having spent most of his life with his brothers in spirit, but he found Linde to be just… beautiful. He could feel his heart thumping louder and speeding up at what he saw. Merric wasn't blown over quite as much as Roshea, but he also seemed somewhat stunned into a stupor by what he was seeing, almost hypnotized by the Archanean noble girl. Linde was… perhaps the ideal example of physical beauty and grace. Her outfit was a noble robe, and left the flesh of her left leg completely exposed. Roshea found himself having some difficulty remembering to think as he looked at her, until Wolf tapped him on the shoulder.

"It's time to go." The older Aurelian said, completely uninterested in Linde's appearance. Roshea wondered if Wolf's impeccable eyes caught Roshea's fluster. "We're returning to the battle. They should be close to breaching the gate by now. We-"

"Wait!" A new voice called, Wolf snapped to the direction the voice came from, not posturing threateningly, but ready to defend himself and his allies. What approached him was a harmless seeming woman. "You… guys…" she began, looking both happy and worried at the same time. "You're going to the palace, to kill all the Grustians there?"

"Yes." Wolf said, he caught a thread of fear in the woman's voice. "Is there a problem with that? Why should you concern yourself with them?"

"I…" she paused, trying to think about what she was going to say. "My sweetie, Jake, he's Grustian. He's one of the Ballisticians at the palace. He's a good man, he just got drafted. I don't like him working for a Manakete like the one ruling Archanea… If someone explained to him what Dolhr and Grust are both doing, I'm sure he'd side with you."

Wolf's eyes flashed with annoyance, but he didn't say anything, nor did the woman seem to notice. He looked over at Roshea, Merric, and Linde, silently telling one of them to handle this. Roshea stepped up, "Then we just find him, and talk to him. What's his name?"

"Jake." The woman answered, "Though he may not be easy to talk to. He'd only give his enemy the time of day if it was some… good looking girl. He's always been like that. No time for other men, but…"

Roshea smiled. "Noted." He turned to Linde, who didn't seem to notice that she was the only clear candidate. Yes, Roshea felt that Linde would definitely be 'good looking' enough for this Jake. He turned back to Anna. "What's he look like? Wouldn't want to try and get near the wrong guy."

"Of course." She responded, "Yes, he looks like…"

* * *

><p>Bantu and Khozen wrestled in their true forms, the rest of the League preoccupied with the Ballista strewn around the field. Bantu's claws raked across Khozen's shoulders, before Khozen forced Bantu away with a stream of flame. The Dolhrian dragon charged as Bantu moved beyond the range of Khozen's breath. Khozen's claws stabbed into Bantu's under belly and his fangs sank onto Bantu's front left leg, Bantu roared with pain as Khozen threw Bantu to the ground.<p>

"The reality that a fellow Manakete sides against the Emperor disgusts me. For that simple fact, you will not live to see another day." Khozen watched as Bantu started to rise. They both charged, at such a time that one could not tell if one had acted and the other reacted, or if they simply began to move at the exact same time.

Bantu managed to tear his claws across Khozen's chest, and then bit onto Khozen's shoulder, and tried to rake Khozen's neck. Khozen briefly bellowed in his pain, then turned down, and clawed a gash onto the back of Bantu's scaly neck. Bantu grimaced and released his fangs from Khozen, Khozen slashed Bantu's face, slashed again on the side of Bantu's neck, and released a fireball that impacted and sent Bantu flying several meters away and left him sprawled out on the ground.

"We are Manaketes, the deserving and superior race. We, are the true rulers of this world, and the rightful controllers of the fate of everything that draws breath. Yet as we've seen with your pitiful display, simply being _born_ a Manakete is not enough." He approached Bantu, weakened, covered in injuries, wounds, and scars, but still strong. He had won this fight. "Goodbye, traitor. Only _now_ do you understand the sheer folly and futility of siding with anyone other then Emperor Medeus."

Bantu grunted weakly as Khozen towered over him. Khozen raised a talon, ready to rend Bantu's head from his neck, Bantu looked up to see a claw falling down at him. His only thought was his failing in his most important task of finding Tiki… and then something darted toward Khozen.

_Something_ jumped at him, and slashed at his neck. He growled at the weak and utterly dismissible scratch on his neck, and swerved his massive head to look at what had just attacked him.

Ogma stood before Khozen. Steel Sword in hand. Khozen looked at Ogma's well-toned, muscular arms as well as the mercenary's stance. Honed and ready for war, and fearlessly stood against something as terrifying as a Manakete. He had clearly seen much battle today, but he still had the energy and the will to oppose a Manakete. Khozen only snorted, comparing and contrasting him with Dolhrian vassals.

"You are the pinnacle of perfection in a mercenary warrior." Khozen said, sounding almost as if he was complimenting Ogma. "Which means you are _nothing_ compared to me."

Ogma's only response was to charge forward, sword in hand. Khozen unleashed a stream of flame, igniting the grass, but Ogma simply evaded the fire. He reached Khozen and swung his sword at one of the Manakete's front legs. Khozen seemed more irritated then hurt as his scales were penetrated by Ogma's blade, then flung his limbs out, hoping to mutilate Ogma with his talons. Ogma rolled out of the way of the lethally sharp claws, his next slash cutting open Khozen's underbelly.

Khozen slashed with his talons again, forcing Ogma away. The mercenary was just slightly panting, but he was still more then able to continue fighting. Ogma charged across the ash, hoping to strike Khozen's neck again, but Khozen was ready. The Manakete gulped in air as the mercenary approached, and as the mercenary jumped to strike at the Manakete's neck, Khozen released his flame.

Rather then strike a hopefully critical blow upon Khozen's neck, Ogma was caught on the flame erupting from Khozen's mouth. He was carried away with the flame and thrown to the ground. Khozen's stream of fire subsided and dispersed after only a second, and Ogma's burnt body lay upon the smoking ashes. He was still alive, but that one attack had left him in a state where there was no chance he could get up to fight.

"Not bad." Khozen said, then rumbled a deep, menacing laugh. "…for a _human_." He started to approach Ogma, intending to rip the mercenary apart when he was too weak to fight back, or even as much as try to crawl away. Khozen would not admit it, but he had been impressed with the mercenary's prowess, if only more Dolhrian humans had this level of strength. Heimler was one of the few who would easily surpass this mercenary. Khozen took in another gulp of air…

"Ogma!" Caeda called, turning from the battle to see her most loyal and dependable mercenary about to be killed. Several League soldiers turned to the scene, seeing both Bantu and Ogma down. Marth and Hardin led the League in an attempt tp save the two, Khozen swung around, releasing the flame he intended for Ogma, igniting an impenetrable wall of flame between him and the Archanean League.

For the second time, a Manakete almost killed Marth with his breath, Hardin and Jagen had both grabbed the prince right before the flame hit the ground. The fire rose, transforming into something the League would have to move around.

"Watch, but do not interfere, humans. I'll see to _you_ soon enough." Khozen said through the rising flames with sick amusement. He turned back to Ogma as the Ballista's continued their rain of arrows on the League. The Manakete prepared to kill the mercenary… when the air suddenly distorted. He paused, looking at the blurring space around him.

"…a human trick?" He turned back to the League, but they seemed to be busy trying to get around the flames he just produced. He snorted, watching the distortions closely.

The distortion seemed to solidify into something physical… blades.

The blades of Excalibur converged on Khozen, ripping across him, but he shrugged it off. Not intimidated, just somewhat injured… and then a strange ring appeared around him. An ethereal, arcane ring, he watched it slowly spin around him, and then a blast of Aura enveloped him, burning him with a holy light. He roared with pain unlike any roar he had ever bellowed before, then collapsed onto the ground. Slowly, with every slight movement causing him nearly incomprehensible pain, he tried to pick himself up again… and then Navarre appeared.

Flipping over the flames Khozen had made to keep the League at bay, Navarre sprung. Khozen turned his eyes and tried to move away, or swipe at Navarre. In his pained state, he failed to do either, and the Killing Edge ripped across Khozen's throat. The Manakete wheezed, Navarre landed then sprung again, slashing Khozen's throat again. Khozen made a choking sound, and fell back down, sputtered a few times, and then laid perfectly still with dragon blood seeping out of his slashed open throat.

Ogma raised his head weakly, seeing Navarre standing by him, the Killing Edge soaked with red Manakete blood. He would have sighed, if he didn't think it would be painful to do so. "Why… do I always… seem so… inadequate… next to… you, Navarre?"

Navarre didn't answer, simply darting off to the remaining Ballista as the League approached Ogma. Maria and Wrys both fell to a kneeling position to tend to Ogma, while Lena's faith surged through her Mend Staff to heal the ravaged flesh of Bantu's dragon form.

Merric, the summoner of the wind blades, and Linde, the summoner of the Aura blast, moved in with Wolf and Roshea. The battle was not over yet, but with the Manakete dead, the victor of the encounter outside the palace was no longer in question. Wolf and Roshea killed some Ballista operators, and the magic of Merric and Linde totaled the Ballisticians. All four of them were on the look out for Jake. As the League set about destroying the final Ballista, Roshea briefly panicked at the thought that this Jake had been killed before they arrived. He looked around, and his fears were alleviated at a Ballista pilot near the entrance, one that perfectly matched the description the woman in the village gave them. He quickly pointed him out, Linde sighed and walked up to the Ballista pilot.

"You…" Linde said, Jake had looked a little panicked when he saw Roshea and Wolf approaching, but he seemed to become relieved when Linde came right up to his Ballista. "You're Jake, right?"

"Yes, that's my name, sugar." He smiled at her, and his eyes were immediately drawn to her bare leg for a second, then returned to his face. "Can I get yours, by any chance?"

"Linde." She said, not wasting time with any pleasantries. "A girl in the village asked me to find you."

"Anna?" Jake thought back to his red-headed girl. She had been granted safety and security while living in Archanea as long as he was part of the occupation army. It was a little something that kept him from leaving. "Worried about me, huh? In the good way, right?"

"Yes, Jake. She said she didn't like you working for a Manakete like…" She turned over her shoulder, the Manakete was unmoving on the ground. It flashed brightly for a moment, and Linde momentarily spun around and gave it her undivided attention, but the Manakete seemed to simply shift back to its human form, and remained motionless. Apparently just post-humorously returning to its human form, Linde was sure he was dead, and she turned back to Jake. "Tell me, do you really approve of what Dolhr and Grust are doing here?"

The Ballistian blinked at the question. He looked up at the palace and stroked his chin. "Well, what Dolhr is doing to Archanea isn't exactly my style."

"Well, why don't you side against Dolhr, then?" Linde asked, "You'd be doing the right thing, helping Archanea, and making the continent a better place."

Jake paused at the words, and his first response was a sigh. "I would, but I doubt that something as big as the state of the continent is going to be solved with a simple suggestion like that."

Linde looked slightly irritated. "Your girl, Anna, would love it if you distanced yourself from Dolhr."

He blinked. "She would, wouldn't she?" He thought for a moment, then looked around the field of battle. Pretty much every other Ballistician had been destroyed, the rider's corpse a few feet away from the wreckage. He shrugged, he figured that he might as well make Anna happy and join the winning side at the same time. "Let me tell you, all the politics and ideals of this war are way over my head. This is only for Anna, just so you know."

"I understand." Linde said, sighing in relief. "I'm sure the Archanean League will enjoy your presence."

He smirked. Linde didn't like his expression as he slowly tilted his head. "I bet you'll enjoy my presence even more."

* * *

><p>The battle ended in short order, all forces outside the castle were decimated, the corpse of the enemy Manakete was left where it had fallen. The League, all as one, patted each other on the back as the outside of the palace was secured, but this was all in a moment. The next, and perhaps the more challenging battle, was still to come.<p>

A few soldiers left to find Nyna and escort her to the palace. She now stood by Marth at the palace gates. It must have been an appalling sight for her to see so much of the surroundings of the palace scorched to ash during the battle, some of it still burning. She simply shook her head and looked up at the palace's towers. The palace looked just as she remembered on the outside, but inside, it was probably quite different. Dolhr would have likely reconstructed… much of the interior to fulfill its cruel desires. She could look at the palace and imagine devices of torture and splatters of blood across the walls, rather then the simple royal living conditions and knightly training facilities that _should_ have been in there.

It hurt on the inside. To know that the palace that she grew up in would have been desecrated like that. Everything that her parents, and Boah, had worked to make in the palace, had probably disappeared in just a few days of Dolhrian occupation, and the palace likely continued to decay everyday someone wasn't here to set it right.

And it fell to her to restore everything about Archanea. As the only surviving member of the Archanean lineage, that was her absolute duty, before anything else. She took a deep breath, about to turn to Marth to ask when the invasion of the palace exterior, and the full liberation of Archanea, would begin.

"Nyna!" A voice, an oh-so-_familiar_ voice called to the princess. It didn't use her title, just like old times. She turned, feelingly certain that she knew who the voice belonged to, but worried that in her brooding over the palace, her mind simply conjured the voice to comfort her. Across the burnt grass, Nyna saw an unmistakably familiar figure running up to her.

"Linde!" Nyna's eyes widened, and she was in a rare moment of feeling completely overjoyed. Her childhood friend was right there, running to her. Nyna opened her arms, and the two friends embraced, arms wrapped around the other. Linde rested her head on Nyna's shoulder as Nyna held Linde as tightly and as closely as she possibly could. For a long moment, the two simply held each other, overwhelmed at their reunion.

Eventually, they both pulled back to look each other in the face. Nyna rarely looked so happy, but her mind now buzzed with questions for her best friend. "What happened to you when the palace fell, Linde? I managed to escape to Aurelis and enlist the Aurelian king's aid, but-"

"I…" Linde began, trying to gather her thoughts, finding that the emotion of the reunion was interfering with her ability to think. "I tried to run, after my father was killed by… by Gharnef. I put on a thick robe and tried to flee, but Dolhr soldiers caught me. Looking at the robe, they thought I was a boy and brought me to their slave market. I was there until… some League soldiers appeared and killed the slavers."

Nyna's eyes widened, but then she smiled in relief. She was the one who insisted that someone went to the village… now she found that she had inadvertently saved Linde from slavery. She'd have to remember to thank Merric, Wolf, and Roshea from the bottom of her heart when the palace was retaken.

Then something occurred to Nyna. "Linde, you have the Aura tome, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then… couldn't you have taken the slavers out yourself? The managers of a slave ring wouldn't have been able to stand against-"

"There were too many." Linde said, "Dolhr slavers in the village, Dolhr soldiers everywhere else in Archanea. I wouldn't have gotten far on my own. All I could do was hope that, eventually, things would get better. Though after so long, I started to have doubts, and…"

"I understand." Nyna said, raising a hand to brush some of Linde's hair to the side. "After Archanea is liberated, I'll give you asylum in Archanea until we return. You will be safe-"

"I'm becoming a soldier of the League." Linde said, her tone changing from happy to serious.

Nyna blinked, and her expression hardened. "No, I am _not_ risking losing you to this war. I want you safe, and-"

"I want to find the person who killed my father."

"Gharnef? No. Linde, he'll just kill-"

"I want to make him pay for what he did, Nyna." Linde said, her voice growing increasingly quieter and more serious. "I have the Aura tome, one of the most powerful spells that has ever existed. I want to be a soldier in the League and… I appreciate that you're worried about me, but I am _not_ going to miss my chance to avenge my father."

Nyna listened, and sighed. "All right." She didn't have the heart to argue with Linde immediately after they reunited. "You can be a soldier, but, I want you to be careful. More then you've ever been before. Don't try to do too much on your own. That tome is unbelievably powerful, but you are still a mage."

"My robes are not armor." Linde said with a slightly annoyed tone, sounding like she was reciting some verse of common sense. "I know, Nyna. Now, please excuse me. I should speak to some of the other soldiers." The two held hands for a moment, but eventually Linde broke off and walked away.

Nyna turned to Marth, who had politely not said anything when the two were talking. "Marth, about Linde…"

"You want me to make sure she's sheltered, even when on the battlefield?"

"No. Well, yes, to a certain point." Nyna took a deep breath, wondering how Linde would respond to what she would try to do. "Linde, I want Linde to have a-"

* * *

><p>"You did… <em>amazing<em> today, Gordin." Norne said as they sat together. Gordin looked uncomfortable as Norne began to scoot over to him. It almost seemed like she was trying to get away from him at Castle Deil, now she was right next to him, and not leaving. "How did you fire arrows like that? You've never shot that… that good before."

"Um…" Gordin looked down at his bow and arrows, more interested in making sure he had enough arrows for the second half of this battle. The last thing he needed was to run out of arrows when the fight was still going on. Still, he turned to Norne. "W-well, Jeorge tied my bowstring for me, and taught me some little tricks for when you're actually firing the arrows."

"Oh." Norne looked at Gordin's bow, only now noticing how… masterfully, the string was tied. "Wow, can you teach me the way you fired?"

"Um… w-we don't have enough time until the next battle starts, and-"

Norne shrugged. "No rush. Maybe after we take the palace. I really, really want to fire like that."

"Okay…" Gordin said, turning back to his arrows. "We need to prepare, for now."

"Of course." Norne said, then reached a hand out to grab Gordin's as he was reaching for an arrow. "Gordin, can I ask a question?"

"Um…" He stared at the hand grabbing his with a steel grip. "Yes."

"You suddenly shot better today, and, I… I was wondering…" she started to feel both warm and uncomfortable. She thought back to Athena trying to introduce awkwardness to her relationship with the boy for no reason back on the ship to Pyrathi. The logical part of her tried to tell her to not ask this question, but she pressed on. "Would you use your archery to… um, to, protect me?"

"Wha-" Gordin leaned away from her, turning almost beet red. "I… I, um…"

"J-just asking." Norne stammered, "We're best friends, and I was just… someone said something to me that's had me thinking about… how far we'd go for each other." She was turned red herself, and was dying to drop the conversation, but couldn't bring herself to stop. "Would you train to get better… just to protect me?"

"I…" he looked at Norne, her deeply sincere eyes made it clear that this was a very serious question. "Y-yes, yes. I wouldn't want you to ever get hurt, I would train just so I know I could protect you." He was being quite honest, though he never thought too much about him and Norne and one of them protecting the other. Ever since the war really began, he saw himself and Norne as partners who relied on each other from time to time.

"I wish…" Norne began, but trailed off.

"Norne?"

She tried her sentence again. "I wish I was good enough that I could keep you off the battlefield. If you never had to endanger yourself, I'd be happy if it could be like that."

"Ah…" Gordin couldn't look at Norne's face any longer at that. "Um… I, I…"

"It's too bad that I know I'm not that good." Norne took a deep breath, feeling like everything she had said had gotten a load off her shoulders, though perhaps invited another one.

"I… I'm sure you _could_ be that good, s-someday." Gordin said. There was a long silence, and Gordin suddenly began to desperately wish he could take those words back. Norne looked at him, blushing at the compliment, feeling like her heart was about to jump right out of her chest. In the past, it would have been a friendly, if somewhat embarrassing compliment, but now it took on a whole different meaning.

"T-thank you, for that." A little voice inside her head told her to wrap her arms around Gordin right then and there. She resisted the tempting little voice. She couldn't embarrass him in front of the rest of the army like that. Instead, she turned her attention to preparation. "Well, one thing at a time, I guess. Let's make sure we're ready for this." Norne took out her quiver to begin counting her arrows. Gordin pulled his arrows out to begin examining the sharpness of his own arrows.

* * *

><p>"Hey." Linde called, approaching one of the Aurelian knights. The very one she was trying to find right now. "Hey, you."<p>

Roshea blinked, not particularly focused on anything else in the face of the inevitable palace invasion. He turned around, and found Linde in front of him. That same beautiful girl from the village. He gulped, took a step back, but quickly composed himself. "Y-yes, Linde? You need something?"

"I never really thanked you for saving me back at the village." She smiled at him, the knight in front of her looked a bit younger then her. Despite knowing that there was a very good chance he wouldn't like it, she reached a hand out and ruffled his hair as if he was some absolutely precious little boy. "I don't see the other two around, so I guess I'll just ask you to pass my thanks on. Really, thank you. I might have never seen Nyna again if you and those other two hadn't come."

"Your… welcome." He could plainly feel his body growing warmer as he talked to her. He wondered how Wolf would react if he understood what Roshea was feeling right now. After a moment of thought, he knew exactly what Wolf would do, chide him for not keeping his emotions under control… but he couldn't seem to help it. It didn't help matters that he had almost no experience with women, pretty much his entire life had been spent around other guys like Wolf or Sedgar. He had always talked to talk Nyna, a princess, easily and painlessly. Yet he looked at Linde, and found himself having trouble looking like an orderly knight.

"So, what's your name?"

"Um… R-Roshea."

She smiled. "Well, R-Roshea, I look forward to seeing you fight in the future." She said, taking the time to tease him for his stutter. "Considering how you fought those slavers, you're clearly no rookie."

"I…" he blinked, then found his voice gaining confidence again. "Trust me, I'm not. I was one of the best guerilla fighters in Aurelis when Macedon attacked us for Dolhr. Along with Vyland, Sedgar, and Wolf, I was one of Coyote's best men."

"Oh, so what's your relationship with them? Just allies, or-"

"We're not related, but Vyland, Sedgar, and Wolf, they're like my older brothers."

"Like your… family, huh?" Linde asked, suddenly looking upset, and hurt.

Roshea paused, initially confused at Linde's tone, but his head quickly jerked in guilty realization. "Oh, I, I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't talk to you about family, I-"

"It's okay." Linde said, offering another smile, honestly touched that Roshea was trying to be respectful to her and her trouble so soon after meeting her. "It happened more then two years ago, don't worry about it." She closed her eyes, finding that despite the time it had been since the incident, it was still painful to think about. "As for your family, Roshea… I bet those three are great… brothers. I sometimes wondered what having a brother would be like."

Roshea looked prideful of his three brothers in spirit for a moment, but then his face shifted peculiarly. "Vyland and Sedgar always call me 'Little Roshea'." He said with an almost brooding tone.

Linde curiously tilted her head slightly, having to restrain herself from a little giggle. The name seemed to suit him. "Then, you wouldn't mind if I also called you-"

"I don't like being called 'Little Roshea'." He said, sounding just slightly irritated. "I've just… given up on getting Vyland and Sedgar to call me by _just_ my name."

"Okay." Linde said. "Roshea it is." She smiled, "So, Wolf just calls you by your regular name?"

"He… well, he's not big on little titles of endearment." Roshea looked around, not seeing Wolf anywhere. "He never seems a very friendly guy at first glance, but you can count on him to show up and save you when something dangerous is happening. Coyote is the only one who I think could ever _really_ outclass Wolf."

Linde took note of Roshea's tone, seeing a certain naïve attachment in the way he was speaking. "Wolf means a lot to you, I'm guessing."

"Wolf, he's always been someone I've aspired to be like. He never loses his cool, he always knows exactly what to do or how to take an enemy down, and he never makes a mistake. I've always wanted to be just like him. Just… with better people skills." The corner of his lip raised.

She surrendered to a grin, then laid a hand on Roshea's cheek. "I bet someday you will. You'll be a hero someday. You already were one for a lot of people today, including me."

"Oh…" Roshea blushed at Linde's soft, gentle hand resting on his smooth face. If Linde noticed that he was turning red, she made no obvious sign. He wondered if Linde was going to proceed to stroke his cheek, but the moment was suddenly interrupted by a voice.

"Linde? Linde?" The mage took her hand off Roshea, backed up a step and turned, she waved a hand as she saw the speaker approaching.

Roshea recognized Merric. He simultaneously thanked and cursed the mage for interrupting his talk with Linde.

"Who are… I mean, what's your name?" Linde asked, recognizing him as one of the people who saved her back in the village. "You need to speak to me?"

He smiled, seeing the same attractive face he saw at the village. He almost lost himself in her features, but quickly shook himself of the distraction. "The name's Merric, a Wind Mage from Altea. Just came to tell you that you'll have a guard while you're fighting."

"A… guard?" Linde seemed to become discomforted, she had figured that she'd be moving around on her own on the field of battle. "I, well… I don't think I need a guard. I have my Aura tome, I think I can handle myself. You saw me cripple that Manakete, didn't you?"

Merric shrugged. "Princess Nyna insisted you get a guard, Marth obliged. The princess made… quite a big deal over your safety."

Linde stood silent for a moment, almost looking like she was fuming, but eventually shook her head and sighed. For what Nyna had been through, she'd be a bit overprotective of _anyone_ she was close to. She could accept a guard, then, for Nyna's peace of mind. "Who will be protecting me, then?"

Merric grinned, as if he was in on some joke. Linde raised an eyebrow, and then Merric raised up both arms and pointed at his face. "You're talking to him."

Linde blinked, and then sighed. "I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you in the future, Mr. Guardian." Merric continued to smile, after a while Linde returned the expression. Deep down, Linde wondered who the guardian might really be between the two, but she'd have to see how she stacked up against Merric before making any arrogant presumptions.

"We'll be heading into the palace in just half an hour." Merric warned. "I'd make sure to be ready."

"Of course." Linde said. "I already have everything I need. I'm just waiting."

"Well then…" Merric took a step forward. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Linde shook her head. Merric took a deep breath in, wondering if he was about to wander into sensitive territory. "We'll be fighting him eventually, so I want to ask, what… do you know about Gharnef?"

"Him…" Linde's eyes narrowed, she looked at Merric, then over her shoulder to Roshea. "I've never really seen him, I've just been told things." She thought back, her memories undoubtedly painful for her. Merric regretted asking the question, but Linde didn't seem to grow angry. "Alright, Merric, and you too, Roshea, I'll tell you both… what he did…"

* * *

><p>Near a window on one of the highest floors of the palace, a hand slowly and firmly pressed against the glass. It trembled against the firm surface, trembling with rage, and not the fear one might initially presume would grip one of the Dolhrians in the palace. Volzhin, the owner of the hand, looking down at the gates of the palace. What he expected to see, and what he wanted to see, were one and the same. What he really saw, completely contrasted with both his wants and his expectations.<p>

He saw Master Khozen, sprawled on the ground in his human form, and the Grustian forces utterly decimated. He growled in the back of his throat at the dawning realization that the palace was about to be invaded, and that the rebels had killed one of his many masters. Silently, in his mind, he swore to burn every single one of them to ash in a Brazen Bull.

Heimler, standing close to him, was just as disgusted at the sight of Khozen's slain body, but made no clear visual cues beyond a simple narrowing of the eyes. He turned to Volzhin, now that Khozen was dead, authority in Archanea now defaulted to the Dolhrian bishop. The entire nation, the entire occupation, would be Volzhin's responsibility until a new Manakete overseer was sent to the nation.

As disgusted as Volzhin was at Khozen's death, he was not afraid of defeat. He had both Thoron and Bolganone to call upon, as well as every Dolhrian soldier stationed in the castle. He'd show the League just how different Dolhr's troops were from Grust and Macedon's. Afterwards, he'd present Emperor Medeus with Marth's head, ending the last threat to the ambition of having Dolhr's rule be continent wide.

Volzhin took his hand off the glass and turned around, he had to find his tomes, and ready himself for the coming battle.

* * *

><p><strong>As an FYI, Volzhin's comment about a Brazen Bull, it's a torture device that originated in ancient Greece. You're not going to see a Brazen Bull in the next chapter so there's no need to go into detail on it but, it essentially involves locking the victim inside a hallow statue and roasting the victim alive. Look up for further details.<strong>

**Mentioning a torture device was better then having Volzhin swear to put them in a guillotine, which isn't a torture device at all.**

**Please review.**


	22. Defiler of The Holy Throne: Vs Volzhin

**The actual game lists the enemies in the Archanean Palace as Grustians. I'm... pretty sure that they're supposed to be Dolhrians, though. Considering Volzhin's dialogue regarding Dolhr in the game.**

**I believe this is my longest chapter yet. 40 pages long in Microsoft Word.**

**Oh, and anyone who I would consider to be a major villain in the story is going to have a 'vs' thing in the chapter title in the chapter they're fought in.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p><em>Linde ran through the nation of Khadein. The city of magic was foreign to her, having spent all her life in Archanea. She moved through halls and past buildings painted with runes that she didn't understand, nor care enough to try and decipher. She was not here for pleasure or for a desire to further her magical studies, she was here for a deeply personal reason.<em>

_A letter that her father had penned had been sent to her. She had opened it casually, just like any other letter, but the message contained in the ink on the paper had cut straight to Linde's heart._

"Linde, my cherished daughter. If ever my words have had meaning to you, listen to them now. Do not come to Khadein. Stay away. Stay in Archanea, protected by the holy family. There is no critical event happening, merely some events that only your father can face. Simply stay with your friend, the princess, and the princess' family, they will protect you in my place. I shall return in due time. Please do not come."

_The letter expressed that nothing was wrong, but for whatever reason, Linde should stay away from Khadein right now. When she had read the letter, the hand holding the letter had begun to shake partway through reading. Her intuition told her plainly that something _had_ gone wrong in Khadein, and, her father was in danger. Overcome with dread, concern, and fear, she left the holy palace without warning and without telling anyone. There had been many occasions where Khadein had probably been in a situation that only her father could deal with, but not once had he specifically told her to not come. Her father had written that the holy family of Archanea would protect her, and to Linde, it was like a declaration that he wouldn't be alive to protect her anymore. Ignoring the fact that she was disobeying her father by coming, she had come to Khadein, only to find the city all but deserted._

_Miloah had always described Khadein as a shining utopia of knowledge. A thriving and lively city filled with humble scholars and mages. It was discomforting and concerning for Linde to not see a soul in it, as if every mage had been plucked out of this world without a trace. It only reinforced her belief that something had gone horribly wrong. Yet this strange… absence of the slightest trace of life in Khadein wasn't what truly worried her. As she moved deeper into the city, strange signs of damage were present, buildings were damaged with massive chunks of stone missing from them. Shards of glass and other expensive goods were spread all other the paved roads like garbage. The fountain in the middle of Khadein should have been filled with the freshest water she could have ever known, but the water seemed filthy and sickening, more akin to sludge._

_She moved past the fountain and came across a building that… she guessed was an important structure, rising above all others with the most breathtaking stonework. She entered, and found that the interior seemed to be in shambles, shards of stained glass and the debris of the walls and pillars were everywhere. Shelves of library books were destroyed, lifetimes worth of magical knowledge sealed within books and tomes were spread across the floor. The artwork she saw throughout the rooms were torn to pieces, the stands they rested on cracked and eroded. It looked as though a fierce battle had just taken place, yet it didn't seem as though it had been a battle between opposing armies, but individuals. Everywhere you looked, you could see horrible burn marks and… lingering, shadows?_

_Particles of black energy drifted through the air, looking like the leftover residue of… something. Linde was too frantic about her father to try and investigate the floating dots of black._

_The building was just as devoid of life as any other part of Khadein. Linde wondered if perhaps her father was far away… and then she saw somebody._

_A body tossed upon the ground, with shadows surrounding him, hovering in the air. Perhaps the shadows cackled in their own way at the state of the man, who so clearly had bared the brunt of whatever had happened here. The man's robe, his shape, it was no denying who it was._

"_Father!" Linde sprinted forward, and fell to her knees by Miloah, her father. Her hand grabbed his shoulder, and he groaned. Linde breathed a weak sigh of relief, he was still alive. Miloah's eyes opened and turned to Linde, his eyes had a weakness that she had never seen in them before._

"_Linde…" he spoke with a surprised and horrified tone as he recognized her. "I… told… you…"_

"_Father, what happened?" Linde asked, "Who did this to you?" Her voice grew quiet and fierce, and if the person who did this was in close proximity, she'd have undoubtedly torn her father's assailant apart._

_Her father's eyes widened as he recognized Linde's growing anger at the sight of his wounds. He weakly raised his head to look at his body, his flesh cooked with dark burns, his skin gone hard and raw, and he could barely move himself. He slowly moved his eyes back to Linde's direction, she didn't understand the danger that simply _being_ in Khadein put her in. "Linde, run, run now. Get out of Khadein. Get… out…"_

_Linde's hands gently fell on her father's shoulders. She nodded. "I'll get out, with you. I'll help you up, we need to return to Arch-"_

"_No, Linde." Her father spoke, his strong voice seemed inconsistent with the state his body was in. He ignored the pain that simply talking invited, and focused all his energy to speak his words to his daughter. He leaned his head back to rest on the ground. "This… dark magic, has ravaged me beyond healing. Even if we had a Warp Staff… a Cleric could do nothing to help me."_

"_Dark magic?" Linde turned to the strange particles of black energy hovering and drifting aimlessly through the air, taking an interest in them for the first time. She had seen a lot of tomes that _seemed _beyond sinister and cruel, but this was the first time her father had described anything as 'dark magic'. She reached her hand out to one of the black dots…_

"_No!" Miloah yelled, Linde flinched, "In the name of the gods, do not _touch _those globs of darkness." Linde pulled back immediately, returning her hands to her father's shoulders. He looked at her sternly, "Pay… pay no mind to those… things. Just… get out of here, now."_

"_I…" Linde's shoulders trembling in the understanding of what was being asked of her. "I… no. No, father. I am not leaving you. I have to get you out of here, if you stay here you'll…" her voice broke and trailed off, she hung her head down._

"…_die?" He looked like he was ready to laugh, the corner of his lips rose in amusement. "That… is a foregone conclusion now. Nothing can be done about it. There is only one thing you must take with you…" he weakly reached a hand into his robe, pulling out a white tome. His tome, Aura. Linde's eyes widened in recognition, the tome he had taught her how to use… and marveled at the speed of which she learned it and became proficient with it. Miloah pushed it to her. "The man who did this, he must not get his hands on… this tome. He must not… bend it to his… evil purpose. Take it and… and get out."_

"_But…" Linde looked for some excuse to ignore what he said, to try and get him out of here. She couldn't bear to walk out like this, she couldn't bear… Reluctantly, she took the Aura tome from her father. "Father, I… I have to save you. I need to get you-"_

"_As long as you keep that tome from falling into _his_ hands, you have saved enough." Miloah said, he breathed hard, trying, with only moderate success, to gulp air into his damaged body to fuel his words. "Linde, for this last time, let me look straight at your face." Linde obliged, positioning herself where her father could look straight at her face. Miloah smiled, seeing his flesh and blood so clearly with his weak and now failing eyes. His daughter's face was strained and grieved, and one couldn't blame her for that. Miloah reached a weak and shaking hand up to her daughter's face, resting it on her cheek. They both stayed like this for a moment, Linde's eyes started to water, one part of her understanding the inevitable, another part fiercely denying it._

"_Now, go, Linde." Miloah's hand started to fall._

"_Wait." Linde grabbed the hand that fell off of her face, holding it tightly, as if her grip was all that kept her father alive. "Who did this to you? Who am I supposed to keep this tome from? Who… tell me his name."_

"_My…" Miloah struggled for words, his eyes were starting to slowly close. If he told her, she'd have someone she could try to target, but if he didn't tell her, she might make the mistake of seeing the man as someone who might offer some manner of asylum. He forced his words. "My…friend, and rival."_

"_Gharnef." Linde blinked in disbelief. She had heard of the man from her father. Gharnef was a man of justice, but he was harsh and uncaring, interested only in the ends rather then the means. Obeying the law rather then the spirit of the law. If he was as impersonal and uncaring as Miloah made him out to be, Linde didn't find something like this shockingly out of character. "Where is he now? I'll find him, I'll-"_

"_No…" Miloah muttered with a rapidly weakening voice, he knew she would react like this. "Do not… do… not… look for that man. He is… beyond you, beyond me. No mage could face him, not as he is now."_

"_But, but father, I can't just have you die and act as if nothing happened. I should-"_

"_Linde. Stay… away…" he gasped, and seemed to convulse as the pain heightened. His hand fell from Linde's grip, falling on the stone ground. He coughed, then focused every fiber of his being on his daughter. "That man… stay away from… that man… s… stay… aw…ay…"_

"His last words. 'Stay away from that man, stay away from that man' over and over again." Linde looked down at the grass at her feet, healthy and green when so much around her had turned to ash. She remembered, after her father had finished speaking, he became still and lifeless, just a limp body on the ground. She could still remember the horror she felt as she noticed that her father no longer breathed. She had shaken him over and over, trying to get a reaction, but none came. It was hours before she could accept the agonizing reality. It was painful to know that she had just left him in the ground, that she couldn't give him a proper burial, or anything to show respect after he died.

Two and a half years after the fact, and the pain was still there. Not as fresh as it once was, but it was still painful to wake up everyday to a world where her father had been murdered. A breeze of Archanean wind went into her eyes, making them water. Almost reflexively, she reached for her Aura tome… her only memento of her father, and held it close to her. After her father died, she learned that he had been quite right in saying that she couldn't fight Gharnef. She learned of how the man's tome, Imhullu, rendered him invincible to anything and everything. She was sure there was a kink in the armor somewhere, but she was ignorant as to what and where such a kink would be.

She knew that learning about Gharnef, and trying to seek him out, was going against her father's wishes. He told her to stay away from Gharnef, but she was going to find him, find the flaw in Imhullu, and kill the man now called the Dark Pontifex. She had made vengeance for her father's sake her first and last goal in life. Nothing else really mattered to her.

Taking a deep breath, closing the wound of the heart that she opened to tell the story. She looked at Roshea and Merric, they were both silent, neither of the two was looking at her. Linde figured that, odds were, neither had felt a family member get torn from them like that.

"I'm… sorry you had to tell that story." Roshea said. He looked guilty, even though he hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't the one who asked the question, nor did he have anything to do with what happened, but his face, seen from the side, displayed a deep look of sympathy.

Linde looked at Roshea, and felt a shameful wave of envy at how Roshea had a family, a large one, even if not a family by blood, while she had lost hers. She wondered if the Aurelian felt somehow bad that he continued to enjoy a family, while Linde now only had her best friend, the princess Nyna, with her.

"I shouldn't have asked." Merric said, looking away. A sense of guilt gnawed at his soul over forcing Linde to remember such an abominable memory. He mentally kicked himself, and lacked the nerve to look directly at Linde. "I'm sorry."

Linde looked at both of them. They felt guilt for one reason or another. She walked forward to place a hand on the shoulder of both of them. They both turned to her, and she smiled at them. "Don't feel bad for me, I'm stronger then that. Besides, don't we need to be concentrating on the battle and not on me?"

"Oh… oh yes." Merric said, shaking his head and concentrating. One of the most important battles yet for the League was about to begin. Merric closed his eyes, mumbling a quick recitation of a magical chant, then opened them back up. That sympathetic expression had given way to an awkward face. Linde guessed it was Merric's idea of a hardy warrior expression. "When we have the palace, I won't ask you about this again."

"Thank you." Linde said. Her thoughts often dwelt on her father… but she preferred to stay away from the memory of when he died in Khadein. She took her hands off of them and looked at them both. "When the battle is over, I want to speak with you two again."

"W-with us?" Roshea nervously gulped. "Us, specifically?"

She was amused with Roshea's apparent shy reluctance, and moved her hand through his hair. "I haven't had anyone to really talk to since my father was murdered. Nyna will be too busy with the army… I want to talk to you two again." She looked at Merric and back at Roshea. "…please?"

"I…" Roshea began, he looked at Merric, who simply shrugged. The Aurelian looked back at Linde, and nodded. "If… if you have anything you need to get off your chest, Merric and I can listen."

She smiled at both of them. "There's a lot I want to talk about… I hope you two both survive." She slightly turned her head to focus on Merric. "Alright Merric, you're my guard. Roshea, you-"

There was one split-second where Roshea looked reluctant to leave, but the face of a dutiful knight quickly replaced it. "I have to get back to my brothers. Excuse me." He turned and walked off. Linde smiled at the little Aurelian knight as he walked off, then turned to Merric. "Well then, we-"

"Linde." Nyna appeared, approaching the two. "Linde, I need to talk to you very quickly."

"Huh?" Linde saw the princess approach her, her movement seemed to say that something was up. Linde's first thought, however, was that Nyna was here to give her a redundant reminder to keep herself safe. "What is it? Just want to tell me to be careful? I'm-"

"Linde." Nyna said, her voice was dead serious. "No, I'm not here to tell you to be careful. This is something that just occurred to me."

"…Nyna?" Linde grew confused, but did not protest as Nyna continued to speak, quietly, leaning in so that Merric couldn't hear.

"The details can wait, I want you to find the Dolhrian commander in the throne room and kill him yourself. I…" She paused, wanting to find someway to say this without implicating Caeda in any regard. "I have a… reason why I don't want Marth to fight him first. Make sure you find him yourself before the rest of the League does."

The mage blinked, then nodded, slowly. She couldn't even pretend to understand where Nyna was coming from, but one look at Nyna's face told her that this was of integral importance to her. "I don't understand but… I'll see what I can do."

"Yes, thank you." Nyna said. She didn't want to keep the facts from Linde, but she didn't want to feel as if she was betraying Caeda's trust by telling someone else about Caeda's dreams. She had to regard Caeda's last dream as an ominous warning. The Archanean Palace was the only thing that Nyna could imagine matching the splendor that Caeda had described on the way to Pyrathi. "I have to return to the front of the army. Stay… stay safe, Linde. Don't die today…" She placed her hand on Linde's shoulder, wearing a deep look of worry and concern.

Linde responded to the concern with an almost smug smile, as if what was to come would be as straining as blinking her eyes. Somewhat worried and somewhat put at ease by Linde's confidence, Nyna slowly took her hands off of Linde and took an uncomfortable step back, then turned away. Merric didn't ask Linde about the discussion she just had, but instead focused himself on the battle.

* * *

><p>"Is everybody ready?"<p>

The Archanean League had just finished preparing itself for the liberation of the palace. Marth looked over his shoulder to offer the question, the entirety of the League was standing, weapons, tomes, and staffs ready. Hardin looked at Marth and nodded.

Marth nodded back at his friend, then turned back to the gates of the Archanean Palace. He took a deep breath. The charge to liberate the nation of Archanea, the namesake of the League, and Nyna's home nation, was about to begin. The liberation of Aurelis proved to the continent that the League was something that was capable of fighting back. The liberation of Archanea would prove to the continent that the League had a chance to win this war.

"Very good." Marth said, he raised his Rapier up into the air. The soldiers tensed in preparation, Marth had the undivided attention of each and every person present. The battle for the future of Archanea was about to begin, and one word would begin it.

"Charge!"

* * *

><p>The throne room of Archanea was lit by candles and torches. Ever since the occupation it saw little meaningful activity. Once upon a time it saw much activity, the king and queen held court. Princess Nyna would greet guests and nobles, sometimes a little irritated by the court and her duties, but continuing on without complaining. Every once in a while she'd sneak off with Linde somewhere… usually getting Boah to tear his hair out trying to find her.<p>

Now there was no court here, and it only saw the great feasts that Volzhin and Dejanira enjoyed, the well-prepared food contrasted so much with the filth they had eaten in Dolhr. So many nights had been spent with roasted turkey and boar meat on the plates drowned in exotic sauces, goblets filled with grape juice and wine. So frequently did the sauce drip through Volzhin's beard and wine splatter upon Dejanira's lap. The Archanean nobility would have doubtlessly been enraged to see Volzhin and Dejanira eat at the king's table. Let alone see Volzhin drink from the king's holy goblet.

Yet there was no feast today, and only Volzhin was in the throne room. He was not pleased or content right now, but almost panicked.

"Where is it? _Where is it_?" Volzhin tore through the dresser in the throne room, the one he used to store all his personal belongings. His Bolganone tome was right where it should have been, as were all his magic text books and reference manuals. Yet his strongest tome, one that had fallen into his hands after Archanea fell, was completely absent.

The tome that belonged to the Bishop of Archanea before he took it to serve Dolhr with. Thoron, an electricity based tome that had few equals. He tore the drawers of the dresser out, ripping through all of his books and lesser tomes. "Thoron… where _is_ it?" He continued his search, growing increasingly concerned as he failed to locate the tome. He was oblivious to the sound of the doors to the throne room opening, and the sound of footsteps approaching him.

"General Volzhin." It was a lesser Dolhrian soldier. Volzhin turned around, gritting his teeth. His eyes, wide with anger, and lacking any eyebrows above them, made him look almost demented. He sweated with anxiety as his expression caused the soldier to nervously step away from his superior.

Volzhin quickly released his frustration, taking a calm, stern expression, but his irritation remained. "What _is_ it, soldier?"

"Ah!" The Dolhrian took another step back. "G-general, The Archanean League had just breached the palace gates. We need orders. What should we do?"

"Our soldiers are already in defensive position!" Volzhin snapped. "Master Khozen saw to that prior to his murder. Dolhrians are much different then the Macedonians and Grustians that they've faced before. There are no further orders to give. Our line of defense is in place, we…" Volzhin cut himself off as a realization hit him. He smirked, "Perhaps there is an order I have neglected to issue. There is one soldier I want to aggressively attack the League."

The soldier blinked under his helm. "Who…?"

"You know." Volzhin chided. "The soldier our masters regard more highly then me. The soldier our masters regard more highly then _any _Dolhrian human."

"I… oh." The lesser soldier nodded in understanding. "He and his men will charge the enemy immediately."

"Good." Volzhin moved to settle into the jeweled, holy throne. He still felt the annoyance of Thoron's disappearance, but ignored the irritating sensation. The soldier saluted and left, leaving Volzhin to himself. "With that one at my command, Thoron shouldn't be necessary. I need only wait for the battle to end." He leaned back, his head resting on the golden throne, the subtlest smirk appearing on his face.

His hands went together, fingers folding together as he sat. In a second, he realized that if all goes well, he would reap all the prestige that killing prince Marth would give him, and he needn't left a finger in the battle. He smiled more clearly. Perhaps he would order a victory banquet be prepared when this was all over. Some plates at the middle of the banquet table, for the heads of Marth, Nyna, and Hardin.

As he thought about it with a cruel grin of satisfaction and amusement, he realized he could go for a goblet of wine right now.

* * *

><p>There was a moment of shouting. Screams of preparation and war cries as the soldiers of Dolhr readied themselves. The sounds were loud enough to pierce every corner of the Archanean Palace. Even the dungeon.<p>

The Archanean knights had, once again, found themselves putting up with the tediousness of a day in a prison cell. The palace prison, which were only supposed to hold those who committed an atrocious act of treachery against the entire country, now held some of the country's most valiant. The conditions were horrible, with the reeking stench of death wafting through the air in thick sheets. There were no attempts at sanitation by Dolhr, it was a wonder that none of the Archaneans had fallen ill.

Midia had been fairly quiet, just thinking. Her mind preoccupied with what Dejanira had said earlier, the idea of someone marching against the Dolhrians. Another resistance? Dejanira did say that the army was better then anything Archanea ever had to offer… there was the possibility, yes, but Midia couldn't possibly see a foreign army coming in. If Archanea could not resist Dolhr, she doubted anyone else could match the Empire.

The other knights were talking to each other while Boah sat down, doing what he did best, thinking. Most of his thoughts were undoubtedly dark these days. There was little reason to have hope in Archanea… yet both Boah and Midia held on to a small kernel. Small, but not about to die. Midia closed her eyes, wondering when hope, and help, would come. For too long had the gods allowed Dolhr to do as they pleased, surely they had not abandoned the country, the _holy_ kingdom, but…

A noise registered on Midia, breaking her out of her thoughts. So faint, it almost could not be heard over the quiet talk of the other knights. Yet she heard it, and did not dismiss the sound… it was nothing like anything she was used to hearing while in the cell.

"Quiet." Midia said. The other knights looked at her quizzically, but obeyed. She went up to the bars and focused on the door and the subtle sounds. She closed her eyes and strained to listen, but couldn't make out what she was hearing beyond simply being some kind of noise. She turned her head, "Bishop, do you hear this?"

Boah stepped forward, coming to the bars. He closed his eyes and waited, he could hear a strange noise, yelling and shouting, like the sound of battle, yet not _quite_ the sound of battle. It took a few additional seconds of thought, but he understand the reason for the noise. "The Dolhrians are preparing for an attack. The… enemy that Dejanira alluded to, they must have breached the palace gates. I've never heard the Dolhrians in the palace mobilizing to this extent."

"Dolhr's enemy?" Midia thought for a second, contemplating who had came, and then she suddenly knew exactly who Dolhr's enemy _had_ to be. "Princess Nyna has returned."

"We have no proof of that." Boah told her, turning to the other knights, still focusing on the sounds he heard. "Yet… this is a rather unprecedented occurrence. No one who opposed Dolhr's rule has managed to break into the palace before. Perhaps the palace will belong to Archanea again today…"

"It has to be our princess." Midia insisted, "No one besides an Archanean army would bother coming, and no one besides the princess could liberate the nation."

"Maybe…" Boah mused, acknowledging the possibility, but finding it an unlikely scenario. Nyna could gather soldiers, but she had never been the sort to _lead_ troops. If Nyna was present, she couldn't possibly be the commander. "Dolhr will likely be focused entirely on fighting whoever is attacking, we'll be irrelevant until the battle is over, or until one of the attackers free us."

"When a fellow Archanean frees us." Midia corrected in her absolute faith in the idea of Nyna returning with an Archanean army. "We just have to wait, it's only a matter of time." She tensed with the expectation of seeing Nyna again. Boah sighed, admiring Midia's spirit and zeal as he always had, but she was jumping to conclusions without solid proof, like always. He closed his eyes, almost seeming to meditate. He agreed with her on one thing, it was now a matter of time. A small part of him, he had to admit, jumped with anticipation for how this day _could_ end.

* * *

><p>The League had stormed the gates of Archanea. The outside of the palace was now deserted, and the only human presence was the corpses of Grustian Ballista operators, and of Khozen, whose neck had been torn open.<p>

A breeze blew past, swaying what grass had been spared from Khozen's blaze. There was almost a sense of solemn melancholy at the sight of the dead, even if the dead had fought for the clearly wrong cause. Men fell never to raise again…

Then two bursts of light appeared, orbs of light materialized on the once bright, grassy fields. The lights dispersed as quickly as they came to reveal two hooded figures, both seemed to be peculiar blemishes on an otherwise lugubrious sight. The figures immediately walked forward. They were not horrified or even slightly bothered with the ripped open corpses that dotted the land nor the blood their feet stepped in. They went for one corpse in particular, the hooded commander of the Grustian force.

Xemcel and Bulzark looked over Khozen. A fellow Manakete of Dolhr lay before them. The defeat of Mannu at Pyrathi was nothing of note, that one had been too infected by human values to be worthy of being a Manakete at all. Khozen's defeat was far more… eventful. A servant that Emperor Medeus had regarded as a worthy subject had been felled. In any other situation, it would be an unnerving sign of the enemy's growing power, something to cause concern and worry. Yet Xemcel was not bothered, but pleased with the League's strength.

Khozen was defeated… but his role in the war was not over yet.

"Khozen." Xemcel said, speaking to the body lying in front of him. "Can you hear me?"

Silence. That was all that answered Xemcel. Bulzark looked at the Hand of Medeus curiously.

Then, just as Bulzark was ready to say Khozen was dead, there was the sound of a deep, guttural groan. Khozen's hand, an open palm, slowly scrapped into a fist.

"Yes… Xem…cel…" Khozen weakly answered as his head rose from the ash he laid in. The Manakete struggled, but managed to rise up to a standing position. His face and cloak were covered in ash. His throat was still slashed, and his words came out slowly, as if the simple act of speaking caused him pain, but he remained alive, even after having his throat slashed open by Navarre. "I… failed the Emperor."

"No." Xemcel corrected. Khozen looked at his superior with a pained look of curiosity. "This is just as the Emperor wished for this battle to end as."

"Wh…at?" Khozen's blood red eyes widened in shock. "Hand of… Medeus, what do you… mean?"

Xemcel's face was as stony as most Dolhrian Manaketes. Yet there was a deep look of _knowing_ to the face under the hood. "The Emperor's plans are far beyond anything we could conceive ourselves Khozen, but rest assured, he is not displeased with what happened. Rather, progress has been made…"

Khozen looked in disbelief at Xemcel. "I… the Emperor… wanted me to lose? He wanted our rule of Archanea to end?"

"He did not necessarily desire your death, but yes, his desire was the League's triumph today." Xemcel spoke calmly, almost casually of Khozen's near death and the inevitable end of Dolhr's rule of Archanea. Things that, by all logic, should have been vexing to the Hand of Medeus.

"W… why? We could have stopped them… here, today."

"Yes, we could have." Xemcel answered, looking up at the palace, training his eyes on the pillars rising into the air. "That is how a human would reason, Khozen. Yet the Emperor has a grander plan, and the League, like the nations that swear fealty to Dolhr, have a certain role to play." He looked at Khozen, noting the confused, mystified glance the other Manakete was giving him. He stepped forward and grabbed Khozen by the shoulder. "All will be revealed to you when we return to Dolhr. Archanea is expendable, as is every human Dolhrian defending the palace. We will allow them this small victory." He closed his eyes. "Had you have died in the defense, then that would have been the end of your involvement in this war. If you survived, you would continue to take part. For there are roles for you to fulfill…"

Khozen said nothing, trying to wrap himself around the reality of the fact that his defeat had been desired by the Emperor. That he wanted the League's victory today. It made no sense to him. The obvious hope the humans around the continent would take from a liberation of the holy kingdom… to let Archanea and Aurelis both openly support the League, it practically said that Emperor Medeus wanted the League to gain both power and support. He could see dozens of fatal flaws in the logic… but he'd dare not say that the Emperor's reasoning was flawed. He'd simply hear the reasons from the Emperor himself, that would silence all concerns of his. He looked at Xemcel, and Bulzark. "Let us go to Dolhr then. To the Emperor."

Xemcel nodded, light started to envelop all three Manaketes. Khozen did not flinch, he knew what this was. Xemcel gave a somewhat shadowy smile as the effects of Warp magic started to envelop the three. "Fear not, Khozen. The League will gain far less today then they could possibly imagine."

* * *

><p>The main hall of the Archanean Palace was swarming with Dolhrians. Immediately, the League fell upon them. Dolhrians in thick, strong armor held their ground against the League. Trained to fight since the day they could walk, they defended their bloodily gained land with an intimidating level of skill. Their lances thrust at the League soldiers and… many League soldiers were injured trying to push their offense.<p>

Maria, Lena, and Wrys did their job well, keeping the League soldiers standing as the battle dragged on. Marth had never quite met an enemy with such a formidable defense… he recalled many of his soldiers and sent the League's more physically formidable soldiers forward. Ogma, Draug, and Wolf moved to the forefront.

Even Ogma's Steel Sword had some trouble breaking through the thick armor, but he succeeded after multiple blows to the enemy's defense. A Dolhrian fell here, and then there. Wolf accurately sank arrows in the exposed, unarmored section between the armor joints. Dolhr's defense was buckling, however slowly.

Linde and Merric aided the slowly advancing offense. Magic did much to break the Dolhrian's defense. Armored knights fell to blades of wind that couldn't be physically blocked, as well as erupting blasts of holy energy. In time the first stationed defense force fell.

It was the first time the League faced Dolhrian soldiers. Marth found himself highly concerned at how… formidable, the soldiers who directly served the Manaketes had been. This palace would be swarming with Dolhr-loyal humans, and Marth found himself not looking forward to it. _Far_ too much effort had been spent just to secure the entrance hall. His soldiers also did not seem delighted at the prospect of this battle, seeing the struggle that the first wave had given them.

Hardin clasped his hand on Marth's shoulder, and the Altean prince jolted back to the battle. The Aurelian prince shared Marth's shock at the Dolhrian's skill, yet he nonverbally implored Marth to press on. Marth noticed that a few League soldiers were already injured, the Clerics and the Curate were already with them. Marth raised his Rapier to tell what soldiers that were relatively unharmed to follow him.

They plowed deeper into the castle, passing by regally decorated pillars and majestic, if indecipherable, artwork. Almost everything in the palace seemed to be exotic and exquisite, crafted with gold and marble into bizarre shapes. As the home Nyna once knew, Marth could look at the obvious splendor of the palace's walls and compare it to the rather expensive way Nyna dressed. It was certainly a place where one could say that Nyna… fit in. The Castle of Altea had certainly not been frugal, but he looked at the interior of the palace and almost felt unworthy to be in here.

There was no time to take note of such things, as more Dolhrian defenders appeared.

Navarre darted forward to a trio of Dolhrian soldiers. He chopped off the arm of one soldier, then disemboweled the second with two slashes to the gut. The third attempted to strike Navarre from behind, but the Swordmaster darted away. Before anything else happened, Jeorge's arrow pierced into the back of the third Dolhrian's head.

The Dolhrian that had lost an arm from Navarre's initial attack was quickly killed by Abel. All but eviscerated with one slash from the knight, with his insides spurting out.

Sedgar sank an arrow into two more Dolhrian soldiers, then fell back as Minerva descended on the enemy. Even the vicious princess and her axe were tested against these enemies, but in time they fell as mutilated corpses now missing vital body parts.

Jagen killed a Dolhrian knight trying to approach Marth on a blind side just as Marth stabbed his Rapier through the chest of an archer aiming at Caeda. Privately, Jagen cursed what he felt was a lack of skill on his part. That Dolhrian had gotten too close, and he found himself getting exhausted bizarrely quickly. True, they were having two battles in one day, and yet… Ignoring the strange lack of energy in his body, he prepared to fend off more Dolhrian soldiers as they appeared.

Blood poured out on the ground, seeping from underneath Dolhrians who fell down with vicious gashes all over their body. The defenders were undoubtedly highly skilled, but the battle still favored the League.

* * *

><p>"We're losing ground steadily." A Dolhrian soldier reported in the troop barracks. The Dolhrian Paladin readying himself listened. "The palace may very well be lost if something doesn't happen. The League soldiers are a credible threat, even against we, who are trained to fight against the most overwhelming odds for the sake of our masters. That is why General Volzhin wants you to aggressively charge the enemy. Disrupt them and send them into disarray, where you and the other soldiers can slaughter them easily."<p>

The Paladin nodded. He waved a hand to dismiss the soldier back to his prior station, then signaled a number of nearby horseback mounted Dolhrians to direct their attention to him. They were all ready, weapons bared and senses honed. The Paladin held his lance firmly, closing his eyes in an almost meditative fashion. He stayed like that for several seconds, then slowly opened them. He was ready.

Heimler, Paladin of Dolhr, issued a simple order.

"Follow me."

* * *

><p>Lena was breathing hard from all that she had done. Two battles one right after the other, and this battle was proving to be a very difficult and straining one. She just finished healing a grievous wound on Vyland's chest. She gasped as she tried to move to another soldier, and managed to trip, but someone caught her as she fell.<p>

"Easy there…" Julian said, looking her over to make sure he hadn't grabbed anything he shouldn't. Lena blushed at the grip, and Julian helped her reach the next wounded soldier. She and the other designated healers of the army were running themselves ragged, far past the point of passing out, and still they endured. Even Maria, who most likely had never felt this exhausted at any point in her life.

Marth was a superb tactician but, Dolhr was clearly much more then anything the League had faced before. They were still winning, they were pushing deeper into the palace, and leaving Dolhrian corpses behind them. Yet never had the march been quite this slow. He stabbed an approaching Dolhrian right in the chest and let the body fall, not panicking at the slowness of progress, just frustrated.

The prison cells were reached, which Marth guessed was the halfway point on the march to the throne. Hardin quickly ordered Roshea and Sedgar to go and find any potential prisoners. The two separated from the rest of the army and slipped down to the cells just as the League met the next wave of Dolhrian occupiers.

While the majority of the palace was regal and well-lit, Sedgar found the prison area reminding him of a filthy underground water channel. Somewhat like the tunnels they had to use to move around the Aurelian underground, but even more degrading. Ancient looking, eroded bricks stacked up as rats scurried around, insects of various sizes crawled around in groups, dispersing as he and Roshea approached.

The putrid stench of death was in the air. Roshea gulped at the thought of seeing nothing but discarded corpses in the prison.

The path was somewhat eerie, with water seeming to leak in from the ceiling. Large shadows left much of the path nearly impossible to see. Shadows so large that something… unspeakable, could have very well been lurking within, watching the two Aurelians intruding in their territory. Clearly little effort had been made to keep this place sanitary.

Finally, after what seemed like a tense eternity, with too many peculiar sounds going off in shadowed corners, the two reached the prison cells. Most of the prisons were locked, but at the same time, most were empty. There did seem to be… bones, in the majority of the cells, and some cells were home to still rotting corpses. Whether they came from before or during the Dolhrian occupation was hard to tell… and yet Sedgar was sure that many of the bones and corpses came from people who were intentionally starved to death. It sounded like more of a Dolhrian treatment then an Archanean.

They came across one cell that had living people in it. The occupants of the cell didn't seem to notice them. Roshea stepped forward and tapped on one of the bars.

All the occupants turned as one to them. The almost unified motion nearly frightened Roshea back, but he stepped forward with an unconfident voice. "A-are you all Archanean?"

"We are." An elderly man stood up and walked to the bars. "I am Boah, the Bishop of Archanea. The others in this cell are knights of Archanea."

One of the knights, Midia, rose. She moved forward, studying the two men on the other side of the cell doors. "You two…" She drew both Sedgar and Roshea's attention. Her expression soured as she saw their faces. "You are neither Dolhrian or Archanean. What are you doing here? What business do you have with us? Mercenaries hired by Dolhr to kill us?"

"Uh…" Roshea was taken aback by Midia's harsh, negative tone. "We… um, we-"

Sedgar stepped forward, "We are knights of Aurelis." He said, drawing the Archanean's attention. "After princess Nyna escaped the nation of Archanea, she fled to Aurelis and enlisted the aid of our king. Under the king's brother, Prince Hardin, Coyote, we fought against the Dolhr Alliance as it invaded our land. The situation remained unchanged until prince Marth of Altea returned from his exile. Our enemies were driven from Aurelis, and princess Nyna appointed prince Marth the commander of what is known as the Archanean League." Sedgar quickly summarized. The eyes from inside the cell widened with shock and surprise, and Boah's face relaxed with a content, joyful expression. "Right now, the Archanean League, despite its name, is mostly a coalition of Altean and Aurelian forces, with ragtag recruits in the middle. A man named Jeorge is the only Archanean soldier among our numbers as of now."

"Jeorge?" Tomas stepped forward, gaping at the knowledge of where Jeorge was, then smiled. "Mr. Deadeye is A-ok it seems. I wondered where he got to."

"So, princess Nyna is part of a proud and strong resistance." Boah said, smiling softly. "I am glad for her, and… I am glad that Archanea is well on its way to liberation."

"There's still the rest of the battle to be fought." Sedgar told the Bishop. He stepped forward, "Most of our fighting in Aurelis before prince Marth came had to be stealth-oriented and about gathering resources, I became quite good at picking locks. You'll be out of there quickly."

"Archanea's liberation is an Archanean affair. After you free us, you can let us handle this battle." Midia said coldly, "We don't need any charity from other nations."

Sedgar raised his head from the lock and looked straight at Midia. The woman glared at him, prideful in what she believed was strictly Archanean business. Sedgar would have little patience with a soldier who had such a point of view. "Your princess bade Altea and Aurelis to fight for her cause. If you don't like us, then by all means, when this is over go find your princess and tell her that she made a mistake in enlisting us to her cause and how your ideas are so far superior to hers." Midia flinched at the words, and Sedgar sighed. "Nothing is simply the business or affair of one nation anymore. Prince Marth, Coyote, and princess Nyna have banded together against a common enemy. If you're loyal to your princess then, like it or not, you'll be fighting alongside us."

Midia remained silent. She seethed with frustration, not directed at the Aurelian but at herself. She felt, she _knew_, that this war was Archanea's business first and foremost, but she also silently cursed herself for all but condemning the allies Nyna had found.

"Cling to your pride if you must, but consider the will of your princess. Will you fight for her sake?"

"We have no weapons." Boah said as Sedgar began to return to the lock. "Do you have the means to arm us? You said that the battle is still underway. We needn't complicate your situation with our current helplessness."

"You can grab what you can from whatever Dolhrians that we've killed. More proper weapons can be given to you when the battle is over."

"We understand." Macellan stepped forward, acknowledging the circumstances, though his face creased with reluctance at the suggestion. "I hate to pilfer weapons from… Dolhrians of all people, but we understand the need. We are knights of Archanea, and we will aid the army princess Nyna supports in any way we can."

"Hold on… there we go." Sedgar finished with the lock and opened the cell. "Come on, out of there."

The Archaneans darted out, flexing their joints as they finally had room to move after so long in the cell. Boah exited slowly, stretching and loosening his muscles briefly, knowing that there was nothing he could do in this battle.

"Let's get back to the battle." Roshea said, "Dolhr's stronger then the Grustians and Macedonians we've fought before."

"Formidable enemies indeed." Dolph said, thrusting his left fist into his right palm. He remembered getting overwhelmed and, at the end, pinned down by Dolhrians when the palace fell. "Give me a lance and I'll just plow straight through them."

Sedgar smirked a little at Dolph's enthusiasm, then turned around, gesturing with his hand. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Sedgar, Roshea, and the Archanean knights left the prison, and were greeted by the sights of the ongoing battle. The League had progressed steadily, and scores of Dolhrians now laid dead. Boah took cover behind the League as the Archaneans picked up Dolhrian weapons still in good condition. They joined the battle.<p>

Jeorge saw his old companions, but made no movement to interact with them. They were there and fighting for the League, and the battle was still underway. The reunion would have to wait.

The battle was progressing steadily. The Archanean reinforcements applied themselves to impressive effect, though they weren't the best of the League even in the knight's specialized fields. The path of Dolhrians was getting cleared, and the League was starting to push closer to the throne room. The battle should be in its eve by now.

Suddenly, a new unit of Dolhrians appeared. A unit of horseback mounted troops were heading straight for the League. They weren't holding their positions and waiting for the League, these soldiers were coming for the clear purpose of cutting down the League soldiers where they stood.

Midia did a double take at the Dolhrian leading this charge. A red headed man… the same man who defeated and captured her and Astram when the palace fell to Dolhr. She growled out the man's name.

"Heimler." She pridefully charged forward on her horse, "_Die_."

The Dolhrian turned to Midia as she attempted to stab a sword at him. He recognized her from when Dolhr invaded the palace, she and a blonde haired man had been among the last foes he fought. Both had passionately defended the princess… and both had failed pitifully. Just like last time, he was unimpressed with her charge. His lance caught her sword and quickly threw her attack to the side, and then he struck Midia on her shoulder with the tip of his lance. The single blow failed to get through her armor, but was enough to tear Midia right off of her saddle.

Paying no mind to the woman who could be defeated so easily, Heimler turned to focus on the rest of the League, comprised of soldiers undoubtedly more dangerous then Midia. He and his men rushed forward. None could have anticipated the bedlam that the man would bring. With one slash, not a thrust, of his lance, he gashed several League soldiers at various parts of their upper body, and might have killed several if Draug hadn't suddenly rushed him.

Draug tried to thrust his lance, but was put on the defense by Heimler's attack. Thrust after thrust tested the strength of Draug's armor, until eventually an opening was created from the constant pressure. Before Draug could even react Heimler shoved the lance into the opening, generating a surprised shout of pain from the knight.

He would have preceded to twist the lance to excruciatingly painful effect, but his eye caught the air distorting around him. He pulled his now blood coated lance back and bade his horse to move. It was a movement he made just in time as the blades of Merric's Excalibur surrounded the position he had just been at. When they became physical enough to strike, the blades had nothing to cut.

Heimler continued moving, dodging raining blasts of electricity conjured by Wendell's Thunder, and the explosions of holy light created by Linde's Aura. Dolph and Macellan tried to rush him, but both were knocked back almost immediately by the flurry of lance thrusts.

"Impressive." Hardin noted from the distance. Many of the Dolhrians they had fought inside the palace had been highly skilled, but this… man, was something else. Already he had wounded several League soldiers, nearly killed Draug, and seemed impossible to hit with magic. Certainly an elite of Dolhr.

…and yet, Hardin felt that they should have been doing better then this. The enemy was but one man. The men that had followed this Dolhrian to battle were being picked off here and there by other League soldiers, but this man fought so skillfully, and perfectly, against the League. It did not bode well, for this man to be so untouchable.

And then the Dolhrian was knocked off his horse. It happened so suddenly it took a moment for Hardin to notice. Wolf had jumped at Heimler, and with one kick to the side of the Dolhrian's head, Heimler had been torn from the saddle and fell upon the ground.

To most Cavaliers and Paladins, getting knocked off like that spelled death. Instead, Heimler simply stood back up before anyone could approach him.

"A bold move, and one well played, Wolf." Heimler noted with his throaty and grave voice. He spoke the name of his assailant as if he knew him, despite this being their first meeting.

Wolf said nothing, undisturbed at his enemy's knowledge of his name, and simply focused closely on Heimler. There was a stand off, the League backed away as Heimler's undivided attention fell on Wolf. Neither Heimler or Wolf moved, they didn't as much as draw breath.

"We need to continue moving." Jagen said, looking at the two men who could become vicious combatants at any moment. He turned to Marth. "Sire, we can't waste time with every enemy soldier. Someone has to stay behind to fight that man, one of our best…"

Marth looked at Jagen and nodded, reluctantly. Wolf was Hardin's right-hand man, and among the most skilled of the League soldiers. The only people who seemed more skilled then Wolf was Hardin and… Marth himself. If any of the soldiers could defeat this man while Marth and Hardin raced to the throne room, it would likely be Wolf. "I'll have to leave this to you, Wolf. We're heading deeper into the palace, return to us when you're through."

Roshea looked at Marth, and he couldn't believe what he was hearing, that he had been ordered to leave and head for the throne room. He turned to Wolf, not wanting to leave him behind… not with an enemy who seemed to be _that_ skilled. This Dolhrian had made a mockery of half the League…

No. He couldn't leave now. He couldn't abandon Wolf. Roshea held his lance in his hand… preparing to try and charge the enemy against orders, and then Sedgar's hand grabbed Roshea on the shoulder.

"Don't try it, Roshea." Sedgar said with an authoritative tone. Already knowing what Roshea was planning on doing. "Our orders are to follow prince Marth and leave that man to Wolf."

"But…" Roshea kept his eyes squarely on the Dolhrian and Wolf. "That man is really skilled, what if he defeats Wolf, he'd-"

"He won't." Sedgar countered calmly, then continued with a more calming tone, "Listen, Roshea, Wolf has always been able to handle himself. He took on princess Minerva, remember? That man is nothing to him."

"I…" he was still looking at Wolf, still as a statue across from the Dolhrian elite. Even an unmoving rock would have seemed more mobile then Wolf right now. His wish would have been to ignore any order he was given and attack the Dolhrian Paladin. Roshea held his lance tighter, then turned to Sedgar. "He's our… brother in spirit, we have to help-"

"And it's because he's our brother that we'll have faith in him." Sedgar said, "We can always trust Wolf to come out on top in a fight. We will leave, and we will know that he'll be alive when next we meet him."

Roshea looked fearfully at Wolf and the Dolhrian. Yes, Wolf had never lost a fight as far as anyone knew, he would likely win. Wolf… _would_ win. That understanding didn't make this anymore pleasant, what Roshea considered equivalent to abandoning Wolf. He turned back to Sedgar, speaking with a shaking, reluctant voice. "I… I guess you're right." He turned to see the majority of the League already moving. "Let's… go."

Sedgar led Roshea away, the youngest of the Aurelian knights looked back at Wolf.

_Wolf. _He thought as he turned away to the front to follow the rest of the League._ Please don't… die._

Heimler didn't turn to the majority of the League soldiers moving on. Instead focusing himself entirely on Wolf in front of him.

"You… as loyal to your masters as I. Yet, this is a battle you will not win." Heimler said calmly as the room now held only the two of them in it. "You are no match for the Empire."

"…save your prattle for the fight, Dolhrian." Wolf responded. He unsheathed his sword. Heimler, lance in hand, steeled himself for the battle. Then, Heimler's eyes moved away from his enemy and traced to the side. Wolf noticed, and capitalized on the moment of distraction by charging at Heimler, but had to stop as a dark black stallion ran between him and his enemy.

Heimler grabbed onto the saddle of his horse and jumped on, reseating himself. He pulled on the rein and the horse obediently stopped. Calmly, Heimler turned back to Wolf. There was a certain arrogance in Heimler's movement, but perhaps, considering his skill, it was a trait he was entitled to.

Heimler had arrogance as the most heralded human Dolhrian, and he was here to prevent anyone from taking the land Dolhr had claimed for itself. His skill, honed from a lifetime of training in Dolhr, where only the strongest were entitled to live, was about to be tested on this Aurelian elite.

Rather then arrogance, Wolf had the pride of being a trusted soldier of prince Hardin of Aurelis. He also had the True Spirit of Aurelis with him. Even without his own horse, he stood against Heimler without hesitation or doubt.

Neither man had any weaknesses or flaws in their stance. Without a word, the two charged at each other.

* * *

><p>The League found itself right outside of the throne room, and, hopefully, the battle was about to end in the League's favor. The last wave of Dolhrian defenders was there to meet them. The soldiers of Dolhr charged at the League roaring their challenge, the League's forward men met them.<p>

Roshea, trying to get his mind off of Wolf, dove into the battle, fighting his absolute hardest. He seemed to become one of the more active League soldiers against this final wave of defenders, actually managing to impossibly rival Navarre's number of kills in the battle. Roshea carefully made sure that the enemy in front of him was all that he saw and cared about, and did his duty as an Aurelian knight.

Linde watched in awe at Roshea's performance, not expecting skill like that from the boy, but shook her head. Roshea, alongside Navarre and Marth, had the undivided attention of the Dolhr army. It would provide her with the opportunity she needed.

"Merric, follow me." Linde grabbed her guard by his wrist and started to lead him around the battle. They moved around both the League soldiers and the Dolhrians without either side noticing the movement of the two. Eventually, they reached the tall, majestic, blood red doors.

"What are we doing?" Merric asked, looking at how Linde had led him to a position where they had a clear shot at the back of the Dolhrians. They… could decimate the Dolhrians right there. He smirked, sure that this is what Linde wanted them to do. The League was pushing in, and they could make things so much easier. He took his tome out, but Linde jerked him to the side.

"We…" Linde began, then realized that she lacked a good way to explain what she wanted herself and Merric to do. Merric looked at her in confusion, not sure as to what she was thinking. Linde didn't understand why Nyna had made the request that she did, her mind scrambled for an explanation to give to Merric, settling on one that she believed made sense. "We should take out the commander in the throne room as fast as possible. The rest of the Dolhrians won't know what to do if their commander is gone."

"But…" Merric looked at the Dolhrians, they'd be so… easy, to pick off as they were now. He turned to Linde, planning to put his foot down and tell her to help him attack the Dolhrians from behind, but found himself unprepared to face her pleading expression. She didn't understand Nyna's reasoning, but she still wanted to do this for the princess, for whatever reason Nyna wanted it done, and she wasn't going to be talked out of doing it. Merric summoned some willpower to try and tell her to just fight these Dolhrians here, but he relented and sighed. "All right. We'll try to take down the commander…"

He doubted this was really the smartest idea, but found himself oddly unwilling to argue. He turned to the doors and placed a hand on the knob, he slowly turned and opened the red doors. Linde looked back, hating to abandon the battle, especially if she could help make it easier for the League, but she felt compelled to fulfill Nyna's request. She scanned the League through the mass of Dolhr troops, locating Roshea. He was fighting his hardest… he didn't see her, but Linde still gave him an apologetic look. She made a silent prayer that no one would die because she and Merric were absent, and then they slipped inside.

Volzhin had his eyes closed. With Heimler sent out, and the defenses in position, he found their to be no choice but victory. He took a sip out of the goblet he was holding, the king's goblet, and reflected on the battle. Defeat was not an option, or even a possibility. The enemy had killed Master Khozen, yes, and they would pay with their lives for that, but Volzhin would fight them a different way. Indoors, slowly waiting for the enemy to come, and he on the throne, simply waiting for the good news of victory.

The thoughts of the victory banquet he would eat, and more importantly, how the Emperor might reward him for slaying Marth, were already in his mind, taunting his conscious. He licked his lips with hunger for the banquet, and the entirety of his being tingled with excitement at the thought of Medeus showering him with gratitude and favoritism. He would be propelled far beyond Michalis, Gharnef, and Ludwik, he would be the most powerful, the most influential human in the continent. Surely Dolhr would appreciate a powerful human servant who… understand who the true masters were. Not one who swore loyalty and yet plotted rebellion in secret, like Gharnef. Not one who had the ambition to conquer more and more land for himself and not for Dolhr, like Michalis. Not a sniveling weak-willed coward, like Ludwik.

The doors to the throne room opened. Volzhin opened his eyes. He looked down at the two individuals that entered, expecting a report of the end of the Archanean League. Straightening up with his goblet still in his hand, he blinked several times as he looked at the two. Suddenly, confusion gripped him.

"Who are you?" He questioned, not recognizing the man and woman… and then he noticed that they wore the robes of mages. That was odd, considering that he should have been the only trained wielder of magic stationed here. He looked at them again, and then realization dawned on him.

The woman's robes were so clearly Archanean, and the man's were nothing like Volzhin's Dolhrian robes. A brief look of irritation was on his face as they approached.

"You have no business on that throne any longer." Linde said, "I only ever knew of one man who deserved to sit on it, and you're not half of who he was."

"Archanean League." Volzhin said as he rose, slowly, from the comfort of the throne. He took one last sip from his goblet, leaning back and letting every last drop fall into his mouth, and then tossed the goblet to the side. The goblet of the king spun away, and then the golden jeweled goblet shattered into pieces upon one of the pillars. Linde recognized what he had drank out of and her eyes widened, to her, the shards of the holy goblet of the king seemed to fall upon the ground in slow motion. Volzhin walked forward from the throne, coming to the head of the holy steps. "Pawns of Nyna. Enemies of the Dolhr Empire. I see you've come to take the so called Holy throne from the true masters of this world."

"We came for the sake of princess Nyna, to rid Archanea of Dolhr." Merric said, taking Excalibur out. "The choice is yours, surrender or be killed."

Volzhin responded to the threat with a short laugh. "Me? _Surrender_? We of Dolhr are the only rulers worthy of the thrones of nations." He reached an open palm out, as if he was trying to catch something. "Human kings and queens enjoy pretending their claims to such seats of power… deluding themselves into thinking they are capable of ruling… yet being nothing but pathetic cowering worms. They all have _some_ skill, indeed, but they lack power." His open palm clenched into a fist, "The power necessary to rule, it is held by the Manaketes of Dolhr… no, it is held by the Emperor, the Shadow Dragon, Medeus! He will carve the petty notions of resistance and individualism out of the human race and lead us to the only true path."

"No." Linde said, utterly disgusted with what she just heard. "A life under Dolhr's rule is just slow suicide for everyone. The humans don't need a ruler like Medeus. We can handle ourselves."

"Futile." Volzhin rebuked. "Humans are short-sighted, petty, and violent creatures. They have proven with their wars, rebellions, and lawlessness that they can't govern themselves. One needs a strong hand when training such a rebellious species. A hand only the Manaketes possess. There is no future without Manakete rulers. Without them, we are but flesh to bake in the sun and bones to erode in the wind."

"And have _you_ ever tried to live without Manakete masters?" Merric asked.

"I needn't bother. I have seen enough humans meet a fate they would not have met had they simply acknowledged the true rulers of this world. I have come to understand the _futility_ of a continent ruled by humans. You saw the devastation of Aurelis. You saw the hands pressed onto the Archaneans. And… if you only saw what Master Morzas was doing to New Dolhr."

"New-" Merric couldn't believe what he just heard. "It's _Altea_, not New Dolhr." He seethed at the name. The hand on his tome tightened in anger.

"Not anymore." Volzhin countered, amused at how the name agitated Merric so. "The world is changing. The world you knew… it's nothing but an illusion now. Chains your very mind binds you with. The only future is with Dolhr."

"The only future…" Linde brought her Aura tome out. "If the only future is a continent under Medeus' rule, then the League will fight its hardest to deny that future."

Volzhin narrowed his eyes. "A child with but a single tome dares oppose the hands of fate? Even Master Xemcel would find _that_ amusing." He descended down a single step, then reached his hand out. His fingers quivered. He smiled as they trembled violently, and then his entire hand… burst into flame. He held his hand above his head, feeling the burning rush of power, but did not feel any heat at the bright red flames as the sparks burned around his fingers. He looked down at the two. "Blind fools… in your last breath, realize the foolishness of daring to defy Dolhr-" he swung his arm, and the flame in his hand disappeared, but the ground beneath Merric and Linde began to heat up. "-and begone."

* * *

><p>Heimler thrust his lance, drew his lance back, and thrust again. He did it over and over, coming at his enemy looking as though he must have been wielding three lances all at once. Wolf side-stepped, dodged, and rolled away from every attack Heimler threw at him. Yet when Wolf tried to attack, Heimler was ready to block, Wolf's sword couldn't cut through Heimler's lance.<p>

They were both elites of their respective sides. Yet neither truly acknowledged the other's skill. Both confident that their respective side would be the victor today, and they would see the other bleeding his life out onto the marble floor within the next few minutes. Only one of them could be right.

The Dolhrian moved forward on his steed, attempting to trample Wolf underfoot. Wolf dodged to the side, letting Heimler continue past him, and then took his bow out. Deftly placing a single arrow on the string, he let it fly just as Heimler was turning around.

Simply swinging his lance, Heimler knocked the arrow out of the air. He charged again, holding his lance low, hoping to skewer Wolf straight through the gut. Wolf fired another arrow, then rolled away.

The arrow pierced through the air and flew past Heimler's head, missing him by near centimeters. It missed… the Aurelian with perfect aim… missed, but hitting the Dolhrian had never been Wolf's goal. Heimler wasted a precious second moving a hand up to his face to see if he had been cut by the edge of the arrowhead, and Wolf took advantage of that one second. He took out a trio of arrows, and when Heimler turned back to the Aurelian, three arrows were flying at him.

He spun his lance, knocking two of the arrows away, but the third passed his defense. In a split-second, Heimler leaned over, letting the arrow pierce painfully into his left shoulder. A small grunt was the extent of his recognition of the pain. He was now wounded, but it hadn't been the killing blow it would have been had he of let it sink into his head rather then his shoulder.

Without hesitation, Heimler reached to the arrow and tore it out, he didn't grimace, didn't as much as flinch as he ripped it out of his flesh and tossed it to the floor. Blood trickled from his wound, but no pain was on his face. There wasn't even the slightest hint of any emotion on his face, but inwardly, he admitted that this Aurelian was a more capable adversary then he initially anticipated.

Heimler charged again, slightly more cautiously this time. He left no weaknesses or openings in his defense, and came upon Wolf. Wolf moved to the side, evading the lance thrust, but was caught on the weapon as Heimler swung it.

No injuries. Though the light armor on Wolf's chest now had a notable scratch mark on it, and Wolf's breath had briefly left him in his light surprise at the hit. It was more then most managed against Wolf.

Wolf took his bow out again, Heimler approached as another trio of arrows flew at him. They all moved past him, and this time he did not pause, but continued to move, knowing that he hadn't been injured. He expected his enemy to have been betting on him wasting a second again.

He was wrong. _Fatally_ wrong.

As Heimler charged, Wolf took his sword out and lunged. The movement was not what Heimler expected, and he was caught off guard. He hesitated for a fraction of a fraction of a second, and that was all it took.

Wolf jumped up, and stabbed his sword straight into Heimler's chest. Immediately afterwards he knocked the lance from Heimler's hand and jumped back. Heimler sat in the saddle, stunned, staring at the sword stabbed into him. Wolf took out his bow and fired two arrows, one into Heimler's left shoulder, and one into Heimler's gut.

In one crushing swoop, Heimler found that his chances for victory had been extinguished. With a sword and two arrows sticking into him, and most likely having several vital organs pierced, he knew his life was rapidly fading.

"My death… is… inconsequential." Heimler said, coughing briefly. He stared at Wolf with cold eyes, not asking for mercy or pity. In someway, despite the condition he was in, it was _he_ who seemed to pity Wolf. "My masters… will build a new order, for which there will be no place for you. Your… victories are… fleeting…"

He slid to the left, falling off of his saddle, landing hard on the ground. Lacking the strength to rise, he concentrated on the sound of footsteps approaching. Raising his eyes up, he saw Wolf above him. "You are doomed… Aurelian, Wolf."

Wolf's hand grabbed his sword. "You chose the wrong side, Dolhrian. Your masters used and then tossed you aside. Now you die, you pathetic pawn to the Manaketes."

"Ha…" Heimler looked as Wolf's hands tightened around his sword. "I look forward to seeing… who chose… the wrong master…"

Wolf pulled the sword out, now coated with blood. Heimler gasped, convulsed in pain for a moment, then relaxed on the ground, eventually becoming still and lifeless. The man regarded as Dolhr's greatest loyalist was dead, some of his viscera hanging out of the wound in his chest. Yet Wolf knew full well that this man's death alone would have no real effect on Dolhr's military strength or moral. With a small 'humph', Wolf emotionlessly cleaned a few innards off his sword and sheathed it. He stood up, not feeling any sense of celebration at having won this duel, but instead turned around to get back to the rest of the battle.

* * *

><p>A fireball erupted from the ground, Merric and Linde jumped to the side, feeling the heat but being spared from the blaze thanks to their quick reaction.<p>

"Most would not have had the reflexes to avoid becoming ash right there." Volzhin commented, mildly impressed as he watched the fireball he conjured sail up into the air. It impacted the roof and exploded, seeming to shake the room and sending chunks of the expensive metal falling to the floor.

The air around him distorted. Volzhin looked as blades of air started to appear.

"Wind magic. How _quaint_." Volzhin smirked, he swung his arm again. Flame sprouted around him, the roaring fire dispersed the wind of Excalibur. He turned to Merric, "Against mindless barbarians that would be impressive. Against a servant of Dolhr such as myself…" He raised is head in an arrogant manner. Merric stood indignant at being mocked.

Volzhin disregarded Merric and turned to Linde, who was chanting in preparation of casting a spell. "What will you have, child? A Fire tome perhaps? Or maybe an ever so _powerful_ Thunder tome?" He mocked, and then Linde waved a hand to finish her spell.

A ring of energy appeared around Volzhin. He blinked, unsure of what he was seeing. He waved a hand, creating a precautionary barrier of flames around him. Then the blast of Aura hit him, it pierced his Bolganone barrier as if it wasn't even there and scorched his flesh.

He fell to his knees as the holy light departed, gasping from the suddenness of his pain.

Yet more important then his pain, was what had just hit him. "That was… _Aura_!" He forced himself back to his feet, "You… where did you get _that _tome?" His tone of voice was demanding and threatening, and it well disguised a small hint of intimidation at what he now unexpectedly faced.

Linde simply glared back at him, keeping her eyes on anything he was doing as she began to chant once more.

Volzhin narrowed his eyes. Then his anger and slight fear broke and gave way to amusement. He had been upset that he had misplaced the Thoron tome… and now a tome far more valuable and worthy had been brought to him. He smiled, raising his hand up, and began to conjure another fireball.

"Linde!" Merric yelled. Linde disengaged from her chant and noticed how oddly, warm, it was. Reflexively, she jumped to the side as another Bolganone flame rose up into the air from where she had just been. Linde turned to Merric and gave a simple nod of thanks for the warning, then turned back to Volzhin.

"That tome is too powerful to be in your hands." Volzhin said, starting to descend down the steps. "You shall surrender it to me. All the power in this world, it belongs to Dolhr. It needn't be desecrated in the hands of those fool enough to oppose the Empire."

The air distorted around Volzhin as he reached the base of the steps. He raised a hand, blocking the blades of Excalibur with a flame barrier as if it took all the effort of swatting a fly. He turned to Merric. "Your wind magic is inferior. You have no place here. Begone." He waved his hand, and the ground erupted again, Merric jumped away, Volzhin shook his head. "You annoying little fly… you will not stop me from seeing the power of Aura for myself. Stay in the corner, cowering in fear, for you _should_ fear."

"You want to see its power…" Linde said. Volzhin turned to her, his eyes widened in the realization that Linde had been preparing another casting of Aura as he spoke to the wind mage. Linde looked straight at him, "…let me show you… again." She waved her hand, and the ring of arcane energy appeared around Volzhin again.

He panicked, and tried to run, knowing that Bolganone could not protect him. His quick reflexes and quick movement availed him nothing, and the blast of Aura caught him. He groaned and fell to one knee, he turned to Linde and snarled at her, he was wounded, but remained sure of his victory, and then the air distorted around him. His eyes widened in alarm and he turned to Merric, and immediately tried to build his flame barrier.

The pain kept him from raising his arm fast enough. The wind blades of Excalibur appeared and converged on the unshielded Volzhin. They tore into him, gashing his gut, mutilating his chest, ripping his left arm open, and cleanly slicing his right arm off at the elbow. He gagged and wheezed and backed off. Breathing hard as he started to feel the agony of the sudden, grievous blows registering on him.

In a duel between mages, frequently one solid spell hitting the enemy could decide the outcome. Volzhin had gone from being in command to having so clearly lost so quickly, it took him several seconds to realize it.

"You lose." Merric chimed, almost cheerful sounding. Volzhin clutched at the stump his right arm ended at, he growled at them as his blood trickled down his body and onto the ground. He knew Merric was right about that, but…

* * *

><p>The last Dolhrian soldier's life was rapidly dwindling. He had been trying to crawl away, but now his limbs lost their strength, and his head slowly fell onto the ground. As the spark of his life faded and disappeared, Navarre hovered over him, Killing Edge in hand. The cold blade had slashed this final enemy so quickly, that no blood had fallen on it.<p>

"Good." Marth said, satisfied that this final wave of defenders was gone. "Move to the throne room." He ordered, he moved forward, followed by the rest of the League. Wolf had re-joined them to Roshea's relief, having done his part to kill some of the last Dolhrian defenders with his aim. Roshea had stayed right by Wolf for the rest of the encounter, defending the older Aurelian in a way that almost seemed protective.

The League marched forward and Jagen opened the doors for the prince. Marth expected one final battle against Dolhrian forces that would end this… unexpectedly grueling liberation of the holy palace. Instead…

"Merric, Linde!" Marth's eyes widened in recognition at the two. He ran up to them, followed closely by Jagen and Hardin. "What are you two-" he stopped as he noticed a third figure in the throne room. One that had been viciously brutalized, and it was clear that he was on the verge of death.

"You defeated their commander." Marth said in surprise. He looked at the two, he could have been angry that they entered the throne room when an encounter was still going on outside the doors, an encounter where the two _might_ have been essential. Yet the dawning realization that the goal to liberate Archanea had been reached dissolved his frustration. He walked forward, keeping his Rapier out just in case, and looked at the enemy commander. "You've lost."

"This time… Dolhr… did." Volzhin answered. "Yet this… means… nothing, spawn of Anri."

"It means you lost." Hardin said, coming up behind him. He postured somewhat arrogantly. "Your kind will _always_ lose."

Volzhin made a wheezing laugh, then his body lurched. "Your victories… mean nothing… soon… Dolhr shall… swarm the land… there will be… no escape…" He groaned, and fell to his knees.

"We're not planning on running or escaping." Marth responded. "We will meet them, and we will defeat them. We will achieve a future where we can prosper."

Volzhin grunted, looking up at Marth with an expression that seemed almost mocking. "In time… all, in time… you will see… the futility… of wishing for a… future… without Dolhr…" He coughed out some blood, and trained his weakening eyes on Marth. "_Your_ future… is to writhe in agony… and then… die…" he tried to stand up, trembling in pain. His legs quickly buckled as he tried to rise, and he fell down. He reached a hand out, looking as though he was about to try and crawl away, but where could he go? He was now surrounded by the League, all of which would be perfectly capable of, and willing to, kill him. He looked up at Marth, Volzhin's expression was mocking, and whatever plane of existence would witness them meet again would undoubtedly see Volzhin having the last laugh. He rested his head on the ground and released the tension in his body, expiring in a pool of his own blood. His end was far more peaceful and painless then the ends he and his master had given to so many Archaneans.

"The palace is free." Marth said. He looked over his shoulder, "Send a messenger to the gates, see too it that Nyna is escorted safely into the throne room."

* * *

><p>Nyna took in a deep breath. She had been disturbed by the sight of so many dead throughout the palace. She was constantly reminding herself that the corpses belonged to the Dolhrians, the murderous invaders. Her walk had been slow, looking at the walls, floors, ceilings, pillars, anything and everything she saw seemed to beckon her with a memory. Some memories happy, some heartwarming, some somber… and some seemed to simply mock her.<p>

She reached the throne room, taking another deep breath, she opened the doors into what had been her father and mother's domain. Marth, his bodyguard Jagen, along with Hardin and Caeda, were in the room. There was also… Nyna had to blink several times to assure herself it wasn't some kind of psychological afterimage… she saw Bishop Boah.

Paying no mind to him for now and focusing on her duties first and foremost, she walked ahead. She came to the steps that led up to the throne and turned around. "Marth, Hardin. You have done a great thing today. Not just for me, but for all of the holy kingdom of Archanea. I hope this might set the foundation for a formal alliance between our nations when this war is over."

Marth nodded. "It wasn't just us, Nyna. Dolhr was more skilled then anyone we've fought before, and the entire League gave it their all. There's not a soldier that didn't fight tooth and nail today."

"I don't doubt that." Nyna responded, "Yet I'm certain that future generations will sing the songs of Marth and Hardin above all others." She closed her eyes, imagining that this would be remembered as a day of joyous celebration for all of Archanea. It would be a day that would always be a little sour to her. So much that once belonged to her had been taken back today. Yet so much she would never have again. She sighed.

"The Regalia of Archanea." Nyna said, changing the subject. "Sacred weapons that were used in the ancient war against Medeus thousands of years ago. They had been kept here, what became of them when Dolhr took us over?"

"Princess Nyna." Boah spoke, Nyna turned to the Bishop, her caretaker. The man was like a second father, and with her father dead, she imagined that Boah's presence would become that much more meaningful to her. There was an exchange of expressions, the two nonverbally told each other how relieved they were to see each other, but the words of the Bishop were entirely dutiful. "I am sorry to say, Mercurius and Gradivus are both missing. The enemy made off with them. When, exactly, they did so, it cannot be said. Parthia, however, remains."

Nyna nodded. "Marth, when you receive the bow, Parthia, give it to whomever you see fit to use it. It is a bow of no small power, it and its arrows have both been enchanted by the gods. I implore you to think carefully, it alone may be what will turn lunacy into inspiring success."

Marth nodded. The conversation quickly dwindled down afterwards. Marth and Hardin both left, leaving Nyna alone with Boah and Caeda. She sighed, looking up at the throne. It belonged to her now, didn't it? She thought about it for a moment, but decided against sitting in it for now. She moved to Caeda.

"Caeda, that last dream you had…" she said as she neared the Talys princess. Caeda turned to her quizzically, wondering why Nyna would choice a celebratory moment to remind her of her nightmares. "The place you saw in your dream… I believe it was the Archanean Palace, which we just liberated."

Caeda's eyes widened as she gasped, she took a fast step forward and placed a hand on Nyna's shoulder. "H-here… that mage I saw, that-" Her head snapped in the direction of the throne. It… it matched perfectly with what she had seen in her dream, and it had been a practitioner of magic on the throne. She was trembling, fearful despite the danger already being over. It was clear that her dream hadn't even occurred to her as they had fought through the palace. "B-but… then-"

"Right before the League charged into the palace, I asked Linde to find the commander and kill him before Marth entered. She likely brought Merric with her to do it."

"I…" Caeda's trembling hand came off Nyna's shoulder. "I… I didn't realize the danger Marth was in. How could I just…" It seemed as though Caeda's simple breathing stopped right there, her hands came close to her face. She clenched her eyes shut…

"Don't worry." Nyna assured Caeda, "The potential danger was averted. We can continue on."

Y…yes." Caeda said, she was clearly disgusted with herself to not realize that the palace was the place from her dream, yet she managed a weak smile. Marth _was_ safe, and that would be enough for now.

After her initial shock went away, she started to look more sullen then anything else. "It's only a matter of time until the next dream comes."

Nyna fell silent. Caeda's hand went up and covered her eyes as her head dipped down. Nyna stepped forward and placed her hands on Caeda's shoulders. "Why don't you… find Marth, Caeda? I'm sorry, but, as the princess of Archanea, I have duties I need to see to immediately."

Caeda's hand fell from her face, her eyes looked like they were watering. Nyna tried to empathize with Caeda, but couldn't understand what it had to be like, for the fates to see fit to give her such… painful visions of the future. After a few seconds Caeda nodded, walking out of the room.

Nyna sighed. Caeda was a lot stronger then her naïve, almost childish personality would lead one to believe, but these visions still had her at the breaking point. It was fortunate that Caeda's place in the army was not absolutely integral. Perhaps integral to Marth but…

"Princess Nyna." Boah spoke. Drawing Nyna's attention and reminding her of the duties she had to see to. "The army of Archanea is in tatters, and there are few survivors after what Dolhr did to us. Many of the survivors, few in number though they are, are here, and I imagine they would be anxious to meet the princess they longed for the return of."

Nyna nodded, adopting the stern, yet slightly forlorn face she would wear for official business matters. "Please send for them, Boah."

Midia might have wept for joy as she saw the regally dressed woman before her. Her princess, the woman she swore absolute loyalty to, was here. Returned to lead Archanea. To lead the army against Dolhr. As she approached Nyna, she, and her fellow knights, all fell to one knee. She, Tomas, Dolph, and Macellan.

"Princess Nyna. We have long awaited your return." Midia spoke, "Hope had seemed to wane for so long. You were our world, life, and soul, our reason for never truly submitting to Dolhr."

"Knights of Archanea." Nyna looked over them, discomforted at their small numbers, but happy that they had not faltered in their duty. "You have endured much in my absence. I am sorry I could not have been there to aid you during those difficult times."

"Whatever you did was what was essential, princess. You cannot be faulted." Midia said, "Now you are returned to us. Archanea will see nothing but prosperous days from this day forth, and we will be beside you the whole time, aiding you with all of our being."

"With all your heart, I'm sure you will." Nyna said, "Yet before we speak of Archanea, we must speak of this war. The Archanean League fights for the sake of the entirety of the continent. Nothing can be called the business of any single country anymore." Midia subtly flinched as Nyna echoed what Sedgar had said to her earlier. "I implore you, all of you, fight for the Archanean League, alongside Altea and Aurelis, fight to remove Dolhr from its position of power, for the sake of all the continent."

"Yes, princess." Midia answered. "With you as the League's supreme commander, Archanea will champion your cause and crush Dolhr, and let it never rise again."

"Supreme-" Nyna was shocked by Midia's words, then sighed. "Midia, and all of you, there is something you need to understand." The heads of the four knights raised quizzically. "When on the field of battle, Marth of Altea and Hardin of Aurelis are the commanders, not me. You do what they order you to do. If an order of mine contradicts theirs, you follow their order, not mine, unless I see fit as to make an exception."

"I…" Midia took the princess' words in and nodded, slowly. In no way would she look forward to looking at anyone besides Nyna as her absolute superior, but she obeyed. "Until this war is over, I shall listen to prince Marth and prince Hardin in all matters. Even if… it conflicts with what you say."

"Good. Thank you." Nyna said, "You may rise." The four knights rose, Nyna looked over them. "You are dismissed for now. As new members of the League, it is prudent that you associate yourself with the other soldiers and get to know them. I've come to understand that the soldiers must at least be aware of each other's capabilities."

Midia blinked, not sighing in front of her princess, but nonetheless obeying Nyna's order. She'd have rather the Archanean knights keep to themselves, but she led the other knights out of the room, careful to not look like she was storming out. Somewhere on her inside, she moaned at the idea of talking to the other soldiers.

* * *

><p>"I saw you fighting today." Linde said, enjoying the moment with Merric and Roshea that she had asked for just hours earlier. As she had entered the throne room of Archanea during the battle, she worried that Roshea might be critically injured in that last skirmish outside the throne room. As she fought the Dolhrian in the throne room, she worried that she might have dragged Merric to his death. Now she sat in between the two at a table in a side room. "You were… amazing, I saw you fight at the village, but I didn't think you were so… so good."<p>

Her words were directed at Roshea, and the boy blushed at the compliment. Merric leaned forward so he could see Roshea and gave him a little teasing look.

"He's adorable." Merric said light-heartedly as the Aurelian's embarrassment. Roshea shot the Altean mage a glare with no malice in it. Merric just smiled smugly at the expression and shrugged.

"I was… trying to get Wolf out of my head." Roshea said, looking away from Merric and at the white fabric that covered the table he was sitting at. "He could have been in danger fighting… that guy, but I am a knight. I tried to make sure that all I saw was the enemy in front of me and just… believe in Wolf."

Linde smiled, and patted him on the head as a form of endearment. Roshea looked at her, not liking being patted like some kind of pet, but too flustered by her touch to vocally protest.

"You're a loyal little brother. Wolf and the others should be glad to have someone like you worrying about them." Linde said, with a subtle touch of envy in her voice.

"Wolf hates it when people worry about him." Roshea noted, "He'll stop at nothing to help me, but he always says that me worrying about him is 'unnecessary'. He says that he can handle himself, no matter the situation."

Merric shrugged. "That sounds like a normal reaction for the 'older' sibling to have. Sounds like he goes out of his way to help you a lot."

Roshea looked flustered, again. "You wouldn't… oh, you wouldn't believe how often Wolf, Sedgar, and Vyland put an operation of the Aurelian resistance at risk because they just _thought_ I was in danger." He made a deep, exaggerated sigh. His thoughts trailing to how often those three had departed from their proper duties in the fear that he was in danger. How often had they done that? How often had he _really_ been in danger? It seemed that only when Coyote was present was there no chance of them improvising anything.

Linde giggled at how Roshea seemed embarrassed at Wolf, Sedgar, and Vyland's protectiveness. Roshea's 'brothers' somewhat reminded Linde of her own father. "Guess you mean a lot to them."

"I guess so." Roshea leaned his head back and sighed. He wondered how they'd respond to him spending a little time with Merric and Linde like this. Roshea always spent his free time either alone or with his 'brothers'. They always indulged him on just about any matter. Roshea knew that he was likely the only person who could confide in Wolf. The only person who could confide in Wolf and for the Aurelian elite to not offer harsh criticism.

He turned to Linde, he wondered what Vyland, Sedgar, and Wolf would think of her. He stared at her without knowing, almost losing himself in her eyes. He grew nervous as he reminded himself that Wolf always said that a knight is a stoic figure, not acting on emotions. Linde was oblivious to Roshea's fast growing attraction, and turned to Merric. She started to talk to him about something or other, Roshea wasn't completely paying attention, and it took Linde several tries to get his attention when she started talking to him again.

"S-sorry, Linde." He shook his head, freeing himself from his stupor and focusing on her. "You were, um, asking something?"

"Just a quick question." Linde said, sounding like she had asked the question several times over, and she very well might have. "Do you have anyone you could consider a rival?"

"A rival?" Roshea stopped and thought for a moment, thinking of everyone, ally and enemy, that might qualify, but shook his head. "I've never found someone like that. The closest would be looking at Wolf, Sedgar, and Vyland as people I want to be _like_ when it comes to fighting."

"In Khadein, I had a rival." Merric said. Thinking back to the man. He had blonde hair like Merric, but much longer. Skilled, but a little cold, he only ever listened to his and Merric's teacher, Wendell. "My teacher introduced him to me, said that if I had someone to compare myself to, I'll have more of a drive to better myself. Never wanted to be left in the dust by him, so he sorta inspired me to keep on advancing myself as fast as I could. In the end, our teacher, Wendell, named me the successor of the Excalibur tome, and not him. He actually seemed rather upset about that." Merric leaned his head back and thought. "Khadein used to be a great place, and it was open to all nations except Dolhr. It had the greatest instructors and teachers, and they worked the desert to look like we lived in a treasure chest. Of course, that was all before Gharnef stole Imhullu."

Linde listened, and nodded. "The only teacher and instructor I ever had was my father. I… never had any complaints." She dipped her head down at the white fabric of the table. Roshea looked at her sympathetically. He wanted to comfort her, but having never lost someone close to him, he had no idea what to say. She tapped a finger on the table. "I was only in Khadein once, when my father died. There didn't seem to be a single soul in it. I never saw the nation the way it should be."

Merric nodded. He had almost been caught up in the crisis Khadein went through, but had left shortly before to try and find Marth. He ended up scouring the continent for two years, and in the end, it was effectively Marth who found Merric. "If you only saw Khadein at its height."

Linde sighed. "I suppose I do wish I could have seen father's world." She turned to Merric. "Can you… tell me what it was like? I'd like to have a hand in rebuilding it someday."

The Altean nodded. "Sure. Ask me anything you want about Khadein."

* * *

><p>Tomas wandered around the palace. In many ways, visiting his old haunts, particularly the room that housed the archery targets, was a bigger priority to him then getting to know the other League soldiers. Another priority for him was… stretching. He spent the minutes stretching his body and loosening the muscles, letting the muscles that had suffered from inside the cramped cell finally feel some relief.<p>

He continued to wander around… and then came across some other League soldiers. He sighed, hoping he could walk past them without them noticing, and then he noticed they were both archers like him. He shrugged, he and Jeorge were undoubtedly the best of the League archers, these two were just…

He blinked as he noticed them. A boy and a girl, they both had the face of Alteans. Yet their ethnicity wasn't of any interest to him, he was looking straight at the girl. His eyes practically popped out of his head as he saw the female archer from the side. He was dead certain that he had never seen any Archanean woman like this. He felt his heart quicken its pace whilst simultaneously get stolen from him.

The girl seemed to be talking with her friend, the boy was teaching her something about firing arrows. He sounded like he was parroting somebody else's words, but his voice lacked confidence and he seemed to stutter occasionally. Tomas was sure he could impart the words in a way that they would actually stick. He walked forward, planning to help the girl, the… absolutely stunning girl.

"One side." Tomas stepped in and arrogantly shoved Gordin to the side. He turned to Norne and put an arm around her hip. "So… trying to learn how to fire your arrows better? You certainly came to the right-"

"Let go of me!" Norne snapped, pushing Tomas away and rushing to Gordin, who had fallen to the ground when Tomas pushed him. "Gordin, are you okay?"

"I… think so." Gordin got up, maybe a small bruise somewhere, but unharmed. He shook his head to rid himself of his sudden dizziness. Norne turned and glared at Tomas, and started to lead Gordin away.

"Pro-tip." Tomas said as he began to follow the two. "Lose the pipsqueak. There are better archers to buddy up with."

"Go _away_." Norne ordered, speaking with a very harsh tone through clenched teeth. "Gordin's trying to teach me something."

"Oh, anything he knows, I can explain better." Tomas responded, not intimidated by Norne's clear impatience with him. _So_ much better. Dump 'em. If you want a teacher, look no further then this Archanean archer."

Norne turned and glared at Tomas. Gordin would have probably frozen if Norne ever looked at him like that, but Tomas simply smiled back.

"Oh, feisty. Let's see how long that lasts." Tomas chuckled, regarding her like some kind of beat he might tame. "You'll come around. There's only one good teacher of archery in this room."

"Right, and his name is Gordin." Norne answered, starting to hold Gordin close to her protectively as they walked. It almost looked like she was passionately embracing him.

"Come on, don't tell me you actually think he _has_ any merits. You want skill, and someone actually good at teaching, you come talk to me."

"Will you go awa-" Norne blinked, then smiled almost devilishly. Tomas' smile dropped, he looked slightly worried at the expression. "If you think you're so much better, let's see how you stack up against Gordin in an archery contest."

"Norne, what are you-" Gordin asked with a panicked tone, but Tomas started talking again.

"I love proving that I'm better then shrimps. You have got yourself a little deal." Tomas said with a confident smirk. "Follow me to the training area. You'll see who the better archer is, and who the better teacher will be. I look forward to spending my time with you."

He practically skipped off, Gordin looked at Norne with a look of worry. "W-what did you just do?" He looked at Tomas as the Archanean moved away, maybe expecting Gordin to follow, or maybe expecting Gordin to chicken out.

Norne put her hand on Gordin's shoulder as a soothing gesture. "Don't worry, Gordin. You'll beat him easy. I wouldn't have done that if I thought you could possibly lose. Just go in calmly, and you'll win easy."

"I… well, okay." Gordin said, knowing he couldn't really back down now that Norne made the challenge for him. "I'll try."

"You'll win." Norne reassured, "Now come on, let's go."

* * *

><p>Midia walked through the palace, Dolph and Macellan behind her. She was mildly surprised that she got along quite well with many of the League soldiers. The Altean cavaliers, the Talys mercenaries, they were far more pleasant then she imagined they'd be.<p>

Dolph and Macellan also got along well with many of the League soldiers on their first impression. They had even spoken to Jeorge, a fellow Archanean, and he spoke well of the many soldiers in the League. Perhaps, Midia supposed, this not being a strictly Archanean affair wouldn't be so bad. Yet she was far from ready to say that she approved of the presence of these unfamiliar soldiers.

She heard unfamiliar footsteps, and again readied herself to greet another soldier. She took a deep breath, then turned to the direction the footsteps were coming from. She saw a man wearing a turban and clothed in white fabric.

"Sir, I am Midia, a Paladin in service to Archanea, and princess Nyna. I am a new League soldier, I hope we can aid each other well in the coming battles."

The man looked at her sternly, then nodded. "I am Hardin, prince of Aurelis, one of the commanders of this army."

"Ah…!" Midia took a nervous step back as Dolph and Macellan flinched. "Y-you… are the one who protected princess Nyna when she had to flee the nation." She backed away further. "For that, all of Archanea is in your debt, prince Hardin." That sentence was somewhat begrudging, Midia never wanted to think of Archanea as owing another land anything, but kept the subtle tone out of her voice.

"I had no interest in putting Archanea into my debt." Hardin said, "The only thing I was ever interested in was doing the right thing. The right thing was to help Nyna."

"Y-yes, of course." Midia extended a hand, Hardin stared at the gesture at first, almost as if the hand offended Hardin and yet understood that it wasn't intentional offense. He eventually accepted Midia's hand with his own. Midia was sure that the Archaneans could have protected Nyna better then Hardin, but still felt indebted to him. "What are you doing right now, prince Hardin?"

"Right now, we're doing clean-up." Hardin said, looking over his shoulder at the Dolhrian corpses everywhere. Midia looked over all the corpses, then gasped.

"T-that…" she recognized the same Dolhrian she had tried to attack earlier. "The same one who defeated me the day the palace fell. Who-"

"One of my men, Wolf, defeated him in single combat." Hardin said, "Wolf came back with only a single scratch on his thin chest plate."

Midia sulked, feeling inadequate. This… Wolf, defeated Heimler single handedly when she and Astram had completely failed to do it banded together. Then it occurred her, with the palace back in Archanean hands, Astram had no reason to serve Dolhr anymore. She had to find her love, quickly.

Hardin looked like he was about to say something further, but a voice interrupted him. "Prince Hardin!"

Hardin turned to see a messenger, Julian, approaching. Hardin gave his attention to the thief turned ally. "Is there something that concerns me, Julian? If not-"

"Prince Marth, princess Nyna, and the other commanders request your presence in the throne room." He cut Hardin off. "They're deciding where to do next."

"Of course. I understand. All the leaders of this army must be present." He turned to Midia and the two armored Archanean knights. "Excuse me." He walked away. Julian left to return to Lena. Midia saw Julian move to a red haired woman who seemed completely exhausted.

"An admirable figure." Macellan said, speaking of Hardin, then added "…perhaps." with a hint of caution and skepticism in his voice.

"They did shelter princess Nyna but… Aurelis couldn't repel the Dolhr Alliance. They aren't truly capable of protecting her like Archanean knights." Midia said, looking into the palm of the hand that had shaken Hardin's. She had a respect for Hardin, but as she thought about it, her opinion seemed to completely sour. "I don't think… I want him associating himself with the princess."

* * *

><p>The throne room saw Marth, Hardin, Nyna, Caeda, Minerva, Malledus, and Boah in it. Malledus looked around and made note of Boah. He made a private, mental witticism about the growing number of commanders the army seemed to have.<p>

"The palace is free." Nyna commented, looking at the pillars of the throne room. She seemed somehow content, but at the same time, not truly content. She turned back to those gathered. "As is much of Archanea, but Dolhr has not yet completely left the nation of Archanea. As word spreads through the nation, reports are coming in that one formidable pocket of resistance remains. A… turncoat is among this last resistance."

A few glances were made among the people in the room.

"By turncoat, you mean a traitor." Minerva said, she held her axe, irritated at no one else taking immediate action at the news of this final pocket. "Fine, that's not a problem. We head out and kill the Dolhrians, and the head of your traitor can be an example for the rest-"

"_Minerva_!" Nyna called, making the Macedonian princess flinch. "The… traitor, Horace, was one of the greatest knights Archanea has ever known in its long history. Horace was a shining example for the rest of the knightly order. He was skilled, talented, a born leader, had people skills, was encouraging, and judged fairly. When Dolhr came, he was one of our most valiant defenders. He was always saying 'We have to stop Dolhr. We have to protect the royal family. We have to save Archanea.'. It would be no lie to say that the enemy was repelled time and time again simply because of his encouragement and his tactics. Then, without warning, he defected. I still don't understand why. I… want to talk to him, hear what he has to say. Hear his reasons for what he did."

A long silence fell upon those in the throne room. Marth spoke up, "We find this last pocket of resistance, kill the Dolhrians and… see if Horace is willing to talk. That is what you want us to do?"

"Yes." Nyna nodded. "Please. It's only a few hours march from the palace."

"We will go." Marth answered. "If there isn't any problems, we'll begin marching in the morning."

"Thank you." Nyna said. "I believe… it's time I went to sleep. Though I have not taken part in any fighting today, today has been emotionally… difficult, for me. I leave all tactics to you, Marth, Hardin." She walked out, leaving the princes, princesses, and Malledus behind her. Bishop Boah followed her out.

With a map out, one with the location of the last piece of Dolhrian resistance marked on it. Marth and Hardin, along with Caeda, Minerva, and Malledus, began to debate strategy.

* * *

><p>To her surprise, Nyna found that her room had been left fairly untouched. To her tired mind, it seemed lightly taunting that something so relatively unimportant had not changed, when so many important things had. Trying to shut those thoughts out of her exhausted head, she moved to her bed and fell onto it. She was asleep before the idea of pulling the covers over her occurred to her.<p>

Boah entered shortly after Nyna had fallen asleep. He was disappointed that he hadn't gotten the chance to really talk to her today, but he could just as well do that in the morning. Nyna had returned, alive and well, and had brought formidable allies. Boah imagined that the continent was about to change, drastically, for the better. Perhaps, over the rest of the war, he could think about the future of Archanea. Yet for now, he contented himself with the knowledge that the princess had returned.

He looked at Nyna, and he knew that she deserved to rest. She had returned to Archanea to see it as a husk of what she remembered. She deserved her rest after that. He hoped, when it was all said and done, she, and the people of Archanea, could put the atrocities behind them and hope in a better future.

Perhaps she was already hoping.

"Princess Nyna, child, what is it you dream of?" Boah asked, not expecting an answer. He looked at the princess, and saw a peculiarly content and peaceful smile on Nyna's face. He wondered what dream would make the princess, who had likely endured much emotional turmoil today, smile like that.

_In her dream, Nyna was dancing. Her hands were strongly held in the grip of a blonde-haired man. They moved together, freely, happily, in a world that seemed to belong to just the two of them._

_It wasn't some naïve, girlish fantasy of some dream boy. The person Nyna danced with as if they were in a ballroom was most certainly a person who existed in reality. There wasn't a quality about him, in look or personality that Nyna's mind hadn't perfectly replicated for this dream. His face was stoic, but it seemed to break into warmth with Nyna._

_The man held Nyna's hands in a manner that seemed almost protective as they continued their dance. They would dance, and stay together, and just… spend time with each other, until Nyna awoke again to a reality that seemed somber without this man right beside her._

_She dreamed the same thing, almost every night. These dreams, they comforted her so much, gave her so much courage in the waking world. Even though she knew they were just dreams, she still rested her chin on the man's shoulder. She stopped dancing and embraced him, there was… something about him, something she wanted to always be around._

_They now sat in the grass, her head in his lap. The man's finger curled around some of Nyna's blonde hair. The wind tossed petals through the air, the man turned and plucked an Archanean Lily from the grass and handed it to her. She accepted it, smelling the scent of the flower in a way that seemed uncharacteristically innocent. She loved this man in black cloth, and hated being apart from him. He felt the same way about her. Yet in the real world, the waking world, they were separated. Separated by a gap as large as a Dolhrian Manakete's ego. Nyna desperately wished that somehow, someway, she could be with the man. Forever._

_The Archanean nobility would have undoubtedly scoffed at him. He was no noble, merely a knight, his 'place' was on the battlefield, not in a princess' arms. They would notice his common appearance, his lack of understanding of the court, his lack of grace inherit to the nobility. They would notice countless things that would make him unfit to be the subject of Nyna's adoration or love._

_They would also notice that he was Grustian._

* * *

><p><strong>And, Khozen survived the battle outside of the palace. He will be important later.<strong>

**Please review.**


	23. The Traitor Knight

**Much like Chapter 12 in the actual game, the enemies in 12x are listed as Grustian, but I'm regarding them as Dolhrian in this story. Partly because I established Dejanira, the chapter boss, as a Dolhrian long ago, and partly because of that Manakete in 12x. Am I the only one who thought it was kinda funny that the Manakete was listed as 'Grust'? The Manaketes in 17x were listed as Dolhrian despite everything else in that chapter being Grust.**

**Speaking of things I find amusing, the text opening of 12x notes how Nyna's knights were "calling for Horace's blood". That's an odd thing to say, considering that I always let every recruitable Archanean knight up to that point die (or not recruit them, in the case of Jeorge) so I could access 12x at all.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>Most of Archanea was now in wild celebration. They had served and endured in depraved conditions for Dolhr for far too long, but no longer. No Archanean wore the sackcloth of slavery any longer, nor did anyone take a forced, fearful oath of loyalty to Emperor Medeus. Such false oaths were revoked, and the yoke of slavery taken off their shoulders. The slave traders were scattered, powerless, and soon to be hunted down by authorities.<p>

Shouts erupted throughout the nation. The people either praised Nyna and her return, or they now fearlessly cursed Dolhr's name.

The morning sun rose, signaling the twilight of Dolhr's control of Archanea. The sun shone its brilliant light on the Archanean League as they left. The people who lived nearby were there at the gates to greet the League as they marched. At the sight of the army, the people unleashed a cheer that might have shaken the very heavens. They respectfully tossed the petals of Archanean Lilies at the feet of the League soldiers.

The people cheered for Marth and Hardin, but they cheered for Nyna the loudest.

Wolf looked up at the Archanean people as they were shouting and laughing over their freedom from Dolhr. To the people, it would be the single most happiest day of their lives. To Wolf, it was just irritatingly noisy.

_Coyote and his men will be spending no time in Archanea when this is all over. _He mused to himself. He would have preferred the more quiet celebration they would have had in Aurelis. A more simple, family-oriented celebration that he could spend with his brothers. Simpler, better, and more Aurelian.

Shaking his head, Wolf continued marching, crushing lily petals underfoot. He found the people to be annoying, and that they should simply save their cheer for when Dolhr was defeated. To him, this was premature and wasteful celebration.

It also irked him that Marth and Coyote seemed to be the only people not from Archanea that the people even bothered acknowledging. For one solid hour, the people seemed content to keep pace with Nyna and the Archanean knights and praise them, as if the soldiers of other lands hadn't applied themselves at all. Their cheer for Marth and Hardin seemed utterly token.

Midia held herself pridefully as her horse trotted forward. To Wolf, the way she was postured almost made it seem as though she believed that she was the one who secured the palace single-handedly. In reality, the Archanean… reinforcements, had applied themselves admirably, but their presence was ultimately negligible.

With a mute sigh, he turned to some of the other soldiers. Roshea was a little intimidated by the shouting. The little Aurelian was someone who pined for recognition, but such unconditional praise, even if only minimally directed at him, seemed to reveal a previously unseen timidity. He seemed to try and position himself in the march where he couldn't be easily seen.

Roshea was a confident person with bouts of uncertainty. Wolf turned to one of the soldiers in the League he had never spoken to, nor cared to speak to. Someone who was _always_ uncertain. Gordin. In contrast to Roshea, who seemed unsure of the situation, Gordin was terrified to have so many eyes on the League, and all but cowered behind Norne.

Shaking his head, Wolf returned his eyes to the front. It took about an hour, but eventually the crowd dissolved and left, letting the League continue on in silence. A silence that Wolf, and likely many others, considered bliss.

* * *

><p>"The coast is clear, Gordin." Norne said, getting her friend to come out from behind him. Gordin breathed a weak sigh of relief, Norne smiled at him as the two walked together. She didn't mind putting up with his timidity at all. Rather, she was proud to help him in situations like this. She was also proud of him regarding what happened in the archery training room of the Archanean Palace yesterday. Tomas was certainly good, better then Norne had given him credit for, but he was probably off sulking somewhere over how bad he had compared to Gordin.<p>

The Archanean had tried to compare himself to Norne after being beaten by Gordin, trying to save face by saying that he'd be a more confident teacher then Gordin. He lost rather badly to Norne as well. After that… Tomas just claimed he was going easy on both of them and left. It was only after that that Norne could finish hearing Gordin parrot Jeorge's words and apply the advice to her own archery.

Of course, Norne understood the _reason_ Tomas had butted in on what Gordin was trying to teach her. Yet she couldn't see herself spending intimate moments with a guy not only that nauseatingly arrogant, but also someone she could outshoot with her eyes closed.

"Hello there… Norne."

Norne closed her eyes. She recognized Tomas' voice coming from behind her. She made a mental comment of how you apparently can't speak or _think _of the devil. The Archanean she and Gordin had developed a quick dislike for came up behind them. Norne subtly moved a little closer to Gordin in case Tomas tried to force himself between the two. To her mild surprise, Tomas simply grabbed Norne by the shoulder and started walking beside her.

"You two have a good time yesterday?" He smiled as if he was their old chum, when he so clearly wasn't. "You know, not every archer would go easy on others just to let them feel better about themselves."

"I'd hope that most of them wouldn't make up lies to hide the fact that their skill didn't match their ego." Norne said, shaking Tomas' hand off her shoulder. "Go away. Last night we saw clear enough that we are _not_ going to be friends."

"Come on. You're not giving me a chance. Just spend some time with me, just you and me, you'll see that I'm-"

"Leave Norne alone." Gordin said with an uncharacteristically stern voice. He wasn't going to accept Norne being… harassed, like this. Tomas looked over at him.

"Oh, afraid to lose her, are we?" Tomas said with a smirk. "How's a twit like you going to make me leave her alone?"

"I…" Gordin's tone weakened. The odd burst of fierceness from Gordin was already fading against Tomas' relaxed voice, but Gordin still glared at the Archanean. He clenched his fists, something he rarely did, and held his ground.

Tomas shrugged at the display. "You're seriously under confident. Why don't you run along and buck up? Me and Norne here will-"

"Go away." Norne interrupted, shoving Tomas away. "Gordin is my friend, and I was assigned to him when this war just started and we were just fighting bandits. You aren't my friend, and you're not assigned to me. Go. _Away_."

Perhaps in an attempt to save face, Tomas smiled as if it was a joke. He opened his mouth to try and say something, but a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"You don't appear to be velcome here." Athena warned, clamping her hand down on Tomas' shoulder hard enough to generate a small pained grunt from the Archanean. Without waiting for any response from anyone, Athena proceeded to drag Tomas off over any protests he might have.

"I've only been thinking of Athena as a little pain lately." Norne said, turning to Gordin. The archer she was walking with was the same boy Athena had teased her over. She suddenly grew embarrassed to be near him, but did not distance herself. Instead, she just sighed in relief over the fact that Tomas was gone, for the moment. She looked up at the still rising sun. Athena would likely warn Tomas against approaching Norne again, but he'd still return. She reached an arm out and tugged Gordin to follow her. "Come on Gordin, we still have a few hours of marching left."

* * *

><p>Nyna continued to move alongside the others in the army without losing any speed. Yet she was not looking forward to what could end up happening. Horace… the man had attained knighthood years ago, and quickly established himself as one of the best alongside Astram, that man would be their enemy today. The lord of a land not too far away from the palace, he had always kept the needs of the nobility and the needs of the common people on even footing. Because of that, the people of Archanea loved him, while the nobility always nurtured a certain dislike for the man.<p>

Now he was a traitor. Nyna was… Nyna was sure he had a coherent reason for doing what he did. Yet a small part of her dreaded to hear Horace's reasoning, for fear that his reasons were just as shallow as nearly all of Archanea believed.

The official story was that Horace had feared for his life, and sold out Archanea to Dolhr for protection and money and luxury. Nyna was doubtful that that was the whole picture. The 'official' story was a rough coalition of hearsay amongst both the people and the knights, and Dolhr's official statement. She didn't expect much truth in anything Dolhr said, but a part of her was overwhelmed in fear for the possibility of Horace's words simply confirming Dolhr's statement.

She had taken the chance to explain her feelings on the matter to her knights. Tomas, Dolph, and Macellan hadn't said anything, but Nyna could tell that they were actually disgusted that she wanted to talk to Horace, or… have _someone_ talk to Horace. Jeorge and Midia, however, were much more willing to listen to whatever Horace might have to say.

She'd stay behind with a few guards and Boah when the fight began. All she could do was wait, and worry.

* * *

><p>Dejanira sat in the saddle of his horse. The Bloodcleaner felt a feeling he was not used to. Anxiety. Anxiousness. Maybe just a twinge of fear. Things that usually, only a Manakete could get out of him. He was actually sweating… something that had not happened since he had been in Dolhr. He looked around him, Dolhr soldiers were sparring with each other as training. It would be the last they would enjoy before the dawn of combat. Real combat.<p>

Dejanira had always enjoyed slaughtering the occasional resistance. It kept him and the other Dolhrians sharp, and it kept the Dolhr Empire feared. Yet these rebels, they were different. They were powerful, they were organized, they had paraded around the continent scoring victory after victory. Now the Archanean Palace had been torn from Dolhr's grip. Dejanira found himself having grown quite sick of this "Archanean League".

Yet if he was sick of the League and its progress, there was someone who was no doubt exhilarated by it. Dejanira saw Horace up ahead, he trotted his horse next to the traitor Archanean.

"Horace." He began, waiting until Horace turned to him before continuing. "As I'm sure you know, the palace has been freed by the army of that… _wench_." Dejanira's expression hardened. Volzhin, Heimler, and Master Khozen. likely all dead. He cared nothing for Volzhin and Heimler, always feeling that he was a better servant to the Manaketes, but the probable death of one of his masters was… harder to bear. "We should have never bothered with the Sable Order's pathetic plea. Better to have just chopped that woman into pieces and sprinkle her remains around the palace gates. Then we'd see how many resistances would sprout up."

There was a peculiar shift in Horace's face, and Dejanira didn't like it. He scowled at the man. "I'd advise you crush any thoughts of selling Dolhr out to fawn at your princess' feet. Need I remind you that treason will be responded to with something that _you_ would regard as worse then death?"

Horace's expression departed him. He looked straight at Dejanira with an even face. "Yes. I know the consequences. You've reminded me enough times."

"Good." Dejanira responded. Too much was about to happen for him to smile in satisfaction. "You're one of us now, and will remain one of us until you die. You're a traitor to Archanea, they would not accept you, even if you spoke to them. Now…" Dejanira looked around the immediate area he and Horace were at. Several units of Archanean soldiers were present, units that had followed Horace when he committed treason. Pleased to be able to see Archanean soldiers enthralled to Dolhr, he then turned to the distance, several vague dots were starting to come into view. "The League is approaching. Dolhr General Horace, I want every single enemy soldier gutted and then tossed into a trench. Don't disappoint me. I… _hate_ to be disappointed."

There was an ominous undertone to Dejanira's voice that made Horace's stomach twist. He nodded, marching forward with his men. Dejanira raised his lance as Horace walked away. He looked at the tip, shiny and pristine. Clean of blood, as expected considering the man's nickname and reputation, despite the weapon having being smothered in blood hundreds of time over.

An oddly chilly breeze swept past him. He fastened the lance to his back and rode in the direction of the nearby fortress. There was not enough manpower to hold the fort in the case of a siege, he'd have to fight them out here. If all went well, he would never have to face them himself. He could have Horace face them and… the Archanean's spirit and any potential defiance would be forever broken by what he would do.

And if Horace died, it was no great loss to him. Better that Horace die then have any chance to live.

"Lord Horace…" one of the Archanean soldiers began, "Orders? Do we rush?" He looked uncomfortable, looking at the approaching League soldiers, then back at Horace.

Horace was just satisfied that Archanea was back in Archanean hands. He could handle being called a traitor and a monster, he could die in peace if he knew Archanea was well on its way to recovery. The people could call him anything they wished as long as all went well for the nation. He turned to the soldier who had spoken to him. "I do not wish to complicate the charge of good people like that. We shall wait. No one attacks unless the enemy does first."

* * *

><p>The people of this small corner of Archanera, the only one not yet liberated from Dolhr, were either silently hoping, or earnestly praying, for one certain thing.<p>

It was not the idea of victory or liberation that consumed their minds. The question of an Archanean victory or a Dolhr victory wasn't what was important to them. They were praying and hoping for one thing. One singular thing that took precedence for each and every one of them. Horace's safety.

The man was considered to be one of the greatest traitors Archanea had ever known. He was considered an inhumane turncoat, who would only help someone if there was something in it for him. An Archanean tyrant just as horrible as the Dolhrians themselves. Yet this man, said to be so brutal and backstabbing and devoid of moral compass, they wanted to help him. Somehow.

The tale of joining Dolhr for safety and money? It was all a lie. The reason he was with the Dolhr army at all was a simple one. Blackmail. As the knights of Archanea were defending the palace, a concerning message came, demanding that Horace return to his land to see a 'surprise'. Though sure that it was some manner of trap, Horace felt that he had to see his land, and the holy family gave him permission to leave. As he left the palace with his men, a few of his good friends and allies tried to talk him out of leaving. 'It is a great honor to be here to serve and protect the holy family.' he had said to them, 'but I am just as obligated to protect my people. I must see what is going on.' He came to his land, and saw Dolhr's cruelty firsthand.

A few people carved to disembodied pieces were left on the outskirts of the land as an early warning sign to Horace. As he approached, he saw the extent of Dolhr's depravity. Human skin strewn across the paved ground, hearts literally torn from the body littered the land. Decapitated heads casually tossed around, and every head that Horace saw seemed to be frozen in the same terrified expression.

Then he came to the core of his land. The numbers Dolhr had already slain was less then a fraction of the total number of his people. His people… every still living man, woman, and child, was being held captive. They would undergo treatment that would make the sights Horace had seen on his way there seem pleasant in comparison. Dolhr, led by Khozen, who was dead now, offered Horace a simple deal. Bend knee to Dolhr or his people died. Tell them the secrets of the Archanean defense or his people died. Remain a general of Dolhr after Archanea was conquered or his people died.

It had been plainly obvious that it practically tore his arm out to betray the holy family of Archanea, and he did not want to, but Horace ultimately obliged. Though his people were saved, Archanea fell to Dolhr, thanks to the facts about Archanea's defense that Horace supplied.

He saved them, even if he knew he would be painted as a monster, even if he knew that some of his own people might have criticized his decision. Now the liberators of Archanea were coming, and… they might end up killing Horace. It was too painful an idea for Horace's people to think about. He mustn't… couldn't die. Not the man, the noble that had their absolute faith.

* * *

><p>"We're here." Marth said, looking forward, taking in a breath. The strongest Dolhrian force in Archanea had already been broken, and this would be the easy part of the liberation of Archanea. And still he was not looking forward to it. The struggle that the last battle had been was still fresh in his mind. He trained his eyes to the distance, he could see Dolhr troops… and something else. "Archanean soldiers… along with the Dolhrians."<p>

"Those who followed Horace when he backstabbed Archanea." Minerva said from the saddle of her Wyvern. For now, the lizard was on the ground, letting the Macedonian princess talk to the Altean prince without the two having to raise their voices over beating wings. Minerva was itching for combat, and waited for an order. When none came, she turned to the Altean. "What are you waiting for, Marth? Give us the order to slaughter them. We'll capture Horace and bring the quivering turncoat to Nyna's feet."

"You _know_ that's not how Nyna wants it done." Marth said, his tone was commanding, and he was clearly giving Minerva a warning. "We find… someway to talk to Horace. See his reasoning for what he did. We should let the Archanean knights try to talk to him. They likely understand him better then us."

Minerva turned away with a small 'tch' noise. Her style of war was pure aggression with some tactics thrown in, it was completely different from Marth and Hardin's preference for a more well thought out strategy. She considered those two too slow to move, even if they always got results when they _did_ move.

Oh, she could privately admit a certain admiration of the soft-hearted Marth, despite the faults she perceived. That soft-heartedness was likely why he had listened to Catria and gone to Castle Deil. She knew she should have been thankful for the fact his heart was as big as it was. At the same time, she felt that he lacked the stern warrior heart necessary to lead this army.

"They're charging." Marth said. He raised a hand to signal the entire army that waited behind him. "Repel the attacks. Avoid approaching Horace and his knights if you can. I want the Archanean knights to try and speak to Horace. Our primary objective is routing Dolhr and killing the Dolhrian commander."

Near the middle of the League's formation, Merric turned and poked his now apparent new friend. "You get all that, Roshea."

Roshea wore his gritty warrior expression. The expression amused Merric more then anything else. Roshea's boyish face was no good at becoming intimidating and stoic looking, though the gods knew he was trying. Roshea nodded, it was unclear whether he was nodding to Merric or Marth. "I am completely dedicated to this battle. We're going to win."

Marth looked at the charging Dolhrians, and the traitor Archaneans who were simply holding their ground. He swung his arm, and the Archanean League charged.

* * *

><p>Parthia, the bow and arrows enchanted by the gods, was held securely in Jeorge's hands. He placed one arrow on the string and pulled back, taking a moment to comprehend the reality of what he was holding, and then fired. The arrow seemed to pierce the wind itself as it flew, sinking into the first Dolhrian soldier's armor as if the armor was as durable as melted butter.<p>

Jeorge took in the sight of the charging, battle-mad Dolhrian falling motionless on the ground. He looked at the bow in his hand with bewilderment, even as the rest of the League charged forward. He shook his head and reminded himself of his duties. He knew that he was one of the people who had to find Horace and speak to him.

Dolhr charged forward. Backed into this corner of Archanea, their only hope was victory. Their bodies toned to perfection, and their minds sharpened for battle, they dove onto the League soldiers. All the skill that had been employed for the sake of the Manaketes pressed onto the League. They could only imagine victory.

Much like the Dolhrians in the Archanean Palace, their skill was impressive, perhaps nearly inhuman, and they inflicted a fair number of injuries on League soldiers. Yet these Dolhrians lacked the numbers the Dolhrians in the palace enjoyed, and the battle quickly shifted to the League's favor.

A few Dolhrians were pushed to the side during the battle. They attempted to strike the League from behind, but the blades of Excalibur and the blast of Aura put an end to any possibility of the stragglers managing to accomplish anything.

Minerva identified herself as not the strongest or fastest League soldier, but likely the most vicious as her axe mutilated enemies and her Wyvern bit into and tore limbs off those same enemies. With the charge headed by her and Hardin and Marth, a bloody swath was cut through the Dolhrian troops.

Marth noticed that Horace and his men seemed content to stand back and watch the fight, and weren't interested in engaging the League. Perhaps the man was intimidated by the League's strength, or maybe he had never desired to face the League. Whatever the case, he gave the signal, and the Archanean knights, Midia, Jeorge, Tomas, Dolph, and Macellan, diverted from the push to the Dolhrian base of operations to reach him.

As the knights progressed steadily to Horace, Marth turned back to the battle going on. Jagen had just killed a Dolhrian that had tried to strike the distracted prince. Marth could see the fortress Dolhr was using as its last base of operations in Archanea in the distance. With a yell, he directed the League to push through the Dolhrian soldiers, who were now few in number, and reach the distant fortress.

* * *

><p>"Lord Horace, Archanean knights approach." One of the soldiers loyal to Horace spoke, pointing to the distance. Horace sighed, ever since the League had come, he knew that this was coming. Standing proud, as an Archanean should, he walked forward to meet those undoubtedly crying for his blood.<p>

"Horace." Midia called sternly. Horace recognized the blue haired paladin. He turned his head to the left, then the right. He cracked a smile, a bitter one. Here he was, a man who had sought justice all his life, and now he would be executed as a traitor. Many of those present once admired him, but now they looked at him hatefully. He'd likely be filled with the same emotion in their position.

"This time, tell me. Why?" Midia half asked, half demanded, her hand tightening around her sword. "Why did you betray us? Why bend knee to an Empire that would just use you and toss you aside?"

"…is princess Nyna safe?" Horace asked, avoiding Midia's question.

"She is." Dolph answered. There was a tone in his voice that seemed to say that Dolph felt that Horace has no right to even speak Nyna's name. "She has returned to Archanea, no thanks to _you_. Traitor."

"I see." Horace closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. He blinked back some joyous tears. _You saw her safely to Aurelis after all, Grustian._ He looked at his former comrades and peers, shaking off his memories of Nyna's escape from occupied Archanea. "My old friends, draw your blades."

"What?" Jeorge was taken aback. He looked at Parthia in his hand, and quickly put it away and took his Silver bow and arrows out. "Horace, princess Nyna wants to talk to you and hear your reasoning. Please, just come with us. We can work something-"

"I made my decision." Horace said with an melancholic tone. "I must abide by that choice no matter how the situation unfolds. I offered my lance to Dolhr's service, and I am your enemy."

"Horace, please…" Midia pleaded, "Put down your lance. Archanea is free. You don't need to fight anymore."

"I have no regrets." Horace said, walking forward in his heavy General armor, holding his lance. "Give me the death I deserve."

Midia blinked. Now, more then ever, she was sure that there was more to this situation then Tomas, Dolph, and Macellan believed. Yet for whatever reason, Horace was going to accept death before he would admit his reasons. With a long, reluctant sigh, Midia readied herself to lead the others in their charge.

* * *

><p>An arrow sank through the breastplate of a Dolhrian soldier who had cornered Norne. She turned and offered a thankful nod to Gordin, then fired an arrow of her own at a charging Dolhrian. She was pleased at how it fired as the Dolhrian fell down, Jeorge's advice, told to her by Gordin, had created a noticeable improvement in her archery.<p>

Still, she was breathing hard. Norne was looking forward to a real chance to rest. After they had liberated the Archanean Palace, they were able to relax for only a few hours before the news of this last pocket of resistance came about. After yesterday being filled with nonstop fighting, Norne wanted at least one whole day to relax. As she put another arrow on her bow, she made a silent wish that nothing come up when this was all over.

As the League neared the Dolhrian held fortress, Dejanira took his lance out. His eyes narrowed, what would likely be the final scuffle before he had to enter the fray was now going on before him. Dolhr was as formidable as always, but the simple reality was that hope had waned to the point of nonexistence ever since the palace had fallen. Dejanira didn't want to admit it, he wanted to live, but he had no choice but to resign himself to death, but he would take as many people with him as possible. He had every intention of dragging Marth to the grave before death took him.

Roshea dropped two Dolhrians to the ground, both dead before they had even begun falling. He had a few trickles of blood on his face, blood that had sprayed from Dolhrians when a fellow League soldier sliced an enemy's arm off. He didn't feel it on him in the chaos of the battle. He focused his eyes through the mayhem surrounding him, locating Coyote and his 'brothers', they were all making a mockery of the Dolhrians. Vyland's passionate lance arm skewered through Dolhrians as they ran up to meet him, while Sedgar and Wolf demonstrated merciless accuracy that had left dozens of Dolhrians as corpses on the ground. Coyote fought at the head of the charge, he and Marth leading the charge against the final wall of Dolhrian defense.

Meanwhile, Roshea's new friends, Merric and Linde, were also fighting, and he had no reason to fear for their safety. Every couple of seconds a Dolhrian fell from the bite of the Excalibur wind blades, or was burned to death by Aura's light. Roshea turned away from his family, leader, and friends just in time to react to a new Dolhrian charging at him. His lance stabbed into the man, and the Dolhrian's eyes widened briefly in pain, he wheezed and fell down.

Looking past the Dolhrian he just killed, Roshea noticed one on horseback not far from the battle, just watching from the gates of the nearby fortress. Roshea's eyes traced to the side as the rest of the League was still fighting the Dolhrians here. Impulsively, and perhaps somewhat foolishly, Roshea broke from the battle and directed his horse to this distant Dolhrian.

"Why do they always come to me to die?" Dejanira muttered as Roshea approached him. Roshea made no threat or taunt, and simply started the fight with a lance thrust. Dejanira simply moved to the side and grabbed the lance just below the tip, stopping the attack that was intended to end the fight just as it begun. He smiled as Roshea looked on in shock, but that look lasted less then a second. Roshea tore his lance out of Dejanira's grip, then tried to thrust again.

Dejanira was not as terrifying an enemy as Heimler had been, but he was still lethally skilled. The man had achieved victories while fighting Archanean resistances where he seemed impossibly outnumbered. Now he fought just one soldier… but he would not foolishly hold back. He dodged Roshea's second thrust, and offered a thrust of his own. His attack pierced painfully through Roshea's side.

Roshea made a surprised yell of pain before Dejanira took the weapon back out. The tip of the weapon was now covered in Roshea's blood as the young knight clutched at his wound. Smiling in cruel satisfaction, Dejanira, by habit, wasted several seconds to raise a hand up and swipe the blood off of the tip.

Against Archaneans that had the courage, but not the skill, to stand against Dolhr, that was something he could get away with. Roshea, however, was more skilled then Dejanira gave him credit for. While the Dolhrian was in the process of cleaning his lance tip, Roshea ignored his wound and attacked. He administered a wound to Dejanira's side that mirrored the one the Dolhrian had just given him.

Dejanira grimaced and backed away, clutching his bleeding side as he hissed at his enemy. If looks could kill, Roshea would have likely dropped right there. Dejanira, with a lance not yet clean of blood, charged at Roshea. Roshea skillfully dodged the hateful charge, but Dejanira managed to defend himself when Roshea tried to take advantage of an opening.

The Dolhrian's defense repelled the Aurelian's offense and left Roshea feeling just slightly disoriented. Dejanira took the chance to stab the off-balanced Roshea in the arm.

As Roshea screamed in the pain, Dejanira simply smiled. "I only stabbed your arm to prove that I _could_, kid." He warned as Roshea grabbed at his wound. "Next time, I'm going to stick this lance right through your throat!" He charged on his horse, Roshea raised his defense.

Dejanira's strike was blocked, and Roshea, even with one of his arms critically weakened, impossibly pushed the man back. The ripped open arm he forced to move burned in agonizing pain as he forced it to obey him. Dejanira was unconcerned about his attack being stopped, his enemy would soon succumb to the pain or the blood loss, or Dejanira's lance if he proved tenacious. Nothing would stop Dejanira from at least killing Marth before death claimed him.

* * *

><p>A few Archanean bodies fell on the ground. Those soldiers that had followed Horace fell easily to the knights that swore eternal loyalty to Nyna. Horace's loyalists yet lived, but they would have no further role in this battle.<p>

"Traitor. _Traitor_!" Dolph charged Horace, his lance impacted the armor that covered Horace's gut. It failed to penetrate or even dent the armor, but made Horace's breath whoosh out of him. "To think that princess Nyna actually wanted to talk to… to you!"

"Always too passionate and forceful." Horace lectured, knocking Dolph away with a simple punch to the face. Horace immediately turned to Macellan, the knight charged more methodically at Horace, but fared no better. Horace easily tore Macellan's lance out of his hand and simply shoved the man away, not wanting to strike to kill any of them. Then an arrow stuck into Horace's shoulder. He turned to see Tomas, readying another arrow.

Horace tore the arrow out of his armor and turned to the archer, but Tomas quickly jumped away. The second before, Horace caught an odd look of satisfaction in the archer's eyes, and he turned around and swung his lance, knocking an arrow from Jeorge out of the air. Midia soon appeared.

"This is it, Horace." Midia raised her sword to command everyone to charge. Midia moved straight at Horace and stabbed her sword at Horace's chest. Horace grunted and took a step back from the blow on his armor. He raised his lance to force Midia away and then met Dolph and Macellan's attacks.

As he fought the three, he saw the glimmer of an arrowhead from out of the corner of his eye. He jerked his head back and Tomas' arrow flew past him, cutting his cheek very lightly. Tomas postured with irritation at his attack failing. Midia signaled, and Tomas and Jeorge approached.

"If you won't surrender, then I shall do as I must." Midia said solemnly.

"Always do as you must." Horace answered. "An Archanean knight never does anything less."

* * *

><p>The battle against the Dolhrians was drawing to its close. Wolf took his sword out of the back of a Dolhrian that had had the audacity of trying to approach Coyote from behind. With that done, he began to examine the combatants.<p>

Over the last several minutes, he had noticed that he couldn't spot Roshea anywhere. He had enough faith in Roshea's skill to be sure of the fact that he hadn't died. He also knew that the eager Roshea wouldn't retreat without an order, he began to scan the area, looking for Roshea.

He wasn't the only one who had noticed Roshea's departure. Merric and Linde, who had stood a safe distance away while casting magic, had spotted Roshea as he left. They couldn't abandon the battle, and knew that Roshea was heading for the enemy commander. Roshea could handle himself, but that didn't stop them from worrying, more so Linde then Merric, especially after the Dolhrian he was fighting began to wound the little Aurelian. It was only a matter of time before Linde felt compelled to go to Roshea.

It took a few minutes of half searching and half focusing on the battle, but Wolf spotted Roshea.

_That kid._ Wolf's eyebrows lowered in aggravation before he turned and killed a Dolhrian that had been trying to approach him from behind. He looked back at the battle, and clearly saw that it was effectively over. He, and unbeknownst to him, the mages, began to move to where Roshea was.

* * *

><p>"Off-balance." Dejanira growled, thrusting his lance at Roshea's gut with a hopefully fatal effect. Roshea tried to block, but only succeeded in somewhat diverting Dejanira from his actual target. Dejanira's lance instead tore through Roshea's armor and across Roshea's gut, but not being the killing blow it would have been. Before the pain properly set in, Roshea stabbed his lance forward, painfully piercing through Dejanira's shoulder. The Dolhrian yelped in pain and backed off.<p>

"You're fighting quite well, I must admit." Dejanira said, sounding almost surprised to speak the words. "Yet let's be honest here. You've lost a lot of blood. I have only two wounds. You won't win."

"Shut… up, Dolhrian." Roshea groaned out, still strong and able to fight. "You won't… win."

Dejanira regarded his enemy with disdain. He had seen his enemy's skill, and he wasn't impressed. "Consider yourself lucky that I can waste no further energy with you. I must… at least kill the prince of New Dolhr before death claims me. Then I can enjoy watching the fractured League break and die from below." He took a moment to smile at Roshea's horrified disgust. He imagined the majority of the League had an issue with the name of 'New Dolhr'. He turned to look at the League, seeing the thinning of the Dolhr troops, and knew that the rest of the Archanean League would soon be upon him. "I have to kill you. Right now. You've been entitled to a painless death."

He charged forward, lance in hand, ready to end the fight. "This ends… _now_." Roshea also charged, Roshea stabbed his lance forward, while Dejanira brought his lance down.

Dejanira blinked after he made his attack. For a moment he wasn't sure what had happened, though he heard the undeniable spurting sound of a lance entering its target. He looked at where his lance had come down at… his blow had managed to bloodily pierce through the edge of his enemy's upper thigh. Irritated at once again failing to kill his enemy, he made one small, weak tug on his lance, and then an agonizing pain set in.

He looked, and saw that the Aurelian's lance had pierced… straight through his chest. He gagged, looking in disbelief. His hand fell from his lance, Roshea slowly took Dejanira's lance out of his leg, cringing from the pain, but remaining alive. Dejanira, on the other hand, had his life rapidly fading. He had failed to take even a single League soldier down with him.

In his last moments, as blood seemed to build up and squirt from his chest, he brought his eyes to his enemy one last time. Dejanira, the man known as the Bloodcleaner, who was just as much a symbol of fear to Archanea as Master Khozen himself, was dying. He took in a few ragged gulps of air, unable to believe that this… child, was the one who killed him. He also couldn't believe that Dolhr's control of Archanea had been broken so utterly. Still, a victory here and there wouldn't change the outcome of history that has, for all extents and purposes, already been written.

"It… d-doesn't matter… how much you… struggle…" Dejanira gasped, Roshea looked to be almost in as bad a shape as Dejanira was, except that Roshea didn't have a lance sticking into his chest. And yet, Dejanira still wore the face of bravado. Even in death, there was something he was sure of. "You'll never… defeat… the Emperor."

Roshea was in too much pain to respond to that. He just watched as the Dolhrian fell from his saddle and to the ground. Dejanira looked at his lance a small distance away, seemingly rather clean of blood. He smiled one last time, sure of Dolhr's eventual victory, before all of his energy left him.

With… considerable effort, Roshea managed to get off the saddle of his horse. He laid down by a rock jutting out of the ground and began to assess his wounds.

"Roshea." Roshea had barely started to examine the cuts in his body before he looked up to see Wolf over him. The older Aurelian looked at Dejanira and acknowledged that his youngest brother had felled the enemy commander, and his expression softened just marginally. He turned to see the battle with the Dolhr troops behind had concluded, and the rest of the League was approaching them. "Roshea, _why_ did you leave the rest of the army? You would not have been wounded like that if more of us had been present."

Roshea expected that, though he had secretly hoped that Wolf would have praised his skill. No, Roshea shook his head, knowing full well that Wolf would look at his wounds and take it as proof that Roshea hadn't been ready for the battle. At least he was relatively stable and wasn't about to die, and that was the entire reason as to why Wolf was taking the time to question Roshea's decision rather then immediately see to his wounds.

"I just… saw the enemy commander, it was a… impulsive decision, I know, but-"

"Roshea!" Wolf turned. The first person he expected to run up in panic at Roshea's condition was Sedgar and Vyland. Those two were present, but they hadn't been the speaker he just heard. He also, to his slight confusion, saw Merric, and Linde, the speaker, running up.

"What happened here?" Vyland demanded, looking horrified at Roshea's injuries. He knelt down, "So… so much blood, who did _this_ to you?"

"The who did this is already dead." Wolf answered calmly. His demeanor contrasted with Vyland's passionate, almost panicked tone. Roshea, though in pain, pointed at Dejanira's corpse.

"He hurt you this badly?" Linde asked, kneeling beside him, glaring at Dejanira's corpse. She waved a hand, and reduced Dejanira's corpse to a black, ashy smear with Aura. Ignoring the fact that the display might have intimidated some present, she turned back to Roshea. She was too scared to touch Roshea, for fear of causing him further pain.

"It… it's just some scratches, Linde." Roshea insisted, trying to sit up as if nothing was wrong, but failed to get very far, grimacing and falling back into a lying position.

"Scratches do not bleed like _this_." Linde almost snapped at him, moving a hand out to keep him from trying to get up again. "Come on, we need a… a-" she turned to look to the rest of the League. "Um, princess Maria! Please come here. Wounded soldier."

Vyland raised an eyebrow at Linde's near panic over Roshea and turned. "What's going on? Why does she care about Roshea?"

Merric shrugged. "After being saved from that slave market, Linde struck up a friendship with Roshea, and me. We were talking right before the palace march, and right after. Apparently, she wants someone to talk to and spend time with, with her old friend, princess Nyna, preoccupied with her duties."

Vyland shifted uncomfortably at the words. He also shifted uncomfortably at how Roshea, though pained and unable to even sit up, didn't act as if his wounds were truly bothering. He was spending his time not worrying about his wounds, but trying to calm Linde and Sedgar down.

Maria came to tend to Roshea. There was an arrogant little smile on her face as she began her work, channeling pure faith through the staff and slowly sewing up the wounded flesh. Vyland was enraged to see a Macedonian preside over Roshea's healing, but said nothing. He looked at Linde sitting right beside Roshea, and watched as Merric also came up beside the youngest of the Aurelian knights. He felt a weird churning in his gut as Merric and Linde both worried over Roshea.

Possessiveness. Though he didn't recognize the feeling as such. Sedgar also seemed… vexed at these new individuals worrying about Roshea's safety. Perhaps the two felt that people other then Coyote's men had no business worrying for Roshea.

After being completely healed, Wolf and Merric helped Roshea up and brought him to Hardin. Healed, and having complete motor control restored, Hardin offered a short lecture about running off as Roshea had done, regardless of the intentions. Afterwards, Hardin began looking into getting Roshea new armor to replace what Dejanira had ripped off in the battle.

"The Dolhr presence in Archanea has been crushed entirely." Marth noted, looking at the remains of Dejanira. He felt relief sweep past him at the thought of returning to fighting enemies less skilled then the Dolhrians. Yet he also knew that there were likely some final matters to attend to. "The word must be spread immediately. This place doesn't need to fear Dolhr anymore. Also determine what became of Horace and the Archanean knights."

* * *

><p>Horace was still fighting, and breathing hard. Astram had always been the only person who could really match him in Archanea, and he was not here. Dolph and Macellan were both down, having endured considerable blunt, though not lethal, force. Tomas had been cornered and knocked unconscious, and only Jeorge and Midia were still able to fight, and even they were heavily fatigued. As was Horace.<p>

A few of the Archanean soldiers who had fought for Horace were getting up from the previous beating they had received from Dolph and Midia, but it was clear that they could do nothing further in this battle. They stood on now wobbling legs, and Horace quickly ordered them to pull back.

"Horace… ugh-" Midia struggled to sit up straight in the saddle. "Why are you fighting for Dolhr? It's been pushed back to its final stronghold. You… just appear before the princess, this fight can't have any true meaning to you."

"I have to fight, Midia. I have… reason, for what I'm doing." He seemed to grow pained just from speaking. Jeorge sighed, preparing another arrow on his bowstring. Not once in this battle had he aimed for Horace's unarmored head. Horace moved forward, an odd slowness to his movement, it was clear that he would fall soon if this kept up.

"I chose my side." Horace said as he found just moving forward to be a struggle. "Circumstances… forbid me from being your ally again. I-"

Archaneans!" A voice cut through the air and interrupted Horace. "The battle-" Abel came into view from behind Midia and Jeorge. The two looked over their shoulder, then returned to Horace. Abel cautiously watched Horace, moving forward on his steed. "The battle is over. Dolhr is defeated. Every part of Archanea is free of Dolhr's hand."

Horace blinked in shock, his grip on his lance wavered and his weakened legs teetered, almost giving way. "Dejanira… has been killed?"

"The Dolhrian commander?" Abel asked, Horace nodded. "Yes, Dejanira has been killed."

"Then, it's over." Horace said, believing Abel's words. At once, his lance fell from his hand and onto the ground, garnering the quizzical glance of all who were present and conscious. The adrenaline drained from his body, and he realized how exhausting it had been, both physically and spiritually, to fight his fellow Archaneans. He turned to his soldiers. "Put down your weapons, no further Archanean blood needs to be spilt today."

The soldiers that followed him looked at him for a second, but eventually complied, dropping their weapons. With that order, issued by Horace, the battle for Archanea was now well and truly over. Horace fell to one knee.

"We surrender." Horace said, his soldiers mirrored his actions. "…to whatever judgment is bestowed upon us."

* * *

><p>Nyna took a deep breath. Archanea was now free entirely, and Horace had been detained along with his men. She was hesitant to hear what he had to say, for fear of the story his words could tell.<p>

As she approached the castle, Boah walking with her, she took a moment to take note of the land. Unlike the rest of Archanea, it had been almost completely undamaged by Dolhr's occupation. This corner of Archanea, for whatever reason, was spared from Dolhr's wrath. She wondered why… when so much else was effectively in ruins, but quickly shook her head of the thought.

There was neither wind in the air nor cloud in the sky. It seemed almost as if this corner of Archanea itself was holding its breath for Horace to speak his reasons. Somewhat unsettled by the lack of movement in the land around her, Nyna quickened her pace until she reached the fortress that Dolhr had commandeered for its own purposes. One of the Talysians was stationed outside as a guard. The man recognized her and opened the gilded doors for her and Boah. She nodded her thanks and slipped inside, starting to sweat from what was about to happen.

There were soldiers, Archanean soldiers, the ones who followed Horace, in shackles, chained to the wall. Nyna was legitimately disgusted that the League had done that. Yet she suspected it was her very own knights who had done it, or at least insisted upon it.

One of the Aurelians, Sedgar, escorted her and Boah to the inner sanctum. The Archanean soldiers held captive were all looking at her, almost seeming to implore her to do… something. Nyna felt her stomach churning at the sounds of the chains moving around. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, but were more likely just a few minutes progressing sickeningly slowly, Nyna and Boah entered the inner sanctum.

Horace was there, arms and legs bound, along with several additional Horace loyal soldiers. Nyna's knights were there, Dolph, Macellan, and Tomas seemed to be waiting for any excuse to attack and kill Horace as Midia and Jeorge stood more patiently. Marth, Hardin, Caeda, and Minerva were also present, and they looked uncomfortable, almost sick. Nyna felt just slightly relieved at how they, too, were repulsed by the treatment the Archaneans were given, even if they were 'traitors'. Though they all understood the necessity of the imprisonment of criminals, they also must have felt that what was going on felt more like a Dolhr-like treatment.

"Princess Nyna." Tomas opened enthusiastically. "The traitor has been captured, awaiting sentencing."

Nyna looked straight at him with an uncharacteristic, piercing stare. Tomas was taken aback, growing nervous at Nyna's expression. Boah waited at the door as Nyna walked past Tomas. "Who felt there was a need to put them in chains?" Nyna asked, sounding angry.

"Um…" Tomas paused for a moment, "D-Dolph, princess."

Nyna shot a glare at Dolph, who recoiled in fear and confusion over the princess' anger. "Take Horace's shackles off, immediately."

"What?" Macellan's eyes widened, " …but, princess, even without a weapon, he's a traitor and likely dangerous unarmed. We can judge him and punish him for his treachery just fine as he is now, and-"

"Take them off. _Now_." Nyna commanded. Macellan shuddered, then hurried to take the shackles off of Horace's legs and wrists. Nyna stepped forward, coming right in front of Horace. Dolph cringed, already seeing Horace giving Nyna one solid punch to the gut and fleeing. "Horace. Tell me. As princess of Archanea, I command you tell me why you betrayed Archanea for Dolhr." She spoke commandingly, it was a tone that neither Marth or Hardin had ever seen her use before.

"Princess Nyna." Horace began. He sighed heavily. "I have betrayed Archanea for the sake of the Manaketes of Dolhr. I need no mercy, nor a chance to explain myself. Give me my sentence. Public execution in the guillotine."

Nyna's hardened expression softened. "Is that… what you want me to do?"

Horace nodded. "I deserve no less."

"No!" One of the soldiers still bound suddenly shouted, drawing everyone's attention. "Princess Nyna, please, the _entire land _was held hostage. Dolhr knew of Horace's loyalty to his people, threatened to kill each and every man, woman, and child if he didn't help them fight Archanea. His situation was-"

"Be _silent_." Horace commanded, but it was too late. Everyone was now looking at him with a shocked expression.

"Horace…" Midia's eyes were wide in shocked realization, she approached him. "All this time, were you really-"

"I… betrayed Archanea." Horace answered. "No matter the reason, I am to blame for Archanea falling to Dolhr and the treatment of its people in this occupation. My crimes should not be dressed up as some noble act. I deserve no kind treatment. The only thing my actions warrant is death. No matter how it is administered."

Nyna folded her hands together. "No. It is not death that your actions warrant."

Horace's eyes widened in disbelief. "Princess, I am to blame for your family's death, among so many others. I do not deserve to live. My head should be presented to the people as an example to-"

"Horace." Nyna interrupted, making it clear that Horace wasn't entitled to argue. "If I kill you, who would carry the burden of the title of 'traitor'?" Horace didn't answer. She spoke again, "Tell me, Horace. If I kill you, _who_ would carry the burden of the title of 'traitor'?"

As an answer, Horace looked at the Archanean knights present.

"Yes." Nyna said. "If you die, the Archanean knight order, what's left of it, will have to carry that shame, which is rightfully yours. Are you selfish enough to die and force the knightly order to answer for what you did?"

"Princess are you… are you telling me to live?" Horace couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had sat back and allowed Archanea to fall into ruin, done nothing as Dolhr tormented its people, given Dolhr the information necessary for Dolhr to break the palace. Didn't he deserve a thousand deaths? Was Nyna, knowing full well of all of that, trying to spare him?

"You are not mistaken to say that your actions should warrant death." A chill swept through the room, Marth and Hardin looked at Nyna in confusion. Boah, near the door of the room, wondered why Nyna would say that when she was trying to spare Horace. "Yet if you die, all that will be remembered of Horace, 'The Traitor Knight', is his act of betrayal, and the knights of Archanea would have to endure that legacy of treachery. Yet what you _did_ was done for the best, your only desire had always been to protect your people. You protected the people and kept them and their land safe. I am not oblivious as to how this corner of Archanea was left seemingly untouched by Dolhr."

"Princess?" Horace wasn't sure what Nyna was trying to get at.

"You're a traitor, but one whose actions had true worth. If you die, you'll discredit the sacrifices of those who risked everything for you." She turned to the bound Archanean soldiers in the room. "Just as you'll betray the trust of those who died for you. You _will_ live, you _will_ show us the worth of both your actions and your resolve, you _will_ show us that the sacrifices of those who died for you were not empty. As of now, you are an Archanean knight once more."

Everyone in the room was stunned. Horace was the most shocked, but recovered the quickest. "P-princess, I… don't know what to say."

For a second, Nyna looked less like a princess and more like an idealistic girl, one who wanted everyone who had good intentions to live. "I have laid claim to your life, and you are not entitled to argue with me. You will fight for the Archanean League, and I forbid you to die. When this war is over, you will return to Archanea, and do all you can to heal the land."

Horace nodded, slowly. "I… will serve, your highness."

"Join the other Archanean knights, and…" she turned her head, "Every Archanean who followed Horace is to be freed. The protection of Archanea will be their duty until the League returns."

Her knights, with Horace among them, hastened to follow her order. Tomas, Dolph, and Macellan, now knowing the truth, looked at Horace with the deepest look of sorrow, and a sense of embarrassment at how they had judged him. Horace simply smiled at them as they began their duty to free the people. Horace's stomach was flipping, not once had he ever expected things to go like this. To be spared by the person who had probably been hurt the most by what he did…

Nyna breathed a deep sigh, turning to the door of the room. She saw Boah staring at her, a strong look of approval on his elderly features, and then she fell into a chair.

"Nyna?" Hardin asked.

"I was so… scared, that Horace would be just as shallow as the people had painted him to be. I'm so… relieved." She leaned back, almost looking like she was about to fall asleep. After several seconds, she sat up fully erect. She was already past her relief, and was now wholly focused on other matters. "Freeing Archanea had been our primary objective since the League's founding, ignoring some… detours. Now that Archanea is free, we must focus on something else. Where shall the League go next?"

"Based on our position…" Minerva stepped forward, closing her eyes and picturing the continent in her mind. "To take the fight to the Dolhr Alliance, the best choice, I feel, is to take the fight to Gra next. We-" Minerva stopped talking as if she had suddenlt realized she had stepped squarely onto an extremely sensitive subject, and turned to Marth. The Altean prince had been of normal temperament when Nyna was speaking to Horace, but he was now looking at the ground, and Minerva could tell that his expression was scornful. She kicked herself, knowing full well that Gra had to be a very sour subject for him. She approached him, placing her armored hands on his shoulders. "Marth, you…" she paused, knowing that consoling was far from her strong suit. She could barely manage it with Maria, and she suddenly found herself worried that she might press the wrong buttons as she spoke to Marth. "Marth, if all goes well, we can use this to close a… painful chapter in your life. I… I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say."

Minerva hated being at a loss for words, but here she was, having no way of knowing what her next words would be. Marth raised a hand up to gently move one of Minerva's hands off of him, her other hand fell off by itself.

"I lost my father thanks to… _him_." The image of Jiol appeared in Marth's mind. Arrogant, deceitful, and cowardly. The man who had claimed to be an ally to Altea, but turned on it so casually to try and save himself. Jiol had no guilt or sorrow from betraying and killing people who considered him a dependable ally and close friend. Marth imagined that he had likely spent the last two and a half years in lavish banquets, not once considering that he had made the wrong decision. "I cannot say that I've spent much time thinking of facing him, but… I do look forward to… killing him."

"King Jiol." Minerva muttered. "In the Dolhr Alliance, he looked at himself as indispensable. Always hiding behind the fact that he retrieved Falchion, always saying that he had the favor of Medeus."

"And… I bet, boasting of killing my… my father." Marth clenched his eyes shut. Minerva could tell that he was trying to hold in tears, and somewhat failing. She compared and contrasted Marth with herself when she learned of her father's death. Minerva had pushed away her emotions quickly, but the memory still stung. She knew that, due to circumstances, Marth couldn't face the reality of what had happened to his father until he had escaped Altea.

Perhaps due to the shared trauma of losing a beloved parent, Minerva's usual fierceness seemed to be breaking. For just a second, she had an odd desire to shelter the Altean prince. She shook her head, reminding herself that she wasn't the sort to get emotional. She reached a hand out to wipe away a small tear trickle that had defiantly come out of one of Marth's eyes.

"The League will face him. And make him pay. Dearly." Minerva said, backing up to let Caeda walk forward and try to console the prince. Minerva wasn't interested in romance, but found herself somewhat envious as to how Marth and Caeda had a source of solace in each other. She found herself thinking back to how, as a little girl, Michalis would always soothe her whenever she was troubled.

Caeda led Marth out of the room. A part of Minerva was saddened by Marth's departure, but she turned to Hardin and Nyna. "We head to Gra. There are… no objections to that?"

Hardin was watching Marth leave, but then turned to Minerva and shook his head. "It's the closest land controlled by the Dolhr Alliance, and… it is where the weapon Marth is entitled to would be kept. We have enough reasons to go there. We can crush one of the nations that comprise the Dolhr Alliance and take back the treasure of Altea at the same time."

"Falchion." Minerva said. The divine blade of Altea, likely far more powerful then her Hauteclere. She turned her thoughts to the inevitable battle. "I've heard reports of Gra's efforts. Their military is nothing of particular note. They focus mostly on overly defensive strategies, and leave something to be desired at even that. You can expect an easy battle."

Hardin nodded, though he didn't relax. Until the fight was over, he would take it all very seriously. "Marth gets the final say on anything the League does. When next I see him we'll speak of finalizing a decision to head to Gra, though I doubt he'd reason against it."

* * *

><p>The land of Grust was prosperous and overflowing with peace. A calm, crescent moon now reflected a shallow light on the tamed wilderness, land that had once belonged to undisciplined berserkers and barbarians. Though there were some concerns about the nation's alliance with Dolhr, overall the land enjoyed the treasure of both resources and peace. It was the only nation where the common person could still live a comfortable and safe life. For many, the alliance with Dolhr was not particularly noteworthy, and the nation as a whole continued as it always had. Even in a worst case scenario, the people did not fear, the land laid claim to the nation's greatest military, and more importantly, laid claim to the Sable Order. The nation was arguably unmatchable in any quality.<p>

Lorenz, however, did not perceive Grust to be so prosperous right now. In his eyes, Grust was rushing fast to its doom. He had spoken to King Ludwik, repeatedly, over what should and must be done. The Archanean League was here now, and it was no meager resistance. It had liberated Aurelis, and had liberated Archanea. Now was the time to rebel, to take a stand against Dolhr and seek an alliance with the Archanean League.

And King Ludwik had responded as he always had. 'Dolhr would crush us in one fell swoop if we rebelled, slaughter us to the last man. It is too late to entertain such thoughts, Lorenz. We must look to our future under Dolhr.' Lorenz was becoming increasingly frustrated with his king, but betrayal or defection never entered his mind. He was a soldier of Grust, and would remain so, no matter how much he disagreed with the king's choices. Even if he was certain that there was little future under King Ludwik's leadership. Yet the military still seemed to profess absolute loyalty to him… even Camus, who always had the best judgment.

About a week ago, Camus and his men had returned from Archanea. Though Belf, Leiden, and Robert were still here, Camus had left the day after they returned, saying that he had business in Gra. He took Gradivus with him, while Mercurius had been stored elsewhere. A simple castle for weapon storage, hardly benefiting a legendary weapon. It was lightly guarded, but the guards were sufficient enough to keep the weapon from thieves.

"So… what's the expectation? Tonight?" Robert asked, he and Belf and Leiden were all sitting at the same table. They were on the highest floor of the royal castle of Grust, in what was the personal quarters of Sable Knights. Some weapons and emblems lined the walls, but overall it was rather sparse. Camus had a disdain for walls being used for displays of personal achievements, a preference which was respected by the rest of the Order. Leiden and Robert, in what was actually one of the more decorated rooms lit by a now flickering candlelight, seemed to be making a bet with each other. Belf sat with them, but had no part in their gamble.

"I'd say… some time tomorrow." Leiden responded, confidently putting a fistful of gold on the table. "No sooner."

"Nah. They'll disappear tonight." Robert said, confident in his believed timing of what was going to inevitably happen. He put two fistfuls of gold on the table.

Belf couldn't believe what they were doing and rolled his eyes. They were betting on when the Whitewings would defect and depart from Grust. Belf leaned back, not amused as Leiden and Robert seemed content to make a game out of the inevitable. His two friends and allies were being light-hearted about this, believing that they could defeat the Whitewings easy if they rebelled. _Knowing_ that they could defeat the Whitewings easy if they rebelled. They might spit on Grust's name as much as they wished, they lacked the power to defy to face the Sable Order. Only those under King Michalis The Great had strength that was relevant to the Sable Order.

As Belf leaned back in his chair, uninterested in Leiden's and Robert's game, the corner of his eye caught figures outside the window. His curiosity piqued, he turned. They were high above the ground floor, it couldn't have been someone walking or running. He squinted his eyes, and he sighed.

It would seem that Robert had won the bet.

* * *

><p>The Grustian air was almost frigid this time of year, but Pegasus were used to cold weather. Their riders, not so much.<p>

Catria shivered in the saddle of her Pegasus. The night air was cold enough, the wind moving at them on this cloudless night made it almost unbearable. The wind felt like a sheet of ice hitting her. She crossed her arms and hunched forward slightly as her teeth chattered. She was glad to leave Grust immediately after news of the Commander's defection reached the nation. She didn't want to spend a second more here then absolutely necessary, though she secretly wished they could have waited for a warmer night.

Fleeing in the daytime was unacceptable. Palla knew that the Ballista that Grust employed would shoot them down easily. They would be of no use to the Commander as corpses. As freezing as the night air was, this was their best chance to slip away unseen. Doubtless that someone would spot them, but they would be dismissed. Only a member of the Sable Order would realize that they were somewhere they weren't supposed to be.

They didn't realize that Belf had spotted them, but the man had effectively just shaken his head and ignored them. Letting them flee because he felt that any aid that they might give to the League would be irrelevant to the final outcome of this war.

"We have to find the Commander." Palla thought aloud. "The story we heard… she was in Archanea with the rest of the League, and princess Maria was safe. We need to offer her our full support." With her hands, trembling from the cold, on the reins of her Pegasus, she led the Whitewings through the Grustian skies. To return to Minerva's side and to continue to serve her, and only her, faithfully was the most important thing to Palla right now. Catria shared Palla's urge to return to Minerva... but a part of the middle Whitewing's heart was also interested in seeing Marth again.

They should have been ecstatic right now, they could now return to Minerva, and fight the fight that they should have been fighting long ago, but the icy Grustian air stunted their cheer. With any luck, they could reach a warmer sky before too long.

Est was flying alongside Palla and Catria. She wanted to return to Minerva's side immediately, but at the same time, there was something she felt that they should acquire. It was something that probably didn't even occur to her sisters. There was no easy compromise here… to stay in Grust was to risk detection, but they couldn't just leave _it_ behind. With little time to think, she was forced to make a decision.

"There's something I need to do." Est suddenly said, drawing the attention of her sisters. "I… um, left something behind."

The three stopped in their movement, and Palla turned at Est, looking slightly annoyed. "You can come back to get it later, Est. Reuniting with the Commander and having her lead us to crush Dolhr is a bigger priority. Whatever it is-"

"I… I have no reason to think that it'll still be there if we ever come back. You two can just go on ahead, I'll be right behind you. It should only take a few minutes."

"Est…" Catria, though freezing, managed a stern expression. "No, you are absolutely _not_ going off on your own. If it's something important, we'll all go."

"It's not _that_ important, but it's something I need to get." Est said in a hushed tone. She shivered from the cold and wanted to leave Grust, but wasn't backing down from this. "We can't waste any time getting back to the Commander, but I also _need _to get this, so you two will just go ahead and I'll be right behind you."

Palla narrowed her eyes. Est was right, they couldn't waste time, they certainly couldn't waste time with an argument. "Alright Est, you go with Catria, and I'll get whatever it is you want to retrieve. What is it?"

"I can do it myself." Est muttered indignantly. "I don't need to be sheltered all the time. Even if I run into some trouble, I can handle myself."

"Est, you're not being reasonable. We're in the seat of Grust's power. Even if Camus The Sable isn't here, getting into a fight with any single member of the Sable Order is out of the question for you. Fighting any of Camus' three men one-on-one is something _I_ would think twice about. You're young and inexperienced-"

"I'm a _Whitewing_." Est snapped back at Palla, actually getting the older Pegasus Knight to flinch at the tone. "A elite Macedonian warrior, and I'm sick of always falling under your protection. I'm doing this alone. You two are heading back to the Commander and will just wait for me." Her face looked angry, but then she smiled. "You don't have the time to argue with me, do you?"

Palla sighed. She never thought of Est as someone who would manipulate the situation like this. Palla was practically biting her nails, but was now left with no choice. "Alright Est, if it means that much to you, you can do it, but if you get into a fight, you retreat immediately. I don't care what this item is, I am _not_ losing one of my sisters."

"Of course." Est smiled, perhaps savoring her victory in the argument.

"Are you sure about this Palla?" Catria asked, looking worriedly at Est. Had she been in Palla's position, she would not have relented.

"No. I'm not." Palla answered, "But Est is right in saying that we don't have time to argue." She reached out, grabbing Est by the shoulder before her hand went up to rest on Est's cheek. Palla didn't notice that Est didn't like the tender gesture. She couldn't help but feel that she was making a terrible mistake in letting Est go like this. She also knew there was no time to argue, and so did Est, and Est was using that fact to her advantage. Palla's hands, now shaking more from worry and fear then the frigid air, returned to the reins of her Pegasus. "Let's go, Catria."

Est watched her two sisters take off, then turned her Pegasus around. She admitted that it stung a little to lie and say that the thing she wanted to get was something personal, but it _was_ something that shouldn't stay in Grust's hands. The item in question didn't belong to Grust, and had always rightfully belonged to Archanea.

She grinned confidently as her destination came into view. "So, the storage castle has Mercurius, right?"

* * *

><p>The sun shined an orange, evening light on the border of Gra. The border was well defended, an army of Ballista were here, prepared to face any foreign army that might try to invade the nation of Gra.<p>

Oddly enough, those protecting the border of Gra were not of Gra descent, nor did they swear allegiance to Gra's king, Jiol. These soldiers, they were Grustian. Grust's massive military had sacrificed one unit to devote to the defense of Gra, undoubtedly the least of the Dolhr Alliance.

The Ballista groaned their metallic sounds as they rolled across the edge of Gra, looking for any intruder, whether that intruder be some vagrant, or approaching military units. As they watched for anyone who might seek to intrude on the border, a single man on a decorated, black stallion, neared the Grustians. The man was stopped, and promptly identified. The commander of the border guard came out to greet the man.

"Camus The Sable, to whom do I owe the pleasure?" Grigas of the Wooden Calvary was surprised by the company. General Camus, traveling by himself, had come to the border of Gra. A staunch admirer of Camus' skill and leadership, Grigas heartily accepted Camus' presence and bowed respectfully. He raised a hand, and the operators of the Ballista relaxed, returning to the watch of the border. For all his admiration of Camus' skill, Grigas was not aware that his ideology and moral standards completely contrasted with the Sable Knight's.

"This is no visit of pleasure, Grigas." Camus said, Grigas stiffened slightly, and hid his enthusiasm. "I am here to tell you that the Archanean League is now heading toward Gra."

Grigas nodded, unimpressed. "The Wooden Calvary, the symbol of Grust's technological prowess, will mobilize immediately. I doubt the battle will last for more then a few minutes. We scared them off easily enough at Port Warren."

"Perhaps, but do not underestimate them, Grigas. Commanders of Macedon, Dolhr, and even Grust have fallen prey to such a mistake." Camus looked at the Ballista around him. Each one painstakingly built by Grust's finest engineers. "I wonder if the Wooden Calvary will be sufficient, considering what the League has faced before. Those of Dolhr are now of the belief that I and the Sable Order should face the League ourselves."

"There is no need of that, General Camus." Grigas insisted, motioning, with no small amount of arrogance, at his own Ballista. "The Wooden Calvary can deal with these rebels. All you need to do, General, is see to your business in Gra. When next you see me, I shall present to you the heads of the royalty that leads the League."

Camus' expression changed peculiarly at Grigas' vow to bring him the heads of the League's leaders, but he nodded. "I leave the defense of Gra to you. Do not let the League into Jiol's country."

"Of course." Grigas smiled. "I'd rather you not be forced to be subject to Gra's excuse for military tactics."

* * *

><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	24. Gra's Border

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The League had departed from Archanea the morning after the nation was liberated in its entirety. Despite the joy of the people, they hadn't the time to spend in any revelry. The liberation of a nation that had been taken by the Dolhr Alliance was a great victory, but this war was far from over. Dolhr and the Dolhr Alliance remained in an indisputable position of power, and the fight had to be taken to them. The soldiers who had served Horace were left behind to serve as defenders of the holy nation as princess Nyna and her best knights left with the League to battle Dolhr.<p>

Horace, regarded by many as a traitor, had been formally cleared of all charges and been given a place in the Archanean League. His fellow Archaneans had made… multiple attempts to try and apologize for what they had thought of him, but he held nothing against them. Had it not been for Nyna's unexpected mercy, he would have accepted death as a 'traitor' at their hands without complaint.

Horace had returned to Nyna's service, and in turn, he had become an agent of Marth and Hardin. He had no public or private protests to that. Nyna regarded them as the leaders who could save the continent. If Nyna believed them to be such individuals, then so did Horace.

Despite his reunion with his fellow knights, someone was still missing from their little group, Astram. Something of a rival for Horace, and the lover of Midia. He had to have been somewhere outside Archanea, continuing to fight at Dolhr's whim, oblivious to Archanea's freedom and Nyna's return. Explaining the liberation of Archanea to him, and bringing him into the Archanean League, was always in the heads of the Archaneans. Particularly Midia's, who had an obvious personal reason to want to save Astram from his forced servitude to Dolhr.

Yet, for now, such thoughts had to be pushed aside, even as Midia pined for Astram's company. They were marching to Gra, Astram was likely with a detachment of Dolhrian troops, or perhaps Grustians. He was unlikely to be encountered anytime soon when all that would face the League was Gra troops.

* * *

><p>Marth hadn't felt this anxious and eager for a long, long time. So far in this war, he had fought against the soldiers of their enemies without thinking too much about who he was fighting. Now, he would be fighting an enemy that had personally hurt him.<p>

It was no lie to say that he hated his enemies. Grust sucked up to Dolhr almost immediately after Dolhr became an acting power, as had Khadein. Macedon followed shortly after Altea fell, when it was clear that Dolhr's power was going to keep growing. Though with both princesses of Macedon now in his army, his opinion of that nation was now somewhat… mixed. He hated Dolhr as well, that was the nation that had instigated the entire crisis. Yet he couldn't attribute any personal losses in his life to any one of them specifically.

There was only one nation he hated more then any other, one he hated on a personal level. The nation he was marching to fight right now. The nation he and the rest of Altea once called a reliable ally and a trusted friend. There was a time where he felt he could have trusted Gra with his life. Now he realized how foolish an idea that was. King Jiol of Gra must have made Medeus seem like an honorable individual. The leaders of Aurelis and Archanea, who he hadn't had much of an opinion of before Gra's betrayal, he now knew he could trust with his life and more.

The other Alteans in the army were likely dealing with a rush of emotions themselves. They were marching on the nation that had robbed them of the life they had once known. Yet none had lost anything to Gra the way he had. He lost his father, the king, while his mother and elder sister remained unaccounted for. On top of that, the weapon that rightfully belonged to his lineage had been torn from his father's dead hands on whatever Grustian field he had died on. Marth hoped that the end of today would see Falchion returned to its rightful owner. Not just due to a certain pride to take back what rightfully belonged to him, but also because the weapon would be essential in the fight against the Manaketes. The weapon had the properties of divinity, and it was made for the sole purpose of biting through Manakete scales. If ever there was a weapon that a Manakete would fear, it was Falchion.

They were approaching the border of Gra, the border of the traitor nation. Marth imagined that King Jiol remained oblivious to the League's approach. The man likely busied himself with enjoying the lavishness that his throne afforded him. In a way, he suspected that marching the League into Gra was overkill, that a small, but elite, team would suffice in removing Jiol from the throne. Yet Marth would never condone an action equivalent to assassination. Employing an assassin might have been acceptable for his enemies, but he would never tolerate such a move.

As the League approached the border of Gra, and thoughts of wading through the Gra troops to reach the crowned murderer filled his mind, Marth heard a sound. Like a metallic groaning. He looked forward to see several weapons in the far distance. Examples of the finest engineering that existed in the continent. Marth narrowed his eyes, then they widened as he noticed the riders of the weapons. "Those aren't Gra soldiers."

"It seems that Gra can't be bothered to defend its own border." Hardin said with a small hint of amusement in his voice. "Grust is intent on complicating our entry to the land belonging to the weakest of the Dolhr Alliance."

"They're…" Marth looked at the enemy. They hadn't seemed to have noticed the League yet, but it was only a matter of seconds before they did. It seemed that, with a few exceptions, all of the enemies were on Ballista. His mind reflected back to a brief, a very brief, encounter with a Grustian force comprised entirely of Ballista. "They're… I think they're the same Ballisticians who forced us to flee to Pyrathi at Port Warren."

Hardin's eyes narrowed at the memory. In hindsight, it was shameful to be forced to flee from a battle so soon after the League was formed. His face tightened as he dwelled on the thought. He remained fixated for a few seconds before he composed himself and took his silver lance out. "Good. We can show the continent that those who forced us to flee are people no one should fear."

Marth didn't turn his eyes from the enemies. "If Grust wants to get between us and our next target, then…" he reached a hand down to the hilt of his Rapier, letting the end of his sentence remain unspoken. Without turning his head, he addressed Hardin. "Inform the soldiers. The next battle will be starting… earlier then expected. Also tell Caeda and Minerva that they _cannot_ have any part in this battle, considering the enemy we'll be facing."

Hardin nodded, his horse carrying him away. Doubtless Minerva would express no small amount of anger at being held out of the battle, but she would have to understand that an enemy comprised almost entirely of Ballista was not an enemy she could face. As for Caeda, her singular worry would be that Marth would end up getting killed without her there to watch him. Hardin was not oblivious to what was going on between the two.

It would be a… awkward battle, if for no other reason then the fact that the League had precious little experience fighting Ballista. Outside of the Archanean Palace had been their only past encounter. It would simply be easier to fight this battle without worrying about soldiers like those two, who could be clipped so easily.

* * *

><p>It had happened again. Caeda envisioned Marth's death. Caeda, and now Nyna, was completely convinced that these dreams were images of a possible future. One where the League was cut short as its commander fell to the enemy.<p>

"So, this dream, Caeda?" Nyna asked, keeping her voice gentle as they sat by each other, her hand rested on Caeda's shoulder, most likely intended to be soothing.

Caeda sighed, the two princesses were sitting down in the command tent. It was the most private area for them to be at the moment, though any of the other royalty in the army, along with Malledus and Boah, could enter as they pleased. With a voice that she forced not to shake, Caeda began her description.

"I'm not sure where it was, but it was in a castle. Marth was fighting by himself. His opponent seemed to be a… a Dolhrian Manakete. It towered over Marth, but he didn't seem frightened at all. He charged with his Rapier, and the Manakete reacted. One breath, one spew of its breath was all it took. Marth was caught by the breath and thrown back. Dead, burns all over, and the Manakete just laughed at the sight."

Nyna blinked, then seemed to almost reflexively relax her body. She didn't smile, but she was relieved by the simplistic nature of the dream. Considering the battle in Pyrathi, and the battle outside of the Archanean Palace, the League was full well capable of handling a Manakete. Furthermore, they weren't subtle creatures in their true form. It would be simple to guide Marth to a different location and let someone else fight the creature. Or at least have someone aid Marth.

"There shouldn't be anything to worry about, Caeda. We can just get someone else to fight this Manakete in Marth's stead. That should quell-"

"It's not like that." Caeda said, her voice rising. "This Manakete, it was… it was… different. It looks nothing like Bantu." She took a breath in, her body tensing as she recalled that horrific scaled creature in her mind. "A long elongated neck, no wings, a strange blue energy from its mouth rather then fire, cold ashen skin even in its dragon form… it was nothing like any Manakete we've seen before."

"I… see." Nyna felt the hand of uncertainty squeeze her heart. She closed her eyes, but even with the aid of the black backdrop, her mind was unable to form a coherent picture of what Caeda might have seen. Though she was familiar with Dolhr's history, she was oblivious on many things regarding the Manakete rulers of the nation. She had never heard of a Manakete that didn't attack with flame from its mouth. In fact, she had never heard of anything like what Caeda had just described. She felt the build up of anxiety, anxiety over the possibility of there being more breeds of Manaketes, ones that they hadn't encountered yet. Slowly, she stood up. "When we face a Manakete like that, I will, if it is in my capability, have someone besides Marth fight him."

Caeda nodded, but her stomach still churned. Several discomforting seconds passed, and then a sickening realization dawned on her. One of her visions… perhaps this vision, or perhaps another, but there would be a vision that neither she or Nyna would understand in time. Nyna had luckily been able to see where the events of her last dream had occurred at, perhaps she would this time as well, but it was just as possible that neither would realize exactly when Marth would be rushing to his doom. Or maybe they would know, but wouldn't be able to do anything. A bile began to build in Caeda's throat. The thought of continuing on with Marth dead was too horrible an idea to consider.

The drape at the front of the tent was suddenly pulled to the side, and Hardin entered.

"Nyna, Caeda." Hardin drew the attention of both of them. They both wore a face that plainly told Hardin that he had walked in on something they were doing. He stiffened somewhat, "My apologies if I'm interrupting something, but you should be informed that the next battle is about to begin."

Caeda jerked to attention and rose to her feet, her eyes were stern. "Gra has come out to meet us." She reached for her Wing Spear and readied herself, body and soul, for battle. "If there was ever a time where Marth might lose his cool and need to be protected, this is it."

"No." Hardin responded, Caeda seemed taken aback. "Our enemy is not Gra. Not yet. Gra apparently can't be bothered to defend its own land. It's Grust that has marched out to meet us. The same unit of Ballisticians that chased us away from Port Warren and to Pyrathi." He turned his head slightly, focusing on Caeda specifically. "And because of the sheer amount of Ballista that are present, Caeda and Minerva cannot participate in this battle under any circumstances."

Caeda blinked, looking almost offended, folding her arms behind her back before Hardin might spot her clenching her fists. Her words were bitter. "So I'm being asked to not try to protect Marth, when he could end up dying."

The Aurelian sighed at her frustration, then turned around. "You understand well enough, and it's an order from Marth. He was influenced by no one when he made the decision. You are to not make any attempt to enter this battle." He moved to exit the tent, but stopped when the drape was at arms length and looked over his shoulder. He looked at Caeda with an expression that was clearly warning her to not disobey orders. Once ascertaining that she had seen his face, he left.

"Nothing to do until this battle is over. Besides worry." Caeda said, falling into a chair and wearing the face of misery. As if her dreams of Marth dying weren't bad enough, she would be denied of any real chance to protect him in this battle.

"Was there anything else in your dream?" Nyna asked. Caeda's held bolted up, but then sunk back down.

Yes. Yes there was. Caeda could recall, after the Manakete killed Marth it seemed to just… dissolve into mist as its guttural laugh echoed, its role in her dream over. After that, a woman had appeared and cradled Marth's limp, raw, and burnt body, crying over him as she held the prince in her arms. The woman was in the uniform of a Pegasus Knight, and had blue hair, but she wasn't Caeda. The woman clearly wasn't Talysian. Caeda could swear that she recognized the woman, but couldn't quite put her finger on it. All she really knew was… this woman clearly… _desired_ Marth, and was just as distraught about his death as Caeda would have been in the same situation.

Caeda couldn't even see herself in her dream, it was like she wasn't there at all. Instead, this… other Pegasus Knight, was doing what should have been Caeda's business. Holding him tight and professing feelings to all that remained of the Altean prince. The dream had ended with a long scream of grief from this woman, the scream belonged to the woman just as much as it belonged to Caeda.

She turned to Nyna and decided against telling her about the second half of her dream. Simply shaking her head as an answer, Caeda stood up and walked out of the tent before Nyna might try to probe her with questions. She knew she wouldn't last long if Nyna approached her aggressively with her questions.

As she pondered the shorter haired woman who had held Marth's corpse, a strange feeling sprouted in her chest. Not fear, not dread. Her finger traced to her breastplate as she recognized the feeling.

Jealousy. Jealousy for a girl who might just be some phantom her mind conjured. Or perhaps someone real. She didn't know. Yet the way she had wrapped her arms around Marth had done a lot more then just make Caeda's skin crawl, even if it had been just a dream.

Some soldiers were moving, breaking Caeda's train of thought. She realized that the march at Grust's defenses was about to begin. One that she was forbidden at having any part in. She tensed, and a nameless fear went through her body as she watched the soldiers move… she didn't want to trust Marth's safety to just them. She didn't anyone besides her to handle that responsibility.

* * *

><p>Roshea rotated his arm briefly, warming up his movements for the battle. He took a deep breath, not looking forward to fighting with a hail of log sized arrows coming down at him. Yet he wouldn't back down, not as an Aurelian knight and member of the Archanean League. In the end, he doubted this battle would be anything of any particular note. Rush forward and break a few Ballista… not a complicated formula to follow. He had taken part in trickier tactics and strategies in the past. Both when he was a resistance knight and as a League knight. The rest of the army had already fought some Ballista before, outside the Archanean Palace, while he and Wolf and Merric had gone to break the Archanean slave trade. By the time he had returned to the battle few of the Grustian Ballisticians were still operational, the battle had mostly occurred while he had found Linde.<p>

Speaking of that girl…

"Roshea." He turned to the voice, seeing Linde walking up to him. Sitting in the saddle of his horse, he gave her his undivided attention as she spoke. He was growing used to her, and her presence didn't set off fireworks in his head like it did when they first met. "Are you sure you're up to this? After what that last fight did to you…"

"That guy was a Dolhrian elite, Linde. They're trained to fight since infancy. These guys are just Grust bottom feeders. There is nothing to worry about." He moved his arm again, affirming that he wasn't in pain and had full motor control after his encounter with Dejanira. He couldn't believe how badly he had been torn up… had his enemy not acted prematurely to try and end the fight early, he probably would have been killed. "I'd be more worried about you, Linde. You're not wearing any armor at all."

Linde looked down at her attire. The simple cloth of a mage. She tilted her body slightly to look over herself, then looked back at Roshea. "I can defend myself with Aura. You can't. What if… one of those things hits where you're not armored?"

Roshea didn't vocally respond, but his hand moved to the only part of him that wasn't carefully protected by metal. He rubbed his armored fingers over his cheek. Armor or no, if a Ballista armor managed to hit him in the head, he was not getting back up, ever.

"One Ballista arrow in you and it's over. I'm not sure how much that armor can really help you. I want you to be careful."

The Aurelian blinked and looked down at her. Linde's words echoed so many worries, concerns, and reminders that his brothers gave him. For a moment, it was like he was hearing one of Sedgar's repetitive lectures. He could tell that Linde would rather him not fight at all today. His expression shifted to a one of subtle annoyance. "Thanks mom." He muttered sarcastically.

Linde flinched at the words and raised her hand up to poke Roshea on his cheek. "Look, I'm just worried about you, okay? That's what a friend is supposed to do. I…" she looked to the distance. "Growing up, I was always told stories of enthusiastic young knights going to war, feeling a need to prove themselves, and never coming back. I don't want that to happen to you. Please…"

As he heard the words, his annoyance disappeared. From his brothers, it would have been another aggravating warning, but it seemed different from Linde. He felt guilty, like he had taken Linde's feelings and indifferently tossed them aside like waste. "I'm… sorry, about what I just said."

"No, no, it's okay." Linde said with a calming tone, "I bet you get it from your brothers a lot. My father always fussed over my safety far past the point of being annoying."

Her concern for Roshea was the same concern she had for Merric. After losing her father to the unsympathetic progression of fate and time, and being separated from Nyna for so long, the girl's greatest fear was losing people. She grew close to Roshea and Merric, just in time to see Roshea nearly die at the hands of a Dolhrian.

"I really am sorry." Roshea shook his head, feeling that his earlier sarcasm had been uncalled for. He looked to the distance. "Still, I think you're making this situation seem more serious then it really is. I've never had big encounters with Ballisticians before, but I know their weaknesses. We'll just dart in and disable them before they can do much of anything."

"Sounds like you've got things all figured out." A new voice said. Roshea turned and sighed as Merric approached the two. The mage stopped, put one hand on a hip, and smiled smugly. "Let's see how 'serious' the situation is when one of those arrows goes straight through your chest."

Roshea turned to the mage. "I'd sooner expect you to be run over by those things. To someone who just stands still and reads out of a book, they must seem to move oh-so-fast to _you_, Merric."

Merric just shrugged, keeping an amused look across his face. "I wonder how much of an attitude you'll have when you're dead."

"You-" Roshea began with in indignant tone before Linde stepped in between them.

"Guys." Linde interrupted both of them, holding a hand up to both. "Can you please not make bantering and bickering a habit? Rather then fight, I'd hope sometime soon we could just… spend some time with each other."

"Um…" Roshea looked down at her. "Spend time? _Now_?"

"When things are a little more peaceful." Linde suggested. "Maybe after we defeat Gra, I want us to just sit down together and talk for a little while. We barely got a chance to talk about anything back in the Archanean Palace. Anything besides Khadein, at least."

"Oh, well…" Roshea looked at Merric, who just shrugged at him, and smiled at Roshea's nervousness. "Sure, I don't see why not. After we take care of the Gra king, we'll spend some time together if nothing comes up."

"I'll have a lot of questions for both of you." Linde said, turning from Roshea to Merric. "Please don't die."

The words were for both of them, and having said them, she walked away, followed by Merric. Roshea took a breath, watching Linde until she was out of sight. He turned and shook his head, ridding himself of any thoughts about the girl. The battle would start any second now.

"A true Aurelian knight is never distracted." He mused to himself, parroting something Wolf frequently told him.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling you, there is no Ballista here."<p>

The Gra sun shone down on a village near the border. Filled with Gra citizens, and the occasional refugee from elsewhere. One such man, an Archanean, was being questioned by the Grustian troops. He was a former Archanean soldier, deemed harmless enough to continue to live in the Gra village without being watched. Yet on the eve of battle, any potential 'sympathizers' of the enemy were being questioned.

The Grustians had gone around the village, interrogating anyone who had fought the Dolhr Alliance at any point in their life. Beck was one such man. A Ballista operator from Archanea, who had fled when Grust overwhelmed Castle Deil.

"So you say." The Grustian said, stroking his chin and looking down at the man. "Reports said you rode here in a Ballista. One that no longer had any arrows in it, but you would have certainly had the time to procure… replacements." The tone of voice was aggressive and probing, looking for any slip in anything Beck said. "Don't toy with me. I know you came here riding a Ballista. Where is it?"

I dismantled it." Beck said frankly. "I no longer have a Ballista. I took it apart and used the pieces to aid the villagers in various endeavors. I am no soldier anymore."

The Grustian seemed taken aback, he lowered the hand that had been stroking his chin. Beck's face remained neutral, even as the Grust soldier was scanning it for any tension, nervousness, or sweat. Anything that might suggest that Beck was lying. He found nothing suspicious in the Grustian's face.

"Perhaps you did." The Grustian said. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are a good liar. I'll enjoy searching your house…" he waited for a distortion in Beck's face, some level if discomfort. He begrudgingly gave Beck some credit for being able to keep himself calm and collected in the face of threats. With an aggravated grumble, he turned to a nearby soldier. "Unfortunately, I don't have time for this. Astram, see to it that no one leaves this village until the battle is over. I'll be back after the Arc… after the rebels have been dealt with."

Beck stared wide-eyed, not at the Grustian that was leaving, but at the blonde-haired man that was now approaching him.

"Astram…"

"Be quiet, Beck." Astram said, holding his sword. His face, rigid, serious, and almost demented looking, revealed his frustration at being a lapdog of the Dolhr Alliance. Yet that didn't stop him from taking his job very seriously, and following orders to the letter. "Don't force me to kill you."

"Why do this? The holy family would be disgusted-"

"They promised that my servitude would result in leniency toward Archanea." Astram snapped at him. "They… granted that. For so long as I remain a servant, they will ease up on Archanea. I know the holy family would have wanted me to do whatever was in my power to make life more tolerable for the nation. Even this…"

Beck nodded, but he frowned. "These rebels that are approaching, I hear that they had been fighting in Archanea recently. Don't know exactly what came from it, but Dolhr's control might not be as absolute as you think."

Astram's expression shifted hopefully at first, but he quickly shook his head. "A ragtag resistance from Aurelis, or a bunch of mercenaries under some short-sighted visionary can not have accomplished what the holy family failed to do. This is just some other

short-lived resistance. If princess Nyna does not lead this resistance, it was doomed the second it was formed."

"For the sake of the continent, I hope that you're wrong." Beck said, "Archanea alone can't match Dolhr or its allies."

"If princess Nyna were here, there's nothing she'd be incapable of matching." Astram said, "Archanea couldn't stop Dolhr, it's not surprising that everyone else either submits or gets destroyed."

Beck said nothing. Astram stepped forward and shoved Beck back, and it was clear that the conversation was over. Astram walked back to the village gates, now focusing entirely on keeping anyone unauthorized from entering or leaving.

"We've got to do something about your mouth." A voice came from behind. Beck turned to see one of the village women, a teenage farm girl, standing behind him. "Mouthing off to the muscleman who is going to kill us if we try to leave… really?"

Beck shrugged. "That man is something of a hostage himself. Still, hard to believe that Grust would do something so harsh to the citizens of an ally, exacting a non-negotiable death penalty like this just for trying to leave. Though Gra has had some interesting developments ever since the betrayal…"

"There's been a lot of riots and rebellions." The girl said evenly. "They were most frequent when we first joined the Dolhr Alliance. Sorta mellowed out after a while, but we're apparently considered a 'volatile' country."

Beck sighed. Gra's political situation was a tad more complicated then its enemies likely presumed. Yet what could he do? He was just a bystander in all of it.

He turned around and moved to his house. Rather then enter the door, he went around the building, heading to his shed. He entered through the unnaturally large doors and saw the only thing in his shed. Something… under a sheet. He walked forward and pulled the sheet off, revealing something he had taken great pains to keep hidden, his Ballista. Ready with a bundle of the giant arrows. He smiled, with this new rebel army approaching, it was time to return to the battlefield in the seat of his Ballista. He climbed aboard and fiddled with the controls, a familiar, and satisfying, metallic groan came from the machine.

He frowned. Ballista were useless at close range. Unless Astram moved away from the gates, he could not as much as leave his shed. The rebels would have to make some considerable progress before he could contribute to the battle.

* * *

><p>"Sir." A Grustian saluted as he approached the captain of the Wooden Calvary. "They're approaching."<p>

Grigas spit on the ground. "Our simple presence scared them away at Port Warren. They may have grown more formidable in the time since, but they remain just as inept, and likely, just as quick to run. With the strength of the Wooden Calvary, we have nothing to fear."

"Sir, what of Astram? Does he know?"

"No, he doesn't." Grigas answered. "I have taken pains to ensure that he is ignorant as to the name of the opposing army. If he knew his worthless princess was with them…" he gritted his teeth, "He'd jump at the chance to fawn at Nyna's feet. After this battle is over, I'll immediately recommend his execution."

He thought back to Camus' warning about overconfidence. He deeply respected Camus and his words, but he felt that he was not underestimating the enemy in being sure of his victory. He felt that Camus, and the rest of the Dolhr Alliance and Dolhr, were grossly _over_estimating the enemy. He wasn't sure how the League could have possibly liberated Archanea, though he suspected it was a result of poor tactics on Dolhr's part. A mistake that he would not make.

Stepping into the pilot seat of his very own Ballista, fidgeting slightly until he found a comfortable position, Grigas addressed his soldiers. "Move out. Move forward and skewer them on your arrows. Blot out the very sun with your arrows and let them die in the shade." He took a deep breath, brushing his mustache with a gloved finger, then put his hands on the controls of his Ballista. "Do your part to put down this rebellion. For Grust!"

A singular cry of 'For Grust!' came from the rest of the Wooden Calvary, vibrating and shaking the very air. Their machines wheezed their metallic groans as they moved forward.

* * *

><p>It was clear that the enemy was now mobilizing in anticipation of attack, and there was no point to waiting any longer. On Marth's command, the League charged. An army comprised entirely of one type of unit was, truthfully, nothing to take note of. If the battle was fought aggressively, albeit, also cautiously, victory would follow swiftly.<p>

The first wave of Ballista was the first to attack. They shot their arrows high in the air, attempting to leave the majority of the League a collection of corpses on the ground. When the arrows landed, there was nothing to hit, the League had already moved past the optimal area for a Ballista to target. Immediately, the Grustians tried to pull back to a safer distance, trying to outrun the enemy, yet the slow moving vehicles had barely moved anywhere by the time the League was upon them.

The first kill went to the horse riding Vyland, whose lance went through a Grustian's chest before he heaved the gasping man out of his vehicle and onto the ground. The second kill went to Darros, who yanked a Grustian from his vehicle and sank an axe into his foe's back. Fighting the first wave of the Wooden Calvary had quickly turned into a one-sided blood bath. The Ballista were totaled, slashed into pieces or broken into shrapnel, occasionally one of them was turned into ash by Linde or Wendell. The pilots were removed from their seats and killed on the Gra field. The luckiest were spared, they fled the battle as fast as they could.

Making an army unit entirely of Ballista might have magnified the weapon's strength, but also the weaknesses. The distance was crucial, and without anyone to keep the enemy at a distance, the Ballistician pilots could do little. The pilots of the first wave could do nothing at close range, save try to make a panicked retreat, which they failed at.

In time, Hardin's lance had sunk into the gut of the last member of the first enemy wave. Rather then panic, the soldier simply gave a pained smiled at the Aurelian in his final moments. Raising his eyebrow, Hardin ignored the remains of the first wave and turned to the distance, and his eyes widened in realization. He turned and grabbed Marth by his shoulder and yanked him aside. Just in time, as a Ballista arrow landed right where Marth had been a second ago.

"We're in range of the second wave!" Hardin warned. He looked forward, the enemy was organized into three waves, the enemy commander was with the last. "Move forward! Get out of their ideal range!"

Marth looked to the side, seeing a nearby village, and what was clearly an enemy soldier standing guard at the village gates. He quickly looked over the rest of the League. "Midia, Horace, reach that village. Rout all enemies present. Return to the League afterwards."

The two Archaneans nodded at the order and moved away from the rest of the army.

Marth heard a scream of pain, he turned around and saw Cain, a grievous wound across his side from a Ballistician arrow. His entire left hip was a bloody mess as Maria approached him with her staff. Marth turned back to the front and urged the League to move forward before anyone else was caught by the enemy's attack. After a few tense minutes, they got out from under the hail of Ballista arrows and reached second wave. The battle would quickly shift in their favor again.

* * *

><p>"Enemy of the League!" Midia called to the blonde haired man in front of the village. Astram jerked his head to the woman charging at him and took his sword out. Midia made the first move, attacking with a thrust, Astram easily forced the surprise attack to the side.<p>

"Is that-" Horace had been charging with his lance, expecting to finish off this guard quickly while Midia held his attention, but he stopped himself on impulse and began to examine his enemy's face. It was a familiar face, one he could recognize in an instant. He wasted a precious second to wipe a hand over his eyes and looked again to be sure. "Astram!"

It was… Astram. One of Archanea's fiercest and most loyal knights, standing there as an enemy to the two Archanean knights. Horace looked at Midia, who was charging again. The two passionate knights, in their single-minded obligations, they didn't realize that they were trying to strike their beloved. They never concentrated on their enemy's face in combat.

"Midia!" The woman jerked back as Horace called her voice. Her enemy pulled back as well, remaining in a defensive position a few feet away. He watched his opponent carefully, and then just slightly lowered his guard and gasped as a dawning realization struck him.

"Midia, it's Astram!" Horace said as he pointed to the enemy. Midia blinked and looked again. The blonde hair, the face, the armor, she nearly dropped her sword in shock at what she was seeing. Cautiously, she bade her steed to move forward, a hand still wrapped around her sword in case both her and Horace's eyes had suddenly begun failing.

"A-As…" Midia began, Astram looked just as shocked and surprised and… happily content, as she was at their sudden reunion. "Astram!" Without warning, she dropped her sword and dismounted and ran toward the man she had just been trying to kill. Horace expected them to embrace, but Midia instead stopped just a few inches away from him.

"What are you doing here?" Astram and Midia both voiced at the same time. They both stared wide-eyed at each other, wanting to believe but not quite ready to believe what they were seeing. Astram began speaking, "How did you get here? Weren't you imprisoned? Did you-"

Midia held up a hand to calm down Astram. "You haven't heard, have you? The palace has been liberated, Astram! Princess Nyna has returned, with an army from Aurelis and Altea. We knights of Archanea can now serve her directly again, and none of us have to obey Dolhr any longer."

Astram's eyes widened as Midia spoke. Midia continued, detailing Nyna commissioning Marth of Altea and Hardin of Aurelis to fight for her, and even Minerva's allegiance to the cause. Astram nodded, pleased to hear of every development. "I am thankful to know that our princess is back. She is the only one who can lead an army to defeat Dolhr. Anyone else who plans to do so is a simple madman. However, I have just one question…" he clenched his fist, the fabric of his gloves tightened, and he spun around, aggressively pointing a finger at Horace. "What is the _traitor_ doing here?"

Horace didn't move, simply staring at Astram's shaking finger. "All that Archanea went through, it was because of him! He betrayed us, stabbed the holy family in the back, when we needed every soldier we could get!"

"It was a hostage situation." Horace said calmly, not answering Astram's passion with an answer of similar tone. "My people were held prisoner. Dolhr demanded my cooperation in exchange for their safety. I am just as obligated to my people as I am to the holy family."

"No!" Astram growled through gritted teeth. "As knights, our life begins and ends with the holy family we swore _fealty_ to! Concerns about the people's safety is not a good enough reason to betray-"

"Astram." Midia interrupted, wrapping her arms around Archanea's finest knight. Some of his anger dissolved, but he kept his eyes on Horace. "Princess Nyna personally pardoned him. She reinstated him as an Archanean knight."

"She… did?" Astram continued to look at Horace, his expression begrudgingly softened and he turned his attention to Midia. He rubbed a hand through her hair and sighed. "If the princess forgave him, then so do I."

"Astram." She leaned herself onto him entirely. "You _will_ be coming back with me, and you won't be leaving me again anytime soon, if I have anything to say about it."

"I'll… bet." Astram grunted as Midia's arms began to squeeze him tight enough to cause him pain. "Let… let's focus on crushing Dolhr before… before my ribs, Midia."

"Am I interrupting something?" A voice came from the side, Midia immediately let go of Astram and spun into a battle stance. Astram and Horace were already ready. They saw a Ballista and prepared to battle, and then the pilot leaned out enough for his head to be seen.

"Beck?" Horace asked, recognizing the man as a middle-ranked soldier of Archanea. "Where did you come… you still have your Ballista."

"Wasn't easy to hide this thing." Beck said, giving a highly exaggerated expression of annoyance as the vehicle made a large metallic wheeze. "I overheard everything about the princess. So, I take it the Archanean knights are back in business?"

"What do you think?" Midia said, relaxing herself and putting a hand on Astram's shoulder. "Before we do any reunions, we have a battle to finish. They're probably about finished with dismantling the second of the three waves." She smiled, an oddly devilish smile. "Let's see how they like Archanea's finest knight and a Ballista coming at them."

* * *

><p>The second wave of the Wooden Calvary was down to its last few Ballista pilots. One of the pilots leaned over to get a better look at the enemy, and his curiosity was rewarded by one of Parthia's arrows, courtesy of Jeorge, fatally piercing into his head.<p>

Blades of wind conjured by Merric slashed cleanly through the Ballista remaining. A few of the pilots were also all but bisected by Merric's attack, leaving bodies and pieces of bodies strewn around.

Wolf stopped and placed an arrow on the string of his bow. He carefully took aim at one of the last Ballista, and fired. The arrow shot through the air, masterfully slipping past the wooden frame of the Ballista and piercing into the pilot's chest. The pilot slumped down onto the controls of his Ballista, deceased.

The last Ballista tried desperately to back up, retreat to the third wave and attack the League from there, when suddenly it and its pilot were both skewered by a log sized arrow. Marth blinked at the sight, and turned around. He saw Midia and Horace approaching, followed by a blonde haired knight and a Ballista, which the arrow clearly originated from.

"Horace, what… who is-"

"Prince Marth, new allies, but let us save the introductions for when the battle is over." Horace said. Marth looked at Astram and Beck, his eyes lingering on them for a moment before nodding and turning to the battle.

"All they have left is the final wave. Move forward now!" Marth ordered.

* * *

><p>"Amazing. Simply amazing." Grigas said from the pilot seat of his own Ballista. He leaned to the side to see the League move past all that remained of the second wave. He also saw Astram, and the hypothesized Ballistician pilot from the village. It would seem that the soldier he sent there to search for a Ballista didn't do their job. "Humph. They think that slaughtering the forerunners signals that they have a good chance to win this battle. Let us show them just how wrong they are." He punched a few commands onto the controls of his Ballista. "They haven't yet seen the unflinching steel the Wooden Calvary is made of." He fired an arrow, followed in turn by his last men. The arrows rocketed into the air, arced, and then came back down. Most of the arrows missed, but Grigas heard a scream as his landed, and he knew he had struck an enemy. He doubted that it was fatal, but he simply prepared himself to fire another arrow.<p>

Grigas' arrow had ripped into Ogma's side, but a quick heal from Wrys returned him to fighting condition, though the wound was not fully mended. For the first time, the Ballistician arrows were coming down when the League was in the ideal range. Another wave of arrows came. Merric's Excalibur and Wendell's Thunder rendered the majority of them harmless, but some still managed to land. Some fell onto the dirt and cobble, others managed to injure a League soldier.

"Again!" Grigas ordered, he and the final wave shot their arrows once more. The League wasn't advancing anymore, and was pinned down under the arrows. They were trying to deal with the wounded and press forward at the same time. Grigas grinned, he would never admit it, but he had developed just the slightest worry that the League would manage to reach him and end the Wooden Calvary. He now saw that he had been too quick to grow uncomfortable. Victory was Grust's!

Then one of his men died. It was so sudden he almost didn't realize that the death scream came from right beside him. Grigas turned to see a Ballista arrow pierced through one of his men's now damaged beyond use Ballista. The arrow had come from the Ballista on the enemy's side. He growled, and then he noticed that his forces were in disarray. Some of them had panicked and backed up when they saw what had happened to an ally.

"Sir, they're not in our ideal range anymore!"

"I can see that you stupid imbecile! All troops! Stop retreating and move forward! Continue to fire upon the League, kill them before-" he stopped himself as he caught a glimmer up in the air. Something… metallic, up in the air. He watched it for a moment, and then the object started to descend… and he realized it was a Ballista arrow from the other side. He reflexively tried to pull his Ballista back… but it moved slowly, far too slowly. In a panic, he raised his arms in a pitiful attempt to defend himself and screamed as the arrow came down and pierced him and his Ballista. In an instant, his Ballista was totaled, and a Ballista arrow had ripped open his side. He knew in an instant that he was bleeding to death…

"Fools… we… we could have… stopped them…" Grigas breathed hard as the League approached. Every enemy soldier on horseback seemed to be carrying a wounded soldier only partially tended to be a staff wielder. Without a commanding officer, his men didn't know what to do, and only fired a few panicked arrows that missed their target by grotesque margins before the pilots were all silenced. Grigas tried to get up, but only succeeded in tumbling out of his Ballista and very painfully landing on the ground. He clutched at his bleeding hip as the commanders of the League approached him.

He squinted his eyes, making out Marth and Hardin. "So… the prince of New Dolhr _can_ pull off the occasional victory against a superior force." He coughed, not even noticing Marth's expression twisting at the title of 'New Dolhr'. "Yet… your days are numbered. You'll come to have preferred to have died here, today. General Camus and his Sable Order will be upon you… in due time. Nothing you do would allow you to overcome… him. You'll simply go far… to be killed, by him. You should be honored… a lowly rebel shall die… on the lance… of the continent's… single… greatest… warrior…" he coughed again, the hand clutching at his wounded side started to fall. Despite the pain he was in, he was smiling.

_Camus… avenge me._

His eyes rolled back, and his head fell to the side. He stopped breathing.

"We've secured the border of Gra." Marth said, turning around, seeing nothing but wrecked and burning Ballista around him. He might have been happy to have won the battle, but he felt no surge of joy through his veins. All he knew, was that one of the most personal battles he would fight in this war, one of the most personal fights he would ever fight, was about to be fought.

"Marth." Hardin put a hand on the Altean's shoulder. He knew that Marth was ready to order everyone to move out, but he felt Marth's emotional impulses could easily lead to bad judgment, the Altean needed a deep breath. "We need some time to get our bearings and address the wounded. Not to mention find a place in the army for the new recruits. We need some time. We can't rush to the Gra castle just yet."

Marth clenched his fist, hanging his head sullenly, but he reluctantly nodded. "Fine, Hardin. We should take a moment to get our bearings before we assault a castle, I suppose." He clenched his fists at the inaction. Hardin could tell that Marth hadn't wanted to take the advice, but he seemed to understand the necessity.

"It is no crime or error to show patience, even in war. We must be ready for anything, no matter how little you or anyone may expect from Gra."

He breathed out a ragged breath. "This will be one of the most important battles for me. I don't want to wait." Marth said, walking a few steps away from Hardin before stopping. "An hour, maybe two at most. Then we're moving again."

* * *

><p>Roshea took a deep breath. The fight had gone smoothly at first, but things became unexpectedly complicated at the very end. The clerics and the curate couldn't be everywhere, and he had been forced to grab an injured League soldier and hold that soldier in his saddle for the rest of the battle. When it was over, the soldier Roshea had taken, Gordin, had been let down. Lena had seen to him, with Jeorge and Norne hovering over the boy, practically sick with worry.<p>

The scene reminded Roshea of so many times his brothers hovered over him when he was injured. Though it was rare for the injury to require the attention of a cleric. Suddenly, he wondered what it would be like if the situation was reversed, that he'd be right beside someone he knew and cared about when they were hurt, badly. He couldn't see his brothers getting themselves hurt that badly… though he did worry about them a lot.

After a few minutes of watching, Gordin was healed, and Lena helped him up. The boy walked off with Jeorge and Norne, who both had an arm across Gordin's back. He had rarely spoken with Gordin, but he imagined the shy boy was flipping out from the intention. He turned away and sighed, wondering when the order to keep moving would come. He was anxious to bring the fight to Gra, excited about the prospect of bringing an end to one piece of the Dolhr Alliance.

He turned in Marth's direction. "Come on…" he whispered to Marth, despite his far away he was. "Give the order already. We're waiting."

* * *

><p>"So… you were one of princess Nyna's protectors in Aurelis." Astram looked at Wolf. The Aurelian's face remained utterly neutral at the interrogating expression from Astram. Astram's eyes narrowed, he was the most elite Archanean soldier, and he was face to face with the most elite Aurelian soldier. As he looked at Wolf, he couldn't honestly claim to be even barely impressed. "You're dismissed. You can go back to Aurelis. Along with your allies and your prince. Princess Nyna only needs Archanean troops to win this war."<p>

As a response, Wolf simply crossed his arms. "That's not your decision to make… Archanean."

"The princess doesn't need soldiers who had to flee underground and wait for Altean saviors. You Aurelians never had any place in this war."

"The soldiers who had to flee underground to continue fighting are better then ones who either rotted away in a cell or started obeying the words of the conquerors." Wolf's tone was pragmatic, without a hint of arrogance or sarcasm.

Astram stepped back like he had been slapped. "Horseman. Do you not realize who you are?"

"Coyote's right hand, and a soldier that was still fighting the Dolhr Alliance when prince Marth came." Wolf said calmly, then his words had a new, prideful bite to them. "Rather then having been broken and trained by the enemy."

"Impertinent… you forget the name of this army."

"And you forget that princess Nyna does not _lead_ this army." Wolf turned to the side, closing his eyes and remembering what happened in the Aurelian palace. "She gave that mantle to prince Marth and Coyote, and personally gave the Fire Emblem to prince Marth. She has their ears, but her word is not absolute. Only prince Marth's words are absolute. If your princess gives an order, and it conflicts with prince Marth's orders, you follow his orders, not hers. Just as an order from prince Marth out rules an order from Coyote, the one to whom my loyalties lie."

Astram backed off slightly, tensing with anger but acknowledging Wolf's point. "My loyalty does not lie with either prince. Not know. Not ever. If I have any reason to believe that they are simply using princess Nyna for their own ends…" he reached out and grabbed Wolf's wrist and twisted it. Tomas and Horace would have cringed and grimaced at the pain, but Wolf made no reaction, almost as if he didn't notice Astram's grip at all. "…their heads will roll. The ruler of Archanea will _not_ stoop to displaying servitude and submission to such… lesser rulers." He let go of Wolf. "Is that clear, Aurelian bootlicker?"

Wolf narrowed his eyes briefly. "If that's how it's going to be, then let me make something clear to _you_." He spun back to Astram, reaching a hand out and wrapped it around Astram's neck, lifting him off the ground as thought he were a child. "If I have any reason to believe that you have done anything against prince Marth and Coyote…" Astram struggled to break Wolf's tightening grip, but failed. He was shocked at the Aurelian's strength and his inability to free himself, and he almost didn't hear what Wolf was saying. "…your neck is snapped. Is _that_ clear?" He threw Astram back like the man was a rag doll. Quickly, he stood back up, coughing as he began to breath without difficulty again.

"You forget your place, Aurelian." He growled.

"It's right here." Wolf responded. "Showing you how much of a short-sighted fool you are. It will take more then Archaneans and your princess to win this war, and your first step to victory is realizing that. Or perhaps you wish for princess Nyna to be forced to apologize to prince Marth and Coyote because of the vain bigotry and misconduct of one of her knights?"

Astram gritted his teeth, but restrained himself. "Next battle, let's see if you have the skill to be worthy of being part of princess Nyna's army."

Wolf turned around, but looked over his shoulder. "You're the one who must prove himself, Astram. _I_ have already identified myself as Coyote's greatest soldier." He walked away, leaving Astram to seethe.

* * *

><p>"Gra is… right there." Marth said, itching for the chance to begin marching again. Yet he would be waiting until everyone was ready for this. He twitched impatiently. "The nation that took it all from me."<p>

"About to invade Gra, sire?" A voice came from behind. Marth turned to see Beck, one of the two new recruits of the day.

"Yes. They stole so much from me." His hands clenched into shaking fists. He looked ready to try and storm Gra all by himself and take Jiol's head. "I'll make every person in the nation pay for that."

"I'm not sure of that's the best way to solve this situation." Beck said quietly. "Is it not said that revenge is a vicious cycle?"

"They betrayed and ravaged my land so… mercilessly." Marth said as his head jerked in Beck's direction, his words gaining an aggressive bite. "Why should I _not_ make them pay? Everything about Gra is a lie."

"Prince Marth, that is, all due respect, naïve." Beck said frankly.

"How?" Marth sounded enraged and honestly curious at the same time. "Everyone knows what Gra did to Altea. I have every right to-"

"Gra has endured many rebellions, sire." Beck said, Marth blinked. "The soldiers of Gra you fought when you were betrayed might have been blindly loyal to King Jiol's will, but the people of Gra are a different story. The decision to betray Altea did not sit well with many people. The Gra themselves have made attempts to oust King Jiol from power."

Marth's anger broke, and he stared at Beck with a mouth hanging open. When he spoke again his voice was one of strict confusion. "The people of Gra… oppose their king?"

"Most of them do. Some of them are related to Alteans. Plenty of Alteans married into Gra families after all. From the very beginning, there was fierce opposition to King Jiol's decision to betray Altea. Though most rebellions were put down quickly by the military. Yet that only created another problem for King Jiol. A lot of the soldiers didn't like slaughtering citizens of Gra en mass like that, and there was at least one rebellion from _inside_ the military. King Jiol had to beg Grust for aid to survive that rebellion."

"Some of the… Gra, opposed betrayal since day one…" Marth raised a hand up to his head, "I… I never thought…"

"Prince Marth, an enemy nation, well…" he paused for a moment, wondering how to express his point. "As naïve as this may sound, an enemy nation can't be looked at as just comprised of enemies, except perhaps for Dolhr. Gra is comprised of people, not faceless monsters."

Marth held a hand in front of him, and clenched it into a fist, looking like he was trying to confirm something for himself. He couldn't let go of his anger and his desire for revenge, but now he was conflicted. He spun around and walked away without a word, staring at the Gra castle. Beck hadn't realized it, but he had sown doubt in Marth's mind. Doubt as to what was the proper and just way to deal with Gra, especially when the battle was over.

* * *

><p>Jiol ate at his banquet table in the banquet hall, lit only by the sunlight coming from the window. The meat on his plate that comprised his lunch was tough and hard, he enjoyed wearing it down in his mouth before separating it into little pieces and swallowing them. Yet, he was uncomfortable. Ever since Marth had returned, he had grown increasingly possessive of his throne and his power. Traits that only became more pronounced when news of Pyrathi's fall and Archanea's liberation came to light. In turn, he had grown increasingly intolerant of any form of dissent in his inner circle. Barely a day went by that Jiol didn't punish a suspected 'traitor', or an Archanean League 'sympathizer'. The merest insinuation from a Gra noble that the League didn't <em>have<em> to be destroyed, or the suggestion that loyalty to Dolhr wasn't in Gra's best interests was answered with a non-negotiable death penalty.

He needed to purge his inner circle of any potentially traitorous nobles, and he had to show Dolhr that he was serious about the fact that Gra would remain loyal to the Empire. Dolhr would no doubt treasure a loyal servant, not someone plotting independent conquest like Michalis or Gharnef. In order to be seen as loyal, he would have to make the nobility as loyal to Dolhr as possible.

The only issue there was Albertus, his Prime Minister. Too much of the nobility still took his cues from the man. He was also considered the people's 'man on the inside'. Executing him would only create more rebellions. He knew that the Manaketes were cynical enough about the rebellions, especially those that came from the military. It would be in his best interest to not execute the man. Though, perhaps a more subtle way was applicable… poison in his food and drink. Albertus was not a man who resisted illness well, he could write off the symptoms of poison as just another sickness, and then… purposely withhold proper treatment while telling the people that Albertus was getting the best treatment possible.

Not that he at any point feared that Dolhr would execute him for having such a rebellious nobility. He had retrieved Falchion, after all. He had earned a permanent place in the Empire, he merely had not yet attained a permanent place as Medeus' direct servant.

"Jiol." A cold voice came from behind, Jiol nearly jumped. He shot out of his chair, turning around fast enough to knock his chair down. He breathed hard, if this was an assassin arrogant enough to reveal his presence beforehand… his lance wasn't nearby and he was defenseless. He looked at a trio of robed individuals, and sighed, recognizing them as Manaketes. The first was, of course, Xemcel, then Bulzark, as for the third…

"…Khozen?" Jiol asked the third figure as he raised his eyebrow. "When Archanea fell, I presumed you had-"

Khozen raised his head, letting Jiol get a good look at his slashed throat. The damage was apparent even in his human form, damage that would have been unquestionably fatal to a human, but would only leave a thick scar on a Manakete. "Died?" Khozen asked dryly. "Perhaps, had I been a sickeningly inadequate human such as _you_, Jiol…"

Xemcel stretched an arm to the side, motioning for Khozen to be quiet. He stepped forward. "Jiol." The Gra king then realized that Xemcel has been the earlier speaker. Xemcel walked around the room, circling Jiol, which seemed to succeed only in creating a great deal of tension in the Gra king. The Manakete's face was almost impossible to see in the fairly unlit room, which seemed to only discomfort Jiol further. "There are two things you must be made aware of. First, Anri's spawn is coming here. _Today_."

Jiol flinched. "We… have been preparing for a siege. Gra prides itself on its defense."

Xemcel stopped his movement and turned to Jiol, continuing as if Jiol hadn't spoke. "Second, on this day you shall adhere to one of the most important rules of life to a Dolhrian human." He stayed silent for a long moment, then spoke again. "Death… before failure."

Jiol audibly swallowed, understanding completely. "I promise you, Gra will put an end to the legacy. Another wielder of Falchion shall not come. I shall present his head to you."

The Manakete eyed Jiol skeptically, but nodded. "As a small piece of insurance, Grustian Pegasus Knights will arrive in a few hours, position and employ them as you wish." Jiol's face creased with disappointment, he was doubtful that Pegasus Knights would have any use. "Simply kill the spawn, that is all the Emperor requires. The rest are negligible, and will fall in time without their savior." Xemcel waved a hand dismissively. "Coordinate your troops as you see fit, but see to it that you kill the spawn, otherwise…" he trailed off for a second, and offered Jiol a piercing gaze. "You _know_ the price of failure."

"Y-yes." Jiol said, sweating with tension. "The retriever of Falchion, the greatest servant of the Emperor, will not fail. I swear."

"Then I have nothing left to say." Xemcel backed away, thankful to be separated from Jiol's presence. With one wave of his hand, he and the Manaketes vanished in a burst of light.

Jiol walked back to his chair and reached down to pick it up. As he did so, he noticed that his hands were shaking with fright. He clenched them both and put his chair back into position and sat down. He was sweating with tension.

The door to the room creaked open. Jiol turned to see Albertus enter. The Prime Minister took a seat. His face seemed to look older every time Jiol saw him. The stress of seeing Gra go down the path he felt was wrong was physically apparent. His attitude toward Jiol had never been this… impersonal. He did not even address his king, but simply sat down without a word. Jiol was certain that Albertus had not heard the Manaketes in the room, but whatever the case, the elderly Minister said nothing, simply resting his hands on the white cloth of the table and sighing.

"Prince Marth and his 'Archanean League' is approaching. They'll be here today." Jiol said. Albertus' head jerked toward the Gra king. It had been the first time in a long time where Albertus wore the face of shock. It quickly melted away, and he seemed to be smiling somewhat bitterly.

"If that is our divine punishment, then so be it." Albertus said. "You sealed Gra's fate when you took King Cornelius' life. Now justice comes at the hand of his son, and you will know who invited it all on Gra."

Jiol looked down at the meat on his plate, then stood up. "For a Prime Minister, you're good at making your presence completely intolerable for your king."

"I wouldn't call you a 'king'…" Albertus mused quietly, Jiol didn't hear the words. His next words were louder. "It's not too late to make amends, King Jiol. Order the troops to put down their weapons and surrender. Prepared defenses or not, this is an enemy we cannot defeat. It is a combined force of Altea, Aurelian, and Archanean forces. Not to mention princess Minerva…"

"The future of Gra depends on us attaining Emperor Medeus' favor. I shall forever confirm my place by his side by slaying Cornelius' son." He turned around. "I must inform the men. They must cease training and sparring and be rested, they must be ready when the battle begins." He walked off, heading straight for the troop barracks, leaving Albertus alone.

Albertus looked at a cup of tea resting near him on the table and took a sip from it. "King Ji… no, _Jiol_. You are lost and naïve if you believe that Gra can defeat this enemy." He placed the cup back on the table. "The hour of justice is at hand, and all of Gra will have to pay for your foolishness."

* * *

><p><strong>Eh, pretty uneventful chapter, I think. Wolf and Astram's conversation was the highlight here, in my opinion.<strong>

**I normally avoid the village and house scenes from the game in this story, but that one thing about some of the enemy would have rather served Archanea then Dolhr really had to have been mentioned. It was originally going to be Merric and Linde finding the girl who said it, but then I came up with the whole thing with Beck. Though the scene was changed to being about Gra rather then Grust. (This chapter didn't occur at Gra's border in the game, either)**

**Please review.**


	25. Traitorous Kingslayer: vs Jiol

**Well, I'm uploading this on January 1st, 2012. So, Happy New Years to you guys. :)**

**Now, onto this chapter. The fall of Gra. They could have done soooooo much more with this chapter in the game.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>Every step took them closer to a fated battle. One that had been a long time coming, and one that many members of the Archanean League wanted to fight. Among the nations that comprised their enemies, the League soldiers undoubtedly regarded Gra as the least. A nation of sub par military strength, with a traitorous murderer for a king.<p>

They all knew what was about to happen, what they were about to do. They marched in silent anticipation. In any other situation, a few of the soldiers would casually talk another's ears off. Nothing like that would occur today. The idea of descending on the royal castle of one of their enemies was all that occupied their minds right now.

Eventually, they came to a steep cliff and halted. Marth looked forward, the castle of Gra was right there. They would have to march down, then cross a bridge over a river, and then they would be at the castle gates, ready to invade.

The fact that Gra was right beside Altea was not lost on the prince. In the past, the close proximity of the two nations had allowed for easy communication and trade between the two allies. It also allowed for Gra's army to easily conquer the surprised nation when the treachery occurred. Marth could never forget that day… summoned to the throne room by his sister, Elice, and then the horrible news came, Gra's betrayal, Altea falling to Gra and Grust, it had been almost too much all at once. It tore his heart out to have to abandon the nation like that, but his older sister insisted that they had to leave… though she didn't tell him that she would stay behind in order to buy time for his escape.

Marth stood silently, looking at the castle they were ready to descend on. A chilly breeze blew past him, tossing his cape and his hair, but he didn't move. He closed his eyes, thinking back to the day when Gra stole two precious things from him. His father, and his life. He had wanted to tear Gra apart, make them pay for what they did, and for… whatever Altea was going through right now.

Yet, after he spoke with Beck just a few hours ago, he wasn't particularly… sure, of what would be done. He knew he wanted, and had to, kill Jiol, but the nation itself he didn't know what to make of anymore.

Ever since the betrayal, he had painted all of Gra with a single broad brush. Now, for the first time, he gave thought to what the soldiers and the people of Gra might have been thinking. He had never supposed that anyone from Gra was against Jiol's leadership. Now…

Not the slightest bit of anger or hatred had departed him, but now… the situation had changed for him, somewhat. What hadn't changed was the fact that the battle _would_ be fought, and the Gra military _would_ be devastated by the battle, no matter what personal qualms some of them might have.

He continued to watch the home of King Jiol, standing almost like a statue as the sun set behind the Gra Castle, bathing the sky in orange. It almost looked like he was hesitating in someway, and then a shiver went down his spine as an armored hand gripped his shoulder.

"Marth?" It was Minerva, Marth didn't turn to her, but he lightly sighed. "Is something wrong? This is a battle you should be beyond eager to fight."

There was a touch of honest concern in her voice. Marth spoke without turning to her, "I'm just thinking… about what Gra did to me." As painful as it was for him, he forced himself to picture his parents and his sister exactly as they were on the last day the four had been together. The day his father had left, Marth, Elice, and Liza all gave him their blessings and hoped for his safety as he marched out. King Cornelius expected the army of Gra to faithfully aid him in the fight against Dolhr and the then newly formed Dolhr Alliance. Instead of providing support, Gra had betrayed Altea, stabbed the army in the back and, with Grustian support, easily routed the confused Altean army. Cain escaped on orders of King Cornelius and returned to castle Altea, and assisted in escorting Marth to safety. "I know my father is dead… betrayed by people he thought were faithful and honorable, and the man responsible for that act is sitting on a throne in that castle."

Minerva could see Marth's fists tightening. He was growing angrier at the memories he had. With her hand still on his shoulder, Minerva took a cautious step forward and tried to talk to him without saying the wrong words.

"You have every right to want a bloody justice Marth, but, what will you decide to do?"

He turned full body to Minerva, feeling Minerva's hand falling off of his shoulder. "I know what I want to do, I'm just… not sure what I _should_ do."

"And… what is it that you want to do?" Minerva asked.

"What I want to do…" Marth mumbled. "They took my family and my life from me. I have the right to take it back." His voice was almost monotone, but Minerva took a step back regardless. Marth was far from the person she wanted to give a reason to seek her out for any kind of revenge. Not noticing that he had intimidated Minerva, he continued speaking. "They couldn't do anything themselves, and had to resort to betrayal and lies to get into an opportune position. I want to show them what it's like to fight someone you gives you no chance to fight back. Besiege their castle just like they besieged Castle Altea, and let them know what it feels like to be caught in such a hopeless situation. I want to take that king, who killed people who called him a friend, and-" he blinked, then stopped himself as he noticed the rising anger in his voice, and the fact that he was now posturing in rage. He shook his head and looked at Minerva. "Yet, I think what I want to do is different from what I _should_ do. I don't know."

Minerva took a deep breath. She'd probably support what Marth wanted to do. However, she could tell that, for whatever reason, taking his revenge so completely didn't sit well with him.

"Whatever you decide to do, Marth, decide after the battle. Gra is nothing of note militaristically, but regardless, we need to stay focused. You shouldn't think about it until Jiol is defeated, when you must decide the fate of that nation."

Marth looked at her for a moment, then sighed. "You're right, Minerva. We'll be moving out in just a few minutes. We can't give Gra anymore time to shore up its defenses."

* * *

><p>Most of the soldiers were silent, mentally preparing themselves for what was to come. Though many believed that this would be an ultimately uneventful battle, there was an undeniable, nearly physical, tension in the air. They would be fighting the full force of Gra, it would be a massive enemy to face, and no underestimations or mistakes could be afforded. They were about to descend upon the royal castle of one component of the Dolhr Alliance. A bastion that, one could look at and see, was clearly prepared for a siege.<p>

"Guess today is revenge, huh?" Norne broke the silence that pervaded. She looked at Gordin, sitting across from her on a large and flat rock, with his arms crossed and his head bowed. He was obviously thinking deeply about something. Norne took a step toward him. "What do the Gra soldiers fight like, Gordin? You probably have a better idea then I do."

"I… don't know, Norne." He mumbled, he heard her approaching and looked up to see her tilting her head with curiosity.

"How could you not know? You fought them once before, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but… that fight barely lasted a minute." He didn't want to close his eyes, he knew it would just invite the unpleasant memories of that day, two and a half years ago. Yet his eyelids fell in spite of his protests, sealing his vision. Against the black backdrop he remembered each and every little detail of the battle that occurred. "I and a entire unit of Altean archers were attacked by Gra troops. If we knew they were coming I think we would have won, but by the time we realized that we were under attack, they were too close for the archers we were to really do anything. The unit captain told me to run when it was plainly obvious that the Gra soldiers were going to win and that they weren't taking prisoners."

"Oh…" Norne sat down beside him. "So, you never really got the chance to see how the Gra soldiers really fought?"

"Not really." Gordin said in a tone quiet enough to almost be unhearable. "I fled to the top of a tower, but a Gra soldier came up from behind and captured me, I lost my bow when that happened. The captain who was handling the subjugation of Altea used me as a meat shield hostage when he fought prince Marth. Prince Marth saved me, I followed him to the harbor, and… that's where we met, wasn't it?"

Norne nodded in the affirmative. "Feels like it happened before I was born. Hard for me to not picture you as my on-field partner and friend." She sighed, "I didn't lose much when Gra came. By the time they had to have descended on my village, I was already gone with Sir Draug."

"I guess it was the people in the military who suffered the most." Gordin observed, seeing that Norne didn't seem particularly bothered by being forced to flee the nation the way she did. "I wonder if the others had to leave anything behind to get prince Marth out of the nation…"

Norne noticed that Gordin's hands were in his lap, trembling. Norne reached out and placed her hand on them. "Whatever anyone lost, we'll take it back after today's battle. We'll go free Altea after we take care of Gra, just like how we freed Aurelis and Archanea." She smiled in a comforting manner, "All the damage that was done we _can_ undo. We got Aurelis and Archanea back on the road to recovery. We'll do it for Altea too."

Gordin slowly nodded. "A… a part of me is scared to go back to Altea. When you think about what Dolhr might have done to it…"

He trailed off, and silence set in again. Norne wasn't sure what to say to that. Slowly, the hand that she had on Gordin's two shaking hands tightened its grip, and she gently pulled the hands to her. Cautiously, with the intention of consoling, she began to form words. "We'll have to go to Altea, Gordin, even if… it won't be easy to bear the sights. I'll…" she chewed her lip, trying to grab the words that seemed to float tauntingly out of reach. "No matter what we see in Altea, I'll help you confront it. You _know_ I will."

"I…" Gordin started, but then it suddenly seemed like he didn't need to offer any approval to his friend. He nodded, and then Norne stood up, pulling him up by his hands.

"Now, let's just deal with Gra for today." She said, tentatively raising her hands up and grabbing Gordin by his shoulders. "If… if you want to talk about anything about Altea that might be worrying you, I'm all ears after the battle."

* * *

><p>"Gra… spineless traitors who deserve no mercy." Astram clenched his fists as he looked down at the castle. The order had just come, the soldiers of the League were about to move, they were given just a scant few minutes to deal with any personal matters. Astram hated the waiting and inactivity that took place between battles. Gra didn't warrant any form of preparation. Surely just three remotely well trained soldiers was all it would take to break the entire nation. Even one that looked to have been preparing for an invasion of some sort.<p>

He took his Silver Sword out, letting it gleam in the sun for a moment. He relished the idea of coating the weapon with Gra blood, hacking limbs off and leaving the corpses of the cowards spread all across the ground.

"Put the sword away." A voice from behind harshly commanded. Astram immediately obeyed, immediately sheathing the sword and turning around. He was disappointed to see that he had just obeyed the words of Wolf.

"And what is wrong with examining my equipment before a battle?" Astram demanded, raising his voice. "It is necessary for all soldiers to ensure that their equipment will not falter at an inopportune time."

"The sunlight reflected off of the blade." Wolf said neutrally. "I do not believe King Jiol knows of how close we are to him yet, but something as little as that glimmer could give us away." He looked at Astram hard. "You would not have lasted a second in the Aurelian resistance if you'd unknowingly make such risks."

"We aren't a resistance, Aurelian. This is the Archanean League. We've transcended the limitations that your nation of horses and horsemen were so obviously incapable of rising above. We don't need to take such needless precautionary measures, not with the strength we have."

"Having strength doesn't make foolish risks an appealing action." Wolf countered without raising his voice. "We are far from invincible, no matter who leads us." He indirectly referred to Nyna, having quickly grown tired of the Archanean's perception that Nyna's mere presence made them invincible against anything and everything they would face. "Understand that I'll kill you myself before I'll let you jeopardize the entire army with a mistake like that."

Astram just slightly flinched, and understood that Wolf wasn't bluffing when he said that. "Perhaps… I will consider being more discreet in the future, if it pleases the Aurelian cowards."

Wolf made no reaction, not as much as a twitch. After standing there for a few seconds, he simply turned around and begin to walk away.

"If you can perform somewhat adequately today, I might consider listening to you more. Let me see if a mewling coward who hid in tunnels and abandoned forts such as yourself is remotely capable when pressed into _real_ combat."

Wolf paused, closing his eyes to take in what Astram said, but walked away without replying.

* * *

><p>"They're here." Jiol muttered from atop one of the castle towers. He had just seen the outline of a soldier on the nearby cliff. He might have missed the soldier… had it not been for the tiny gleam of sunlight off of the soldier's sword.<p>

"The League has arrived, sir." A nearby Gra lookout confirmed the identity of the soldiers atop the cliff.

"The prince thinks that Gra is easy prey for his vengeance, but he will find us to be no simple meal for his army." Jiol said, tightening his hand on his lance. "Order the troops to prepare their best defense. We will endure behind walls of armored knights, as is Gra's eternal military strategy. Whenever Grust's Pegasus Knights arrive…" he snorted and shook his head. He could tell that Xemcel didn't think highly of him to only provide Pegasus Knights, when he could have provided Michalis' Dragoons or the Sable Order. No matter, he'd simply have a word with Xemcel once he replaced the Manakete as Medeus' right hand. "…we'll let those Grustian… _ponies_, soften the enemy up some. Make them easier pickings for us."

"That's never going to work." Albertus spoke up with a deeply critical voice, drawing the shocked and speechless attention of Jiol. "No tactic Gra employs would work here. Prince Marth comes, Fire Emblem in hand. He leads the combined forces of Aurelis, Archanea, Altea-"

"New Dolhr." Jiol corrected.

Albertus blinked, then looked at Jiol as if he just heard a bad joke. "The enemy we face threw the Dolhr Alliance out of Aurelis and liberated Archanea of Dolhr's control. Gra has no way to face an army such as this, an army that is constantly growing in both soldiers and support. There is only one thing Gra can do." He turned around and faced the soldiers present. "We _must_ surrender. The only path left for us to take is to hope that prince Marth will show us mercy if we bend knee to him."

The soldiers looked at the Prime Minister, and seemed to hesitate at his words. Albertus' words were highly respected and regarded through all of Gra, from the nobles, to the military, to the common people. The soldiers took in the influential words, looking at each other, with doubt in the eyes under the great helms.

"There is no need to give my soldiers unhelpful advice." Jiol growled, stepping forward and looking directly at his troops. "We are not surrendering. Gra will gain an eternal position of favor before Emperor Medeus today."

"Look at the enemy mobilizing in the distance, King Jiol." Albertus said. "You can praise Gra's defensive talents as much as you like, but this is an enemy we _cannot_ defeat."

"You give the enemy too much credit." Jiol shot back, "Gra will be victorious today, and you will have no choice but to eat your own words."

Albertus shook his head. "You've already lost, Jiol, but send the troops out if it pleases you, and let history remember King Jiol as the one who led Gra to the ruin it would never recover from."

Jiol narrowed his eyes in deep frustration, but shook his head. Once he attained his eternal position at Medeus' side, he wouldn't have to worry about the backlash that executing Albertus might generate. He'd force Albertus to swear unconditional reverence to his way of thinking, or be executed in public, no matter how much the people might wail.

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><p>Across the orange dusk sky, two Pegasus Knights were saddled atop their white steeds, shooting through the air, feeling the wind moving past them. They were not Grustian Pegasus Knights, their Pegasus wore neither the armor or the emblem that would mark them as such. These two soldiers had no association with those who would provide reinforcements for Gra. These two were Macedonians.<p>

Macedonians who served Minerva first, rather then Michalis. Having departed from Grust, Palla and Catria had raced to find Minerva. Following clues, traces, and sometimes, the then rotting remains of enemy regiments Minerva and the League had fought, to lead them to Minerva. They were closing the gap between them and their commander.

First they had gone to Castle Deil, then followed the trail to Archanea. Rather then follow it from there, Palla's best judgment told her that there was only one place the League would go from Archanea… the land that betrayed Altea.

"There's Gra Castle." Palla said, seeing the unmistakable stone work of the structure. Had she and Catria not felt the critical need to reunite with Minerva as soon as possible, Palla might have stopped to acknowledge that the castle was breathtaking with a dusk sun bathing it in orange light. Instead, she simply bade her Pegasus to move just a little faster as she grew slightly excited. "The commander _should_ be here, unless she helped the League defeat the Gra already. We need to return to directly serving her again, immediately."

"If she's here, we'll find her. Nothing is going to stop us from the reunion, and fighting the people we should have been fighting all along." Catria's grip on the rein of her Pegasus tightened in frustration. "I have a lot of anger that I can _finally_ vent."

Palla looked at her sister with concern, but didn't say anything. Chastising Catria for wanting the wrong kind of justice didn't take any kind of precedence right now. "We have to find the commander, and-" she stopped, her danger sense flaring, alerting her to… something, behind the two. Turning her head, she spotted a mass of figures several miles behind them. A dozen…? No, more then that. She could guesstimate at least… fifty or so Pegasus Knights were behind them.

Were they followed? No, impossible. Grust would have come after them much sooner if that was the case. A knife of fear suddenly went through her chest, and Palla dreaded the idea of what could have happened to Est. She shouldn't have given into Est's request, no matter how 'personal' that object might have been. She fought with a mental agony and guilt for several seconds, then turned back to the front. "The commander _is_ here, and we need to find her before the Grustians do."

Catria raised her eyebrow, wondering why Palla would mention Grust soldiers when all that was present would be the Gra, then she looked behind and understood perfectly. She turned back to the front, and bade her Pegasus to begin moving faster. The creature flapped its wings, flapped them until the feathers started to come loose.

* * *

><p>The Alteans looked particularly ready for this fight. There was no denying the deep personal meaning this battle had for the soldiers who formed the inner core of the army. Especially for Cain, who had long fought with the shame of being forced to abandon his king and his allies on that Grust field.<p>

"This is it." Cain muttered to himself. The hand that held his lance quivered with rage as they came to the river the separated them from Gra Castle. "I'll never forget what you did to the king, Jiol." He shivered with anticipation for the battle. He could remember… expecting Gra to come up right behind them and bolster their defense. At the time, Cain considered it a great symbol of Gra's faith and loyalty for King Jiol of Gra to personally come. His pride in Altea's 'ally' would last only a few more minutes. Gra began to cut the Altean army down from behind. Cain could never forget… how many soldiers were dead before anyone even understood what was going on. All the trust and loyalty Altea and Gra had for each other… it all disappeared in that one moment.

He flexed his fingers, mentally seeing himself thrusting his spear through the Gra soldiers, as well as Jiol. A sense of mixed anticipation and calmness flowed through the very core of his being. Today, finally, today, his old comrades, and his king, would be able to rest easy. Jiol would never have a throne under him again.

"Cross the bridge, now!" Cain raised his head as Marth gave the order. The battle was about to begin. One that was a long time coming. Without any hesitation, Cain charged with the rest of the army. The sun of Gra's power was setting… and would soon slip beneath the horizon.

The League surged forward, quickly breaking through the shoddy wooden gate of the castle, never intended to repel anything greater then the weather. The forces of Gra, with their iron-hard defense, stood ready just behind the gate to face the invaders.

"Steady, soldiers, remember your training!" A Gra captain barked at his men. "Maintain your defense, let them wear themselves out against you, then rout them. Gra will prevail today!" The Gra met their enemy, their armor was strong, the royal army was well trained, and initially, their defense seemed secure.

The League seemed to have some trouble at breaking through the ranks of Gra soldiers. Their initial assault was stopped cold by Gra, and it almost seemed that the League was being forced _back_. Then Marth appeared at the front of the line, almost like a savior. He met the enemy, his Rapier easily stabbing through the breastplate of one soldier, followed by Jagen's silver lance… not piercing but badly cracking the armor protecting the gut of another. Hardin immediately took notice and stabbed his lance through the cracked armor, killing the second soldier.

Only a few minutes had passed since the start of the battle, but the Gra soldiers were likely already stressed what had just happened. Two men down, and not a single fatality on the other side. Then an arrow from Wolf pierced fatally through the helmet of an anonymous Gra soldier. Linde called down Aura, leaving a pile of ashes in the dead center of the mass of Gra troops. This was followed by Astram's mighty sword slicing through the Gra armor like it had all the durability of wet paper.

Gra's intended military tactic was to hold the line, force the League back, and kill the enemy when they grew exhausted. In recognition of a surprisingly sudden and large loss of personal, the Gra defense took a tentative step back, and the League advanced. Gra took another step back, and another… the nation's defense was already faltering. Cain surged forward, vengefully cutting down several of the enemy before the mass of heavily armored knights forced him back.

The magic of Wendell, Merric, and Linde covered Cain's retreat as he pulled back, and ensured that Gra would not attain victory quickly, if at all. Gra's moral took a crushing blow as the Archanean League pushed into the courtyard of the castle.

As the first wave of defense was routed, Gra's full military spilled out in full force from seemingly every direction, ready to face the League. Marth narrowed his eyes. He had no interest in fighting the entire Gra military to get to Jiol. He also saw plainly well that the soldiers of Gra were well-trained, but not enough to command the entire League's undivided attention. He'd rather get to Jiol as fast as possible, not be forced to wade through every Gra soldier first.

He decided to depart for Jiol. Marth, along with Hardin and Caeda and Minerva and Marth's bodyguard, Jagen, would move to the throne room of Gra by themselves. It was clear that the entirety of Gra's forces was right here, Jiol had to have been mostly undefended. The rest of the army would concentrate on defeating the main body of Gra troops. With the two usual commanders of the army departing to the throne room, Marth and Hardin appointed Wolf as commander to what remained in the courtyard. Leaving the League in Wolf's hands, Marth moved to the throne room.

Gra's main force came upon what remained present, Wolf frowned, unimpressed by the simplistic charge. He directed the League soldiers under his command forward as he carefully put an arrow on his bowstring. His arrow pierced through the helmet of what seemed to be the acting General of the defense and felled the man. A new person in the chain of command would come swiftly enough. That man would in turn be killed by Wolf's arrows. As the soldiers of the League took the fight to the enemy, a sudden shout pierced the air. An undeniable cry of warning.

"Pegasus Knights!" The call went out. Wolf wasn't sure who made it, but he was already looking up before the word 'knights' had even come out. At once he saw the two Pegasus Knights and pointed an arrow at them. The fingers on his arrow started to slacken their hold and release… the instant before he fired he noticed that one of the Pegasus Knights almost seemed to be waving her arms to signal him.

"Wait! W-wait! We're not enemies. We-" Palla let out a shaky breath as the man on the ground just slightly lowered his bow. Then she noticed that it was the same purple haired man who nearly killed her, Catria, and Minerva back at the Lefcandith Valley, and a shot of true fear went into her heart as she nearly stopped breathing. Reluctantly, she led Catria down, close to the man but not too close. Though she doubted that distance would amount to anything against… this one. "S-sir, we're looking for princess Minerva. I… I-"

"She is here." Wolf said calmly, Palla's eyes widened happily, but Wolf's next words would have a sobering effect. "She left with prince Marth to find King Jiol in his throne room. I have authority in the battle elsewhere in the castle of Gra."

"I… I see." Palla said, taking a fearful breath at the presence of the man, but assuring herself that he wasn't about to attack. "Catria and I must find the commander at once. If you'll excuse us, we-"

"You _will_ stay here." Wolf said in a cold tone, Palla's heart skipped a beat. "If you wish to aid your princess, then you have joined the Archanean League. You can reunite with her when this battle is over, _if_ you survive. Until then, your place in the battle falls under my jurisdiction."

Palla gulped and bowed her head in understanding, but Catria was indignant and moved forward. "Don't order us around! The commander is our _only_ superior. If the commander went to King Jiol's throne room, then that's exactly where we're-"

She immediately cut herself off before Palla could order her to be silent. One piercing, icy cold glare from Wolf was all it took. She hadn't recognized him at first, but one look from him and all the memories came back. The memory of the man's sword pressing lightly against her neck when she fell from her Pegasus. The sword ready to end her life at any moment with one swift motion, the memory of being just an inch from death because of this man's battle prowess being so much superior to hers rushing back into her mind. Catria started to tremble, opening her mouth to take back what she said, but no words would come.

"H-h-her outburst won't be repeated, s-sir." Palla managed to say, terrified for Catria's sake. "W-we'll be back with the commander, once this fight is o-over. It's the good fight, after a-all."

"Good." Wolf turned around. "The Gra soldiers are the enemy. Face them."

"Yes sir." Palla bowed her head. "Um… what's your name, s-sir?"

Wolf turned back to her. "That is not important. Ask me again when the fight is over. At that time… I will have things to discuss with you."

A shiver went down Palla's spine, knowing exactly what he would have wanted to speak to her about, she nodded, then turned from him. "Come on, Catria, we'll only reunite with the commander once this battle is over." She felt honestly relieved that the man seemed to have no further interest in them…

"Wait." Wolf ordered, Palla nearly jumped. She turned back to him, but his eyes were skyward. "Allies of yours?" Palla blinked in confusion, then turned up.

"No, sir." Palla observed the Pegasus Knights that has been behind Palla and Catria. "Those are Grustians, and they are the enemy."

With a slight scoff, Wolf aimed an arrow at the Grustian reinforcements. Before he fired, he turned to the Whitewings. "Go to the battle. Immediately."

Palla and Catria both swallowed, and hastened to obey, rushing toward nearby Gra soldiers.

* * *

><p>As the battle in Gra Castle continued, the air inside the throne room becoming more and more tense. The walls, lined with emblems, jewels, and artwork crafted of gold, did nothing to soothe Jiol in the face of the crisis, of the fact the situation was turning so completely against him.<p>

Jiol was pacing back and forth. Gra, the nation that prided itself so much on its defensive strategy, was buckling in its defense. The ramifications of that for Jiol were… he shivered at the thought. He stopped pacing and snapped around. "Albertus!"

The Prime Minister was in the room, as was a multitude of bodyguards, the only members of the Gra military not facing the League right now. Albertus raised his bowed head and opened his eyes. "Yes, Jiol?"

"We are in the castle of Gra, we pride ourselves on our defense, every advantage is ours, and still, the army fails. Consider what is best for Gra, and assist me in forming a better defense."

Albertus blinked, then sighed. "It's over, Jiol. Gra has nothing left in its army to aid it. You know as well as I do that there is only one road left for Gra to walk upon…"

Jiol looked stunned, and his brow furrowed. "We are _not_ surrendering." He growled through clenched teeth.

"Then, it's over, for all of Gra." Albertus mused with a depressed and disappointed voice. "We shall all endure the Altean vengeance that _you_ planted the seed of."

"It isn't over for Gra yet. The prince shall be crushed beneath our boots. There is no reason to surrender, we will find someway to win. Only with the Emperor's favor can Gra exist."

Albertus' hands slowly clenched into fists. "If you were half the king that King Cornelius was, you'd see that-"

Jiol's eyes widened in shock and insult. He darted across the room to Albertus and punched the man square in the jaw, generating a sickening cracking sound.

"Cornelius wasn't a _tenth_ of what I am." He seethed in a deep voice as Albertus fell down and tumbled down the steps that separated the throne from the entrance, the back of his head hitting the marble floor and generating a second crack.

"Prime Minis-"

"Leave him where he fell." Jiol ordered to the soldier who had been moving to try and help Albertus. The soldiers looked at each other with deep uncertainty… and they were clearly disgusted at the uncalled for punch to the aging Prime Minister's jaw. "Leave and fortify the defense outside of the throne room. See to it that no one who serves Cornelius' son gets in here."

The soldiers stared at him, then, slowly and begrudgingly, they moved to obey. Yet the throne room doors opened before any of them had gotten close. They swung open, moving fast enough for the regal doors, painted red and lined with gold, to crack upon the stone walls.

Jiol gritted his teeth, and took a fearful step back as Marth entered, accompanied by a small number of allies. The Gra king's eyes angrily flared in recognition of Minerva. Had he of known that she would accompany the army that would descend on Gra Castle, he'd have insisted she be executed long ago.

Jagen stood by the prince, ready for the dethroning that should have occurred long ago. Then his eyes darted to the side, and his focus was disrupted at the sight of an old friend.

_Albertus._ Jagen recognized the body. He could only wonder what happened… and why Albertus was limp on the ground. Jagen was tempted to investigate, but he reminding himself of the battle and forced himself to turn away from the Prime Minister.

"King Jiol." Marth muttered at the man standing in front of the throne. "Do you… have any idea what you have to answer for?"

Caeda was slightly unnerved as the normally calm Marth shook with rage, but remained silent by his side.

"Why should I answer for anything?" Jiol retorted. "Everything I've ever done was for the sake of Gra. Your backwater nation was just a stepping stone in improving Gra's condition."

"No point…" Hardin said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "There was no point in what you did, King Jiol."

"Everything I did, I put my nation first." Jiol countered, "Is that not what a king is supposed to do?"

"You laid waste to an allied nation, let the crisis with Dolhr grow worse, stole Falchion, the continent's greatest weapon against the Manaketes, let Gra become a pawn to Dolhr that could be disposed of at any time… and don't try to say that it was all for Gra's sake. I know your kind, know every lie they spew and justification they use… you weren't worried for Gra. You'd betray your own nation for another, if it kept _you_ safe. You're simply a coward, born into a position of power."

Jiol grew angrier with every word Hardin spoke. "A mere _prince_ dares to say such things to a _king_?"

"I wouldn't call you a king." Marth said icily. "You're simply a murderer. For what you did…" he pointed a finger at Jiol, the image of his father in his mind. "I will _not_ forgive you!"

"Murderer?" Jiol tilted his head, then smiled. "Oh, you must mean that king who fell so simply into my trap. He honestly believed that I would honor some arbitrary agreement our ancestors came up with. Cornelius died on the plains with his men, he died quickly, and put up as much of a fight as a toddler would before he surrendered his life. Such an easily led simpleton… he never deserved the title of 'king'."

Marth postured and shook with rage at the words, though he kept himself from lunging. However, all the self-control and discipline in the Altean prince would vanish with Jiol's next words. Jiol tilted his lance forward, putting emphasis on the fact that the majority of the blade was curiously colored a faint red, not the proper silver color. "Take a guess, prince Marth, whose _blood_ this is stained with?"

"_You_!" Marth darted forward before anyone could as much as try to restrain him.

"Kill them!" Jiol ordered, and the royal guards of Gra surged.

* * *

><p>The fighting had spread out around the entirety of the castle. Everywhere you looked, blades clashed, and Gra soldiers fell. Palla and Catria joined the fight on the side of the Archanean League, and revealed a surprising amount of skill in battle. The two developed a habit of swooping down, striking down an enemy with their lance, then ascending back into the air.<p>

The Grustian Pegasus Knights had proven a negligible addition to the battle. Palla and Catria killed some, but the majority were felled by Merric's Excalibur and Wolf's arrows. The Pegasus and their riders who had come to aid Gra were already in deceased heaps on the ground.

Every few kills in the battle, Palla turned to Wolf, making sure the man she still didn't know the name of hadn't confused her and Catria for Grustian Pegasus Knights. The man was directing the battle well, Palla knew that he was a person she never wanted as an enemy. She feared a fight with him like she would fear being forced to face Michalis by herself. Taking a deep breath, she returned to the battle, knowing that there was a more pressing enemy to worry about right now…

That pressing enemy being the Gra archers, which she and Catria were obvious targets for. Yet, whenever one of them seemed to aim at one of the two, the Gra archer was shot by a League archer, sometimes Jeorge, sometimes Tomas. The two Whitewings continued their pattern of attack fearlessly, though Palla remained constantly concerned about Gra's arrows.

Gordin and Norne fought well, sometimes going actively going after enemies, and covering allies at other times. By this point in the war, Norne noted, nearly half of the army probably owed their life to her and Gordin on at least one occasion. The two continued placing arrows on their bowstrings and felling enemies with them, until they came across the castle town. There would have been no reason to enter the town, but…

"You two." A voice came. Gordin turned around, ready to attack, but the man who he saw didn't look like he was here for combat. In fact, he didn't look like he hailed from Gra at all. "Are you two with the Archanean League?"

"Um…" Gordin lowered his bow, but kept the arrow in position in case this was a trap. "Y-yes. Why do you want to know?"

The man wore a black, almost regal looking outfit, a black tunic and trench coat that seemed to be lined with gold, and he had the build of a warrior, complimented with an exceptionally handsome face. Gordin noticed that the man was standing in a posture that allowed almost perfect defense. If Gordin or Norne tried to attack, both of them would have likely been defeated, even killed, with little effort by this unarmed man. Despite his posture, the man wasn't here to fight, he wasn't even armed at the moment, but he was, unbeknownst to the two Alteans, associated with the enemy. Neither Gordin or Norne were aware that they were face to face with Camus the Sable, Grust's finest general, and the single greatest soldier of the Dolhr Alliance.

Rather then kill the two, who were his enemies, Camus instead spoke like a helpful stranger met in the midst of a trying time. "I have something for the Archanean League." He revealed a tome of magic on his person. Gordin was no expert of such things, but he could somehow sense that the power contained in the pages was nothing to scoff at. "This tome… Volzhin of Dolhr, who fell when the Archanean Palace was liberated, stole this from Bishop Boah of Archanea. It… let's say it found its way into my possession. I would appreciate it if you would return this to its proper owner."

Gordin relaxed the hand on his arrow and took the tome in his hands. He looked up at the stranger suspiciously. "Who are you?"

The man, Camus, stayed silent for a miniscule moment, but not for an instant did uncertainty appear in his eyes. "Simply someone who has moved around much of the continent lately."

"Why-"

"Who I am is not important." Camus said, "What matters is who you are, soldiers of the Archanean League." He looked down at the pair, "I'm counting on you and your army, counting on prince Marth and prince Hardin, to keep princess Nyna safe."

"Huh?" Norne raised an eyebrow at the comment. "Why would you be concerned with princess Nyna specifically?"

Camus' only answer was to begin to walk away, having no further business here. "Hey, get back-" Norne began to give chase, but Gordin grabbed her shoulder.

"We still have the battle to fight. Whoever that is, let him leave." Gordin said, Norne glared at the man as he left her sight, then sighed and turned back. She seriously doubted that that man was just a traveler, but shook her head of the thought.

"Right, we're still fighting Gra. Come on, Gordin."

* * *

><p>Gra's single most elite soldiers personally guarded King Jiol. Yet one look at the way they fought and one could tell, their hearts weren't into this. They were faster, stronger, and craftier then this. After only just a few seconds, Hardin recognized their reservations, and decided to try and not kill, but simply incapacitate.<p>

It was not an easy thing to do. Jiol's taunt with his lance, with Cornelius' dry blood still on it, worked Marth into a frenzy. Jagen, Caeda, and Minerva didn't seem to notice the Gra soldiers seeming hesitation to fight, and struck to kill. Hardin… overworked himself in trying to make the majority of enemies fall unconscious. It did not help matters that the Gra soldiers were still striking with lethal force.

Jagen met a Gra soldier who was attempting to attack Marth from the left side of the prince as Marth fought another head on. A third Gra soldier, however, attacked Marth from the right side that Jagen wasn't guarding, a small blind spot that wasn't defended or watched in the slightest. The Gra soldier came up, and a vicious gash was administered to Marth's side, one that was deep enough to get Caeda to gasp in horror, and make Jiol smile triumphantly, as if he believed victory had been attained at that precise moment.

Taking a lance, not the lance coated with Cornelius' blood, Jiol threw it straight at the prince as Marth was grimacing at his wound. Marth looked up in time to see the lance coming and flinched… and something suddenly came in between him and the lance.

Caeda gasped, feeling the lance pierce through her hip, and fell off of her Pegasus. She saved Marth's life, and the price to pay was a level of pain she was certain she had never felt before.

"_Caeda_!" Marth suddenly forgot or ignored his pain, and rushed to Caeda's side as she fell onto the floor, clutching at her wound, and the lance stuck in her. He kneeled down, shivering at the possibility of what might have happened, unable to tell if she was breathing or not. He stood up and turned to Jiol. "Jiol… was the king of Altea, my father, not enough?" He shook the fist of his free arm, then swept his arm across his vision angrily, and growled his next words out. "Leave Caeda _alone_!"

"Stupid girl." Jiol muttered, less interested in Marth's anger and more interested in having failed to kill Marth. "No matter, I'll personally give you the pain you should have felt long ago when your castle fell. Your head will be on display in the Emperor's throne room, courtesy of me." Jiol took out the lance that had taken Cornelius' life, still covered in dried blood, and met Marth's single man charge.

Hardin and Jagen dismounted from their horses and Minerva from her Wyvern to examine Caeda.

"How is-"

"She's stable." Hardin assured Minerva as he very carefully examined her wound, after a few seconds, he finished his analysis of the injury. "I can put a bandage on this simply enough, but what she needs is attention from a staff-wielder, and all our staff-wielders are with Wolf."

Minerva growled, silently vowing that Jiol would pay for the near death strike to Caeda. She stayed with Caeda for the Talysian princesses' protection, Marth could fulfill Minerva's vow well enough on his own.

Marth gritted his teeth, looking almost manic as he attacked Jiol. Jiol held his own… but only for the first few moments of battle. His betrayal of Altea, his hand in the murder of its king, taunting Marth with the blood of the prince's father, and finally, the attack on Caeda, it all turned Marth into a beast of Jiol's creation.

Jiol tried to employ the advantages of his long lance, but it was a futile tactic. Before Jiol's very eyes, Marth stabbed through the king of Gra's gut, slashed open the armor of the man's arm, then cut open his chest, right below his neck. In less then a minute, Jiol's defeat was certain.

"Augh…" Jiol fell backwards onto his throne. He was no fool when it came to fighting, but against the enraged Marth, he was nothing. All thoughts of the glory of slaying Marth and replacing Xemcel as Medeus' right hand were gone from his mind. All he thought of now was simply escaping this battle with his life. "P…p-prince Marth." He stammered as he tried to scoot away, but the back of his throne stopped him. "Mercy, I-I beg you. S-spare my life. I…I-"

"Mercy?" Marth repeated with disgust in his voice as he towered over Jiol, pointing his Rapier at the man's neck. "The mercy you _didn't_ show to anyone else? You're actually asking me for _mercy_?"

"I… I can change, prince Marth, of… of Altea." He swallowed, saying Altea, not New Dolhr. "Please, just… just give me a chance!"

"Did you give my father or Altea a chance?" Marth demanded.

Jiol had no words to respond to that. He tensed with pure terror, and could tell from Marth's shaking hand that he wanted to strike the fatal blow. Then, Marth looked behind him, seeing Caeda. She was… getting up to a sitting position, with the lance removed from her, and a bandage where the wound had been. Marth's anger at Jiol was broken at the sight of Caeda, wounded, but very much alive. He turned back to Jiol, regarding him coldly, but ultimately just sighed. His words came out calmly, but without the slightest warmth to them. "If you perform such treachery again, or hurt Caeda again, I _will_ hunt you down and kill you, no matter who tries to convince me to show mercy. Now leave, stripped of your crown and throne, Jiol. You aren't a king anymore, and you have no claim to the throne of Gra. Disappear, and hope you never see my face again."

Jiol practically whimpered, then Marth turned around, sheathing his Rapier. Caeda saw him, and her eyes, tired and strained from pain, brightened at Marth's approach. Marth came to her, sure that the battle was over, and that his next priority was Caeda's safety and healing. The anger at the weapon Jiol was using and his attack on Caeda was dissolved by the relief he found in Caeda's survival. Though it was clear that she would need to be seen to by a professional healer, there was no immediate danger to her life.

"You… fool." Jiol whispered quietly enough that no one would hear, curling his fingers securely around his lance, he slowly began to stand up off his throne as Marth kneeled down to get level with Caeda. "You think you can come in and strip _me_ of my crown? You… have no idea who I am. I am the great king of _Gra_, Jiol. Not that you could understand, Marth. I am a _king_, and you are not fit to eat with dogs." He raised his lance in grim preparation for his next move…

A groan came from the figure lying on the floor. Jagen turned to the Prime Minister as Albertus opened his eyes. The first thing the Gra man noticed was a blurry red color on… whatever he was staring at. He blinked a few times, then realized he was looking at a splatter of blood on the wall, and remembered that Gra had been invaded. He raised his head up, seeing a multitude of… clear foreigners in the room. One in particular caught his eye.

"King… Corn-" he looked in shock at the blue haired boy, and almost forget to continue drawing breath. He couldn't believe… had Cornelius come back? He wanted to reach his hand out, but had no strength to do so. All he could do was wonder… did the king of Altea somehow cheat dea-

He blinked. Realization dawned on him. Who he was seeing was for too young to be Cornelius, but, the boy was almost a mirror of Cornelius in the Altean king's younger days. He instantly knew who it was.

"Prince… Marth." Albertus sighed, feeling exhausted and spent, but relieved at the same time. He remembered Jiol punching him, and found that it was painful to speak. The back of his head also throbbed deeply with pain. His eyes weakly traced to the side, and widened in horror. "P-prince Marth!"

Marth turned to him. Albertus couldn't waste any time, and instead forced his tired and aching body to move. He pointed a finger. "Behind you, sir!"

Marth turned around, seeing Jiol standing, and ready to throw his lance. Marth shot up to his feet just as the dried blood-coated lance flew from Jiol's grip. His first reflex would have been to dodge, but Marth couldn't, in the small few instants that passed as the lance flew through the air, he realized that if he dodged, the lance would go straight through Caeda's head. He did the only thing he could think of to save Caeda. He took the blow for her.

The lance speared through his gut, and he flew back.

"_Marth_!" There was no way to tell who in the room had screamed, perhaps everyone in the room save Jiol reacted with the same horrified response. No matter who screamed, upon the sight of seeing the prince of Altea take such a wound, Minerva immediately leapt into action. As Marth fell back, she caught him with one arm, then, with her other arm, she threw Hauteclere at Jiol. The king of Gra had only a second to gasp in fear as the axe came. Hauteclere sliced past Jiol, and for a moment, he didn't know what had happened.

Then, the pain came.

Jiol screamed in pure agony. Minerva's axe had sliced his left arm and shoulder off before the spinning blade embedded itself into the wall. He clutched at the blood spurting wound as he saw his arm rolling on the ground. A ragged, pained breath escaped him as he backed up. He turned around, swearing vengeance on his enemies and the soldiers who had failed to protect him, and escaped through a back entrance.

"Marth…" Minerva turned her attention to the wounded prince she was holding, ignoring the enemy who escaped. The Gra soldiers who were still active in the room seemed unsure of what to do at this point. Albertus slowly got up to his feet, making a gesture of the hand to order the soldiers of Gra to stand down. The battle was over.

"He needs attention." Albertus said, slowly, the blow from Jiol still pained him.

"We… we don't have a cleric or curate here." Caeda solemnly observed as she took Marth into her arms. Marth passed out from the pain, but he at least continued to breath. "They're aiding the army fighting around the castle."

Albertus nodded. "Jiol has no authority anymore. I shall command the soldiers to stand down immediately."

Minerva and Caeda both nodded, but said nothing. Focusing entirely on the wounded, unconscious prince, as the fabric that covered his gut started to turn red. He had no peaceful expression on his face, and he looked as though he might slip from the world at any second.

* * *

><p>"How… how did it happen?" Jiol muttered as he shambled with only one arm through the regally decorated halls of the castle, leaving a trail of fresh blood behind him. He breathed hard, feeling pain, agony, and bitter disappointment. "How did I lose? I had all the power of Gra at my command… Gra's power!" He continued on, "I… I'll need reinforcements. More then those Grustians. Next time-"<p>

"You presume much to believe that there will be a _next time_." A cold and terrifyingly familiar voice spoke. Jiol froze in terror, then slowly turned, seeing the cloaked form of the Hand of Medeus stepping into view.

"Master X-Xemcel!" Jiol backed away in fear. "My… my men failed me. Please, allow me to redeem-"

"You…" Xemcel said coldly, pointing a decrepit finger at the king of Gra. "…are guilty, of single most unforgivable sin a human can perpetrate. _Failure_."

Jiol's heart almost stopped beating. He knew exactly what Xemcel wanted to do to him. "You…! Y-you! Have you forgotten that I am the one who-"

"Falchion?" Xemcel said, clearly having expected Jiol to bring it up. "You procured Falchion for us with a simple trap. A mere toddler could have formed the plan you did. You were merely in a useful position at the time, but now you are of no use to the Emperor. You were always too _weak_ to be worthy of any real position in the Empire."

Jiol's hope died all at once at the words. Now he knew what would happen. He would bear the brunt of Manakete justice, but… no! He couldn't die yet. He couldn't! "Master Xemcel! Please, give me one more chance. I… I can kill him next time. I swear…"

"Be silent." Xemcel ordered with an ominously deep voice. "In the centuries I have lived, many humans have failed me. And they all met the same fate I shall now give to you." Xemcel spread his arms out, and a sinister energy channeled out of his dragonstone and into his body, and his form disappeared in a burst of light.

Jiol closed his eyes and raised a hand to shield them from the blinding brightness, but when the light dimmed and he could see again, he wished he was blind. The last thing he would ever do, was scream in horror at the ghastly, malformed, grotesque figure that towered above him.

* * *

><p>The fighting continued throughout Gra castle, slowly but surely, Wolf was turning the fight into a one-sided blood bath. The sun had set for Gra, and a bloody red moon would soon rise for the country.<p>

"Soldiers of Gra!" Albertus' voice rang out through all of Gra castle, cutting the fight short. "Stand down! Stand down immediately! Gra has fallen, and King Jiol has no further power." There was a long pause, both sides stopped themselves from any further exchanges. The Gra soldiers backed away, remaining in defensive position, waiting for anything further to develop. Albertus spoke again. "Surrender to the Archanean League immediately. This battle is over. Those who do not surrender are mere traitors to the nation."

The soldiers of Gra looked at each other hesitantly. Some looked ready to continue fighting, some looked willing to die fighting rather then face the humiliation of surrender. Then, without warning, one soldier dropped his lance on the ground and stepped away from it. One by one, the rest of the Gra soldiers did the same, disarming themselves and distancing themselves from their weapons. The battle was over.

"Archanean League…" Albertus walked into plain sight with Hardin beside him. Wolf turned and met him.

"Coyote." Wolf said, effectively ignoring Albertus. "This battle is over?"

"There are final matters to attend to, Wolf." Hardin said, then addressed the rest of the League in a louder voice. "Maria! Come to the throne room." The little Macedonian princess looked shocked as Hardin called her, and did not immediately do as told. Hardin spoke again, "Marth has been critically wounded. Come here _with_ your Heal Staff." Maria jerked like she had been slapped, then immediately followed Hardin.

* * *

><p>Marth found himself waking up in Caeda's arms. She noticed his eyes open and sighed in relief.<p>

"You're back." Caeda said softly, holding Marth a little tighter. Marth's eyes darted around, and then he noticed Maria by him, working with her Heal Staff. The little princess looked just as relieved as Caeda did, and put down her staff, breathing a sigh of relief as she softly grabbed one of Marth's hands and held it close to her. The little girl looked like she had been clearly distraught, perhaps on the verge of tears. Marth looked around, also seeing Nyna in the room, along with a multitude of League soldiers.

"Where's… Jiol?" Marth asked, a hand clenching into a fist. "Has he been killed yet?"

"…no, he escaped." Hardin said. "After he attacked you, Minerva threw her axe at him, and, well…" he pointed a finger, Marth moved his eyes to see Jiol's arm, still encased in armor, on the red carpet of the Gra throne room. "He escaped through a back entrance in the throne room."

"More important is you, Marth." Minerva said, placing a cool, armored hand on Marth's temple. She, Maria, and Caeda hovered over him like overprotective guardians. "What made you think blocking for Caeda with your own body was a good idea? You soft-hearted… _idiot_." Her hand clenched, grabbing some of Marth's hair in her fist. She seemed to shake slightly, Marth was somewhat surprised that Minerva was overcome with worry for him.

They watched Marth for a time, but Caeda released her protective grip on him when he motioned to stand up. Marth stood up somewhat cautiously on his feet, looking over the army and taking a deep breath.

_So, this is prince Marth._ Palla mused from the doors to the room. She was somewhat confused by the commander's deep worry for Marth. She had approached Minerva a few minutes earlier to let her know that Palla and Catria were here, but Est had stayed behind to get something 'personal' in Grust. Minerva was pleased with their presence, and was worried for Est, but was more focused on Marth at the time.

_He believed the story Catria told him… saved the commander and princess Maria, and now selflessly protected princess Caeda from that blow… _she reviewed the facts in his head, and nodded to herself. _A suitable ally for the commander, without a doubt._

Catria stood beside Palla, with much of the same thoughts. Though she also recalled how she, and she alone, had met Marth at Pyrathi. He treated her well when he could have so simply wrote her off as an enemy and killed her. Catria longed to go up and talk to him, remembering a small fondness she developed for the prince at that time, but knew that, as a simple soldier, and a very recent addition to the League, she couldn't just walk up to him.

"Gra has surrendered to you, prince Marth." Albertus said to the prince. "As the Prime Minister of Gra, I have declared Gra's official surrender to the League."

Marth turned to the Prime Minister. "There are… captured soldiers?"

Albertus nodded. "Numbering in the thousands, prince. Their lives are in your hands."

There was a pause, and a look of deep uncertainty to his face, but Marth nodded. "Take me to them, then."

* * *

><p>The Gra soldiers sat down, watched by the League soldiers. Some were wounded, grievous wounds and light wounds all around. They all seemed to be nervous and discomforted as Marth appeared. Some likely thought that an execution, possibly preceded by a mock trial, was all that awaited them.<p>

Marth looked at the solders of Gra. Soldiers of the nation that took so much for him. He wanted to just kill them all, wipe Gra's military out of existence. The Archanean League soldiers who were watching the Gra troops seemed to share his desire. Marth did long for a target to vent his desire for revenge on, and yet…

"Prince Marth." Albertus came up to Marth and bowed. "I do not deny that Gra has done much wrong, and you have been forced to endure far too much because of this traitorous nation. As the Prime Minister of Gra, I will not hide from or run from that fact. Yet, here, now, when you are the one in the position of power, I must beg you… show mercy."

The prince looked at Albertus, then back at the soldiers. He thought about what his father might have done in this situation.

Then he knew it was pointless to ask himself that. He knew exactly what his father, King Cornelius, would have done. Taking a deep breath, he walked forward and raised a hand to draw everyone's attention. Albertus looked at the prince with an expression of mixed hope and fear.

_Finally._ Catria thought to herself as Marth came forward. _This has been a long time coming, and Gra will finally get what it deserves. I can't wait for the order to kill them…_ she was almost giddy as she watched and waited for Marth to speak.

"Soldiers of the nation of Gra." Marth began calmly, offering no hint as to what he would do. "I have suffered and gone through much because of you. Few would call me mad to take the life of every last one of you."

A long silence sat in as the soldiers of Gra collectively shuddered at the words. Marth continued, "Yet, I have reason to believe that some of you had strong reservations about your king's directions for the country, but were too scared, or felt too bound by duty, to do anything about it. Here is what I offer, anyone who comes forward, swears loyalty to the ideal of peace, and completely dissociates themselves with the name of Jiol and Dolhr, will be pardoned from anything you might have done since Dolhr returned to power. Anyone who does not… will be put on trail, a life in a cell or execution will be all that would await you."

The words echoed forcefully at the Gra soldiers. For a long moment, not a single one moved, but then one approached, ignoring any harsh glare a fellow Gra might have given him from behind, and kneeled before Marth. "My lord, I had no part in the invasion of Altea or the murder of your father. A sibling of mine married an Altean, and I have never once thought ill of your nation or your people. I would ask for mercy, for that family living in the castle town, if not for myself."

A few more seconds crawled by, and a second soldier approached, kneeling down, mirroring the action of the first soldier. "Prince Marth, I admit to being there when your… your father was murdered." The soldier trembled in fear as he spoke his honest words. "I never had a negative opinion of Altea or King Cornelius, but I was too much of a coward to defy the man who pretended he was a righteous king. Please, prince Marth, show I and Gra mercy, which we cruelly denied others time and again."

More soldiers came. More and more, until nearly two-third of the surviving Gra soldiers, numbering in the thousands, were kneeling before him. Marth allowed himself a certain petty pleasure at how Jiol might respond to his loyal troops deserting him like this.

After a time, no more soldiers would come. With a sigh, Marth looked at the final Gra soldiers who did not approach him, they remained a massive number. Perhaps they were loyalists to Jiol, or perhaps they were bitter about their defeat and humbling today. Whatever the reason was, they had made their choice clear. "The rest of you will be imprisoned until a proper trial can be conducted into your activities. Your fate will be determined based on your actions as a soldier of Gra." He motioned at some League soldiers, and the Gra soldiers who refused to ask for mercy were lead away.

Marth turned around at the astonished but pleased face of Albertus. Jagen, Malledus, Caeda, Nyna, and Hardin seemed just as satisfied by his decision. Minerva looked bewildered by his mercy, but respected his decision.

"Jagen."

"Yes, sire?"

Marth took in a breath. "Any soldier not engaged in a certain task is to search for Falchion. We know that Gra stole the blade, it should be in the castle."

"At once, sire." Jagen bowed his head to Marth and walked away.

Not more then a few steps away, Jagen began mentally cursed himself for being unable to defend Marth from the blow from that one Gra soldier. That failing was the singular reason as to why Marth and Caeda took such wounds from Jiol. As he thought about it, a pain developed in him, a real, physical pain, and he started to cough violently.

He moved to the side, leaning on the wall as he suddenly began to violently hack.

The coughs stopped as quickly as they came. He straightened up, slightly bewildered by the sudden episode, wondering where the unprecedented episode of coughs came from, but quickly shook it off.

"Jagen, are you okay?"

"It… it's nothing, sire." Jagen assured his prince, "I am fine. I must inform the soldiers to search for Falchion. Please excuse me."

* * *

><p>"P-prince Marth…" Catria approached Marth in a slightly quieter moment after most of the soldiers had left to their duties, and when he was somewhat worried for Jagen. Marth turned to her. Initially confusion dotted his features, but then…<p>

"It's… Catria, right?"

"Ye… yes, my name is Catria." She was slightly surprised that Marth bothered remembering her name. "Um… prince Marth, I… do you think that was a good idea?"

"What are you talking about?" Marth asked, curiously tilting his head.

"The Gra soldiers. Was letting so many of them be pardoned a good idea? You know… many of them were likely…" she trailed off. She was confused by Marth's decision, not understanding his decision to show mercy. In his position, she would have simply killed them all, and no one could have looked at her harshly for that.

"I know." Marth said, Catria was surprised by the words. "I know that some of them don't regret their actions at all. When they saw what the alternative was, I imagine that many of them had a sudden change of heart."

Catria was silent for a moment. The thought that had occurred to her had occurred to Marth also. "But… if that's true, why make the offer? Wouldn't it be simplier just to-"

"-kill them all?" Marth finished for her. His expression shifted, and Catria feared that she had misspoke. Marth took a step forward and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Catria, if you were trying to create peace, would you do it just by murdering everyone you either didn't like or had disagreements with?"

She stared wide-eyed as Marth spoke the question, the image of Michalis surfaced in her head. Despite wanting to kill Michalis, she shook her head no. "N-no, prince Marth, I can't make a decision like that."

"Nor can I. Perhaps a god can, but me?" He shook his head, "I pardoned many Gra soldiers, because peace can't be made just by slaughtering people I don't like. Peace is better then war, as I'm sure you know and believe. If Gra is to become a benevolent nation again, I believe it needs to understand mercy. Furthermore, while many may have simply been trying to evade the alternative, and I do intend to watch them and their nation for a time, I know that some are genuine in their desire. It's a risk I'll have to take."

"Of… of course. Sire." Catria hadn't expected an answer like that. She expected an answer she would outwardly nod to but inwardly shake her head at. Marth had a point of view that she hadn't even considered. She was deeply impressed by the prince of Altea. As she stood, developing deep admiration for him… then something occurred to her. "Um… excuse me, prince Marth. I… should probably find my sister, now. There's something that we have to do."

Marth let go of Catria's shoulder. Catria found herself oddly reluctant to depart from Marth, but still pulled herself away.

"I have somewhere I need to be myself." Marth said. Jiol escaped through the back of the throne room after Minerva's attack. With the situation calmed down throughout the castle, it's time Marth ascertained what had become of Gra's former king. The man could not be allowed to run free and survive, especially after spitting on Marth's mercy, and trying to kill Marth with a lance throw.

* * *

><p>It had been dusk when the battle in Gra castle began. It was night now, and a half moon had risen, barely visible through the window on this cloudy, starless night. Palla and Catria were waiting for the inevitable talk with the Aurelians.<p>

"It's time to answer for what we've done." Palla said as she tensed slightly, almost expecting to be forced to pay for her crimes with pain. She and Catria stood in a certain room of Gra Castle. The man who had nearly killed her and Catria back in Lefcandith was on the opposite end of the room, waiting for them. With the man was another, the one who appeared to save the first man from Minerva when the commander appeared. After the battle here in Gra had concluded, she learned of the two, their names were 'Wolf' and 'Sedgar'.

Catria narrowed her eyes. "We only did it because of princess Maria's plight. You can't say that we were ever truly in the wrong."

"Don't say that again." Palla warned. "_We_ did wrong, and we will answer to the people we did wrong to. Macedon has harmed Aurelis without good reasoning, and we had our own part in it. Now come on." She started to move, taking herself and Catria to the two Aurelians.

"Wolf, Sedgar." Palla bowed her head. "I and my sister are here."

Wolf half-expected the two to try and evade this issue. He stepped forward with Sedgar. "Palla and Catria of the Whitewings, we have things to discuss."

"About our role in… the butchering of Aurelis." Palla accurately guessed. Wolf nodded.

"You have much to answer for." Sedgar said, "The Whitewings and their princess were prominent players in the invasion. One that will take Aurelis years to recover from."

Palla bit her lip, knowing there was nothing she could say in her defense. Sedgar crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "The very land was scorched because of you and your commander, and your commander's elder brother. We still haven't forgotten Macedon setting the grassy plains of Aurelis ablaze. For all that you've done-"

"What we _did_ holds no weight." Catria suddenly said, Palla cringed as Catria began to speak. "Princess Maria was being held hostage by Grust. Everything we did is excused on principle of-"

"There _were_ extenuating circumstances." Wolf cut Catria off in a cold tone. "Yet that does not diminish the fact that you and your commander rained death down on Aurelians, both the knighthood and the peasantry. Do you honestly believe those who lost family or friends because of you are going to put it all behind them the moment you bring up princess Maria?"

"I…" Catria was momentarily at a loss for words, but her voice quickly regained its strength. "Whether they'd put it behind themselves is beside the point. The Whitewings are in the right."

"_Catria_." Palla addressed her sister in a low voice, then focused herself on Wolf and Sedgar again, bowing her head. "The commander and the Whitewings have committed an atrocity that you are right in being hesitant to look past or forgive. We did wrong, and we have committed countless murders." She took a deep breath, "I… I hope I can be given some chance to redeem myself in your eyes."

"You are Macedonian." Sedgar said critically, "The continent has suffered much because of you. You know that I saw first-hand what your kind has done. How can I accept you as an ally so easily?"

"Your trepidation is understandable." Palla said, "But please, give me a chance to prove myself to you, and all in the army who are skeptical of me. And perhaps, in time, you'll see me for the ally I am, and not the enemy I must seem to be."

There was a pause, Sedgar seemed honestly impressed by her composure, and nodded to her. Palla couldn't read Wolf at all, but could see that his expression seemed to have grown less hostile.

"Report to Malledus." Wolf said, "You will be assigned a proper place in the army at that time."

"A… a proper-" Catria trailed off, "I, I thought we'd be right beside the commander on the battlefield, just as always. It's our ideal-"

"That fact will be taken into consideration." Wolf said, "However, if the leaders of this army feel your talents fulfill a better purpose elsewhere, then the alternative position they assign to you will be the position you will serve in."

"…and if princess Minerva objects?" Catria asked, clearly challenging Wolf with the question.

"Princess Minerva is not the leader of this army." Wolf countered, "Prince Marth's word is final in all matters. I cannot be more clear then this, and the situation has been laid out plainly to all soldiers. The Archaneans have been ordered to obey prince Marth before princess Nyna if the two give orders that conflict with each other. We Aurelians are to obey prince Marth before Coyote if the two give orders that conflict with each other. Now you… _will_ obey prince Marth before princess Minerva."

Palla nodded in understanding. Catria still brimmed with self-righteousness, and resented how Palla was acting nearly submissive to the Aurelians. She wanted the last word here. "I suppose it tears your heart out to have to obey prince Marth before prince Hardin. Looking at you, it's easy to tell you're practically slaves to anything the Aurelian prince say-urk!" She grunted as Sedgar's hand tightened around her throat.

"Do not… ever, call me or any of my brothers a _slave_." Sedgar's grip tightened, for several seconds he didn't let go, but then Wolf grabbed Sedgar's shoulder in a reprimanding fashion. Sedgar begrudgingly released Catria, letting her slump to the floor.

"Never refer to an Aurelian with that word again. Report to Malledus immediately." Sedgar said as he turned around, happy to separate himself from them. He and Wolf both walked off, leaving the Whitewings to catch their breath before they left.

Catria breathed hard as she stood back up, her hands soothing her neck. Palla could see that Catria was okay, but still came just a little closer to watch over her. A part of the elder Whitewing wondered why the word 'slave' set Sedgar off like that. With a deep breath, she led Catria to the door out of the room, but as Palla reached her hand to the door, someone else entered the room from the other side. Another Aurelian was on the other side of the door. Vyland walked in with a deep scowl on his face.

"Um…" Palla paused as Vyland looked straight at her and Catria. "S-sir? Is everything… alright?"

"So…" Vyland began with nostrils flaring, his voice deep and venomous as he regarded the two. "You're the Macedonian _filth_ who joined us today?" He advanced a step toward them, his words as cold as his armor as his hands clenched into tightening fists. He was oblivious to the fact that two eyes were watching the exchange, watching from behind Vyland, shocked and shaken by the words he was using.

Palla took an uncomfortable step back from the unexpected hostility. This was another Aurelian, and one far less restrained then Wolf and Sedgar had been. "We _did_ join the army today, sir…" Palla took a deep breath, waiting for the man to identify himself, he did not, but instead tensed with anger at the presence of the Macedonians. Palla saw clear anger, disgust, even out right hatred, on this man's face. "We hope to redeem ourselves in the minds of the League soldiers. Especially the Aurelians we have wronged."

"You can redeem yourself by getting yourself killed." Vyland hissed, looking almost ready to lunge at them. "The only Macedonians of any worth are the ones who kill themselves and spare me the trouble."

"Ah!" Catria took a step back as she saw Vyland begin reaching for his lance. "We… we are soldiers of the League now. You can't strike an ally outside of sparing, and you can never strike with lethal intent."

Vyland glared at Catria, seeming to grow angrier, and then grew just marginally calmer. "I suppose I wouldn't want to stoop to a Macedonian's level." He said, angered to have to just walk away, but Catria _had_ invoked a rule that Marth and Coyote had put into effect. He settled for directing a final threat at them. "If you two as much as twitch or breath in a manner I don't like, I'll kill you both where you stand. I won't risk filth like you endangering Coyote. I doubt it will take long before that happens. Betrayal comes so naturally to your kind."

Palla froze in position. Vyland threw their betrayal of King Michalis in their faces. But… what she and Catria and Est were doing, it was done out of loyalty for Minerva, not out of a natural tendency to betray others.

With clear anger in his steps, Vyland walked away, his threat to kill still ringing in Palla and Catria's minds. They stood motionless as Vyland left, and continued to be motionless as the door slammed behind the Aurelian, testing the strength of the door hinges. They didn't move again until the young pair of eyes, who had watched the encounter and overheard the entire conversation, felt compelled to say something.

"Um…" Palla and Catria heard a younger male voice. "E-excuse me."

Palla turned to the voice, seeing a young knight near them. Still a little shaken from her encounter with Vyland, she spoke with a quiet, unconfident voice. "Who… who are you, sir?"

"My name is Roshea." The young knight answered, "I… I overheard what Vyland said to you." His head sunk down slightly.

"We deserved that." Palla said solemnly, "After all that we did to Aurelis…"

"No, that was far more then what was deserved." Roshea said quietly, "I'm Aurelian myself. Vyland is one of my… older brothers, along with Wolf and Sedgar, I try to be like him like I try to be like Wolf and Sedgar, but… _that_…" he shook his head, perhaps reflective of how his faith in Vyland was just shaken. "I wasn't sure what to make of princess Minerva at first, but, she has Coyote's respect, as well as prince Marth's, and if she does, her soldiers should at least have our good faith. I'm sorry for what he said. You shouldn't have been forced to go through that."

Palla's eyes widened in shock. Roshea, an Aurelian, one of the people she had so viciously wronged, was apologizing to them for the behavior of a fellow Aurelian. After a few moments of shock, she smiled softly at the gesture of kindness and approached him, her hand fell on top of his shoulder. He looked up at her with a surprised expression.

"Thanks… Roshea." She said softly, before placing a hand on his other shoulder in a manner that seemed affectionate. "I was starting to feel like no one would accept me and Catria. I think… I really needed someone to be concerned for me right now."

Roshea had approached them to try and tell them that he thought that Vyland had spoken unnecessarily, and apologize for his sake. Now, he found himself flustered at the close contact. It looked like Palla might try to pull him in for a hug at any second. It was almost like Palla was trying to console him rather then the other way around.

"Um… your… welcome?" Roshea said. Palla smiled gently at the little Aurelian boy who was trying to make her feel better and welcome. The Aurelian, who, it would seem, easily blushed.

After an awkward few seconds, Palla let go of him. Catria found herself smiling at the little Aurelian. Palla spoke again. "It was very adult of you to go against a family member's point of view and try to help us… how old are you exactly, Roshea?"

"I'm fourteen." Roshea said, "But… my brothers aren't really my family."

_Goodness, he's the same age as Est. _Palla was mildly surprised. "What do you mean they aren't 'really' your family?"

"Wolf, Sedgar, and Vyland are three people that I'm close enough to that you can call them my family. We grew up together, and I've… always looked up to them, but I'm not related to them by blood."

"Oh…" For a small instant, Palla had been comparing the Whitewings to the Aurelian siblings in her head, but the revelation of there being no blood relations between the Aurelians seemed to squash the comparison. "I spoke with Wolf and Sedgar, they treated us a little coldly, but they said nothing unnecessarily hostile." She recalled Sedgar grabbing Catria by the throat, wondering if she could ask Roshea what the word 'slave' meant to them, but decided against the question.

Palla looked over the situation. One of the Aurelian knights offered them 'good faith' as she had been starting to grow worried that few in the army might accept her, or at least, they'd consider her for her battle prowess and nothing else. Roshea practically saved her right there with that one act of kindness and concern. She wondered if there was some other, pleasant thing to talk about with the young knight, but her thoughts were cut short by the arrival of another.

"Oh, there you are, Roshea." Another person, a woman, walked into the room. Roshea turned and his eyes widened in surprise and pleasant recognition.

"Linde, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. I want to spend some time with you and Merric." She smiled, putting her hand on Roshea's shoulder. "We said we would after the battle with Gra."

"Uh… y-yes, yes we did." He recalled the discussion back at the border of Gra. "I was just… trying to make Palla and Catria feel… welcome."

Linde moved her eyes to the Whitewings. She offered the two a welcoming smile as she led Roshea out of the room.

"I guess some Aurelians won't judge us so quickly." Catria said, deeply relieved. "That kid was sweet. Reminded me a little of Est, actually."

Catria didn't know just how much Roshea had reminded Palla of Est. Palla actually wanted to talk to Roshea again, maybe, if that… Vyland, saw Roshea and her getting along, then… After a few seconds, Palla turned to Catria, "Well then, it's time to report to Malledus. With any luck, we'll stay with the commander on the battlefield."

* * *

><p>After he had woken back up, circumstances demanded he see to other things around the castle of Gra. Now that things had settled down, and most things could be handled without him right now, Marth set about finding Jiol. With only Jagen and Hardin accompanying him, he set out through the passage Jiol had used to exit the throne room. The hallway was long and winding, and on occasion, snaked off in other directions. It wasn't hard to pick the right path, though. Jiol had left an unmistakable trail of blood that made it clear where he had moved. It was hardly a complicated route he took, he had just gone straight.<p>

The three remained cautious, in case Jiol had some final trap laid out for them. Yet, as they continued their slow movements, no trap was sprung, and after nearly half an hour of following the blood trial in a cautious manner, they spotted Jiol. He was lying on the ground, and Marth's first supposition was that he had bled to death. As they approached, Marth could see that that was not what had happened.

One look at Jiol's remains made it perfectly clear that… _something_, had happened to him, but there was no telling what.

"What _is_ this?" Marth asked, kneeling down and poking Jiol's remains. Jiol's flesh was not soft, it was hard, petrified even. His flesh… had turned to _stone_. As had his armor, Jiol had, somehow, been turned into a statue on the Gra carpet. Marth didn't pity the man, but still…

"Who… _what_, could have done this?" Hardin asked, seeing Jiol's expression, frozen for eternity in a look of pure, all-consuming horror. He had clearly seen whatever did this to him in his final moments.

"There's a hole in his chest." Jagen observed. Kneeling down to look at a massive chunk of the Jiol statue that was missing from the center of his chest. It couldn't be said whether or not it had happened before or after Jiol's mysterious transformation into a statue. The hole only went about halfway through Jiol, it was odd, it was…

"Whoever did this, it looks like they literally took Jiol's heart out of his body." Hardin said, examining the large opening. He shook his head, though the fact that Jiol would have been executed if they captured him was plain and obvious, they would not have gone to such a… level of brutality.

Marth looked at Jiol's petrified, statue-like remains, and shook his head. "Jiol is gone, let's head back to the throne room and decide our next move."

Hardin and Jagen both obeyed. They followed the trail of blood to this bizarre sight, now they followed it back to the throne room. As they were walking away, Marth stopped to look at what remained of Jiol. He wondered if he'd ever learn what happened to Jiol, but shook his head of the thought. What happened to him is more then what he would have done, but, maybe it was still justice. He had no time to waste wondering about the nature of Jiol's fate. His next conquest should be his own nation of Altea. Which had suffered from Dolhr's influence for far too long.

* * *

><p>"Ah yes, Palla and Catria." The elderly Altean tactician that was Malledus nodded as the two Macedonians approached. They were using the soldier barracks of the Gra Castle as a small rest point for soldiers after the battle. Palla saw that princess Maria, along with some other soldiers, including Wolf, were present. She turned back to Malledus as the tactician continued speaking. "Two-thirds of the Whitewings, as princess Minerva described you."<p>

"Reporting, Malledus. Awaiting a proper position in the army." Palla spoke for herself and Catria both. "Whatever position we are assigned, we will be content with."

"Your positions have already been decided." Malledus said, Palla nodded in understanding. "In the battle in the throne room, prince Marth was nearly killed in a series of events that began with a Gra soldier attacking him from a direction that Jagen could not defend. Prince Hardin, princess Nyna, and princess Minerva believe that what he needs is a second bodyguard. Many soldiers were considered, but princess Minerva specifically recommended Catria for this role."

Catria stared wide-eyed as Malledus turned to her specifically. "M-me? The commander recommended…"

"Do you accept?" Malledus asked. "Guarding the commander of the Archanean League is a tremendous responsibility, and nothing short of excellence is expected."

For a moment, Catria was uncharacteristically hesitant. She gulped, thinking about it, protecting Marth on and off the battlefield… maybe… "Y-yes, sir. I accept."

"Remember, this is no small thing that is being asked of you. One false move, miscalculation, or error in judgment on your part could cost this army its leader, and its only hope for victory in this war. If you have any doubts about your capability, do not accept."

"I understand, Malledus." Catria bowed her head. "I will protect him and aid him as best as I can."

Malledus nodded at her, then turned to Palla. "As for you, Palla, at first, we had planned for you to stay by princess Minerva on the battlefield, but a recent development has made us decide on an alternative position for you."

"…recent development?" Palla tensed with uncertainty. In an army this big, and one she remained unfamiliar with, she had no idea what Malledus could have been implying.

The tactician sighed. "Word travels fast in this army. We already know of your… encounter, with Vyland. Prince Hardin has expressed his concerns about the perceptions of some of his men…"

"I've talked with all four of his men." Palla said, "Wolf and Sedgar made it clear that what I did in Aurelis as a pawn of Dolhr would not be ignored or easily forgiven, but I wouldn't say that they were being hostile." She recalled Sedgar grabbing Catria at the neck, but decided against mentioning that. It was an action that struck her as unnecessary, but it _was_ a response to Catria speaking in a horribly improper fashion. "Vyland did speak… rather offensively, but Roshea came afterwards and was… very polite. He was actually concerned for us, after what Vyland said. He said that we deserved 'good faith'."

Malledus listened patiently as she spoke. "I shall see to it that prince Hardin hears about that. He'll no doubt be upset that Vyland acted in such a manner that Roshea felt the need to apologize to you. Which brings me to my point. Princess Minerva, calling you the most responsible of the Whitewings, wants you, Palla, to be assigned to fight alongside an Aurelian knight."

Palla gulped. "R…Roshea?" She spoke the name of the one she would have picked to fight alongside of. Unfortunately, Malledus shook his head.

"Regardless of any thoughts you may have, understand that when prince Hardin suggested this particular knight, princess Minerva made no protest, vocal or silent. You will be assigned to be Wolf's partner."

Palla's eyes widened, she didn't know if she felt shock, or maybe horror. Malledus sighed, almost looking as if he wasn't fond of the situation either. Palla turned to Wolf, who was standing in the room. The Aurelian was looking at her with his arms crossed. He was clearly already aware of this arrangement. After a second, he started to walk over to the green-haired Pegasus Knight.

"Prince Hardin calls Wolf his most loyal and dependable man." Malledus said as he backed up. "Responsible in his actions, exercising good judgment, and not quick to anger."

Palla was in shock at the arrangement, but quickly recovered, taking a breath in to compose herself before talking. "If princess Minerva did not protest to this, then neither do I. With her, my input is never necessary."

Wolf seemed to almost twitch at the words, as if Palla had somehow offended him, but he said nothing. Palla had no arguments about this, but Wolf seemed to have his reservations. Nevertheless, he turned around and walked away without a word. Palla sighed, composing and readying herself to fight alongside the man who nearly killed her.

Catria felt a festering concern in her chest. She didn't want her sister to be assigned to be the partner of… that man.

Malledus, having seen to both Whitewings, turned and left the room. Then someone new approached Catria.

"Um… Catria." A knight in red armor said, she turned to him.

"Can I help you?"

"My name is Cain. I'm an Altean knight." He made a small nod of his head. He found it a struggle to not make a goofy expression, and found that she seemed to take his breath away just like she did when she was exhausted back in Pyrathi. He had never reacted to any woman like this. "I… heard about you and your older sister joining us."

She nodded. "I'll be protecting your prince. You shouldn't have anything to worry about there."

Cain wasn't sure if he really should trust Marth's safety to Catria, breathtaking through she was, but said nothing further on that subject. "So, um, as a League soldier, you'll be fighting your king, right?"

"I don't call that person a _king_." Catria hissed, Cain was oblivious to the fact that the simple topic of that man would always anger her without fail. "I have every intention of sticking a lance straight through his chest."

"You're… you're not worried about him dying? He _is_ your king."

"Cain, when _King_ Michalis dies, let me make it clear that I'll be the first to say 'good riddance'."

Cain was taken aback by the statement, and the clear venom Catria laced the word 'king' with. Then, without warning, _something_, flew at Catria, and struck her in the back of the head.

Catria grunted in pain as she stooped down from the suddenness of the unexpected blow to her head. Her hand raised up to soothe the fresh bump of pain that bulged out. She raised her head up to see Cain staring at a staff, which someone must have thrown at her. She spun around, "Alright, who just-" she stopped talking almost as quickly as she began when she saw princess Maria staring at her angrily. "P-princess Maria?" Her voice immediately softened. "Why did you just-"

"If you talk about Michalis like that again, I'll do a _lot_ more then just throw my staff at you." The little princess angrily said through her teeth, storming past Catria and picking her staff up. "I know Michalis is trying to do the right thing, it's just that things got out of his control. We're fighting to try and save him from the situation he's gotten stuck in. We are _not_ trying to kill him. If you say something like that again, I'll be sure to tell Marth that you should be kicked out of the League."

Catria took a step back, unable to say anything to Maria. She watched the youngest of the Macedonian royal family stomp out of the room. Catria was sure that there was a flaw in Maria's logic, she couldn't see Michalis trying to do the right thing, but found herself unwilling to dare to say anything. Catria turned to Cain for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something to her, but she simply walked out of the room with a sigh.

* * *

><p>"Do you need something, young Altean?" Boah has been discussing matters with princess Nyna, with Jeorge standing with them, though the archer wasn't on-duty. Boah and the princess were talking to each other regarding the future of Archanea, the status of the Archanean League, and most prominently for now, the Archanean soldiers in it. Boah had noticed that Astram seemed to have nearly made sport out of being as offensive and difficult as possible to people that were not Archanean. They had talked long and hard regarding Astram and some of the others.<p>

They were not oblivious to an unspoken tension between the Aurelian and Archanean soldiers. A tension that did not exist between Hardin and Nyna. As they were discussing how to ease such tensions, Boah noticed that one of the Altean knights seemed to want to speak to them.

"Um… n-nothing important." Gordin said unconfidently, having rarely spoken to the nobility to foreign nations. "Just, someone from the castle town approached me today. He had a tome, he said it belonged to you before Dolhr took it…" Gordin revealed a tome in his hands, unconfidently holding it to Boah. Boah's eyes widened in recognition. "He said that it just 'found its way' to him."

Boah took the tome from Gordin and looked it over, then sighed contently. "My old Thoron tome. I thought it was lost forever when Dolhr took the palace."

"It… it's yours?" Gordin said, feeling somewhat relieved as Boah tucked the tome into his robe.

"The person who gave you this tome had to have been in the Archanean palace at some point…" Nyna mused, then turned to Gordin. "Who… gave you this tome? What was his name?" Gordin gulped, a little overwhelmed by the fact that Nyna was talking to him.

"Uh… I didn't catch his name, he wore a lot of black, and… he didn't look like he hailed from Gra, at all. He _looked_ like a warrior, he stood in a way that seemed to have flawless defense."

Nyna's eyes widened in shock, but she quickly shook her head and regained her former expression. "I see, Gordin. Thank you."

He nodded, respectfully bowing and backing away as Nyna and Boah continued to speak, taking a deep, relief filled breath, having never spoken to any of the royalty in the army besides Marth before. Nyna continued her discussion with Boah, though now her thoughts seemed elsewhere. As Gordin turned to leave, a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Oh, Jeorge." Gordin had tensed at first, but sighed in relief, he feared that Nyna and Boah wanted to speak to him further. "Is… something the matter?"

"Just curious about what you'll be doing right now." Jeorge said to his little friend. "The Alteans must have a lot on their minds right now. What are you thinking about?"

"Me? I… I was just going to rest, maybe practice my archery a little…"

Jeorge smirked to himself. There was a subject that Gordin would always avoid unless it was brought up to him in some subtle way. He'd clam up if this particularly point was brought up bluntly. "Gordin, the traitor nation was defeated today. This is a great victory for Altea. If there was ever something an Altean would want to say to someone, in the wake of this victory is the time to do it."

Gordin stared blankly at Jeorge, Jeorge's words were the key that seemed to set his entire mind swimming. There were things he might have wanted to say to many people in the army, but then someone sprang up in his mind in particular. He took a deep, shaky breath as he considered who he had thought of, and what he wanted to say to that person. "Um… e-excuse me, Jeorge. I need to be somewhere."

Jeorge watched Gordin walk off, a small, subtle smirk on the Archanean archer's face. He waited a few seconds, then started to slowly follow after Gordin. He couldn't let Gordin know that he was being followed.

* * *

><p>"Um… N-Norne." Gordin said as he came across the girl. He was thankful no one else was around. He was oblivious to the fact that Jeorge had followed him, and was watching from a position neither Altean could see him at. "Do you have a minute?"<p>

"Oh… yes, Gordin." Norne said. "We'll probably be ordered to Altea next. You want to talk about what we'll see in Altea, right?"

"Um… n-no." Gordin said. Being uncharacteristically shy around the girl he had grown so comfortable with the presence of. "I wanted to talk to you about something else."

Norne tilted her head. "What, exactly?"

Gordin took a deep breath, struggling to hold onto his courage as he spoke. "Well, we've been good friends for… for two and a half years now."

"The best of friends." Norne said pridefully, though she was growing confused as to what Gordin was getting at.

"Friends…" Gordin repeated, "I wonder… does it have to end at… f-friends?" With those words, Gordin was out of things to say that he had thought about beforehand. Emotion and impulse was all he had left. "We've grown so close, and, I… I-I was wondering…"

Norne blushed, suddenly looking uncharacteristically skittish. _What… what is he trying to get at? _As unconfident as Gordin usually was, this seemed to be one time that Norne was by far the less assured of the two. She took a fearful step back. "We… we're best friends, Gordin, but, what are you trying to say?"

Seeing that she was trying to back away, Gordin reached out, clamping his hands around hers. Jeorge watched, holding his breath as Gordin was getting closer and closer to making the blunt statement. Gordin looked completely terrified, and continued to speak with a shaky voice. "N-Norne, I'm trying to say, w-what I'm trying to say is…" he took a final breath. This was the moment of truth. "I… I want the two of us to be… to be… a coup-"

"Hey, Norne!" A familiar voice called out, utterly shattering the moment. Gordin's heart nearly stopped beating as his confession was interrupted, his hands falling off Norne's. He shakily turned his head to see Tomas walking up to the two. The Archanean walked with an arrogant step with a hand on his hip, "Still hanging out with the talentless pipsqueak, I see. When are you going to see who's the better company for you?"

"Gordin was… trying to say something to me." Norne was still blushing, but now she was angered at Tomas interrupting the moment. She stepped forward and rather forcefully shoved him back, then turned back to Gordin. "Gordin, what… what were you about to say?" She clamped her hands on Gordin's, mirroring the way he had grabbed hers moments ago, trying desperately to retain the moment the two were having.

"I…" He looked flustered and spent, and utterly defeated. The courage he built up for the purpose of talking to Norne, to nearly admit feelings, seemed to vanish, falling just below the threshold he needed to say his words. "It… it was nothing."

"Gordin." Norne spoke a little more forcefully, pulling him closer to her. "Please, what were you trying to tell me? It had to have been important."

"N-no…" he shook his head, "I… I don't remember." He tore his hands from Norne's and ran off at top speed. Norne was left speechless, and suddenly pined for Gordin's company. Jeorge, watching from the side, was also speechless. He sighed, rubbing his temple, expecting Gordin to be brooding by himself for days. Norne turned around, storming straight toward Tomas.

"This is all _your_ fault."

* * *

><p>"So… Vyland, said all that." Roshea said, recounting every little detail, not hiding one fact. For once, Merric didn't seem to have any fancy and smug comment to offer. "I don't believe it… one of my older brothers was speaking like… that."<p>

"Just because she was Macedonian." Linde said, repulsed by the story. She laid a comforting hand on Roshea's shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to see something like that."

Roshea bowed his head down, focusing on his hands in his lap, slowly clenching into fists. "You'd be… surprised, what I've seen in my life."

Linde was taken aback by the comment. Merric sighed. "Being a resistance fighter must mean you saw some bad stuff."

The Aurelian sighed and looked away. He had seen some sights as a resistance fighter that were hard to bare. The charred remains of those who couldn't escape the fire Macedon started throughout all of Aurelis among them. Though the worst actually came from before he was a knight. He didn't give any implications to that fact.

"Can we…" Roshea looked up at them, "Can we talk about something… better?"

Merric nodded. "This is a good day for Altea. We took the fight to the people who betrayed us, and won. I thought the fight would be a little harder then it ended up being."

"That you thought is usually the entire problem…" Roshea quipped under his breath. Merric glared at him.

"Looks like the kid's got an attitude. Maybe I'll get him to respect his elders if I used Excalibur to shave his limbs right off…"

"Guys…" Linde tried to interrupt them.

Roshea flashed a defiant look at Merric, "Please, Merric, you'd sooner chop your own limbs off if you tried. I know how easily distracted you get."

"As if. I-"

"_Guys_!" Linde said, holding her arms out to get the attention of both. She sighed. "I can't tell if you two are teasing each other, or if you want to see the other get killed." She put an arm around the neck of both of them. "I just want to spend some time with you two. Pleasant time."

They both flustered at the touch of her arms. Roshea swallowed audibly. "W-whatever you say, Linde." He turned to Merric, looking slightly frustrated, but said nothing. Linde let go of both of them, and they all leaned back.

"Something better to talk about…" Linde stroked her chin, "Okay, let's do this. My father always told me little stories and sayings. Things I was supposed to put into effect for my life, mostly about behavior." She smirked a little, then rolled her eyes. "I was wondering, what kind of proverbs did you hear in Aurelis and Altea?"

Roshea thought deep about anything he may have heard, but just shook his head. The things he was told that he could remember… they didn't sound anything like what Linde was asking for.

"I heard a lot of expressions." Merric smirked, "A bookworm like me was a good listener. Especially with teacher Wendell." Linde smiled at him before turning to Roshea. Roshea looked back at her, and just shook his head.

"I was never told anything like you're asking for, Linde. I've only been lectured about what it means to be an Aurelian knight, and about the 'True Spirit of Aurelis'."

Linde grabbed Roshea's shoulder and grinned at his little shocked expression. "Let's hear it, then."

* * *

><p>"Any sign of the blade, Malledus?" Marth asked as he returned to the throne room of Gra. Malledus' only response was to shake his head no. Marth grimaced. Gra had stolen the blade from his father's corpse, shouldn't it be here? At Malledus' silent report, he grew concerned. The divine blade should have been somewhere in this castle. It was more then vexing. Marth invested more then legacy and pride in that weapon, it…<p>

"Do you mean… Falchion?" Albertus asked from a chair. Marth looked at him, expecting some clue for the search from the Prime Minister. "Altea's divine blade was never at the castle."

Marth approached him, speaking somewhat angrily. "But we _know _that Gra stole the blade. On the same day that they betrayed Altea and murdered my father."

"The blade was in Jiol's possession when he led the army of Gra and Grust to Altea. However, when he left, he did not make way for Gra, instead, he went to Dolhr. He gave the blade to Medeus to do with as he saw fit, and Medeus gave the blade to the Dark Pontifex, Gharnef."

Marth visibly flinched. "Then, to find Falchion we must go to…"

"Khadein, sire." Malledus said. "Gharnef's… kingdom. The one he took for himself."

The prince took a deep breath into him, "I would not look forward to facing him so soon, but if we're to challenge the Manaketes, and Medeus… we _need_ that blade." A knife of pain went through Marth, and he knew that going after Falchion meant going around Altea, which was _right there_. Yet this was the only way, and there were no others. He had to retrieve Falchion before the blade might change hands again, before he met another Manakete.

"The Archanean League will head for Khadein immediately. What will Gra do?" Marth focused on Albertus, slightly worried.

The man smiled back. "Fear not for Gra's sake, prince Marth. I can handle the ruling of this kingdom until a suitable replacement for Jiol is found. It will not take long."

Marth nodded. "If you're sure about that, we will be leaving." Marth and Malledus left the room. Marth sighed at the sad reality that they would have to go around Altea to find Falchion.

_Someone to replace Jiol._ Albertus mused to himself, stroking his chin._ His estranged daughter…_

* * *

><p>Medeus shifted slightly on his throne in Dolhr Keep. Reports had come in, and they constantly reported the same thing. Defeat. Macedon and Grust never tasted anything other from this… Archanean League. The spawn of Anri led his troops well, and had already done… much, to free the continent from Medeus' Empire. He was cutting a bloody swath right through the Dolhr Alliance, leaving the dead in his wake, and inspiring hope in the hearts of conquered nations.<p>

That was nothing to be surprised by. Medeus had little faith in the abilities of pawn nations or the humans who deserved Dolhr directly, and, he still had a reason to want the spawn to continue winning, for now. If he so desired, he would have sent Xemcel to cull the bones of Anri's spawn from his flesh, and that would be the end of the matter.

The other Manaketes in the darkened throne room were tense and quiet. Medeus occasionally glanced around the room, seeing decrepit faces hidden within darkened hoods. They were all calculating some way to best the Archanean League, strip the spawn of any chance of victory. Such plans were premature, and Medeus doubted they would work if put into effect. He was vexed by his own people, but it was hardly surprising to him. Those not of the Earth Tribe seemed to disappoint his… _mild_, expectations, time and again.

Khozen and Bulzark stood at Medeus' left and right side in light of Xemcel's absence. His hand was the only person Medeus would truly rely on for any matter, all others were pawns that would only last for so long. No, Xemcel was one of the select few 'worthy' ones who served Medeus, and even if he wasn't, ones as faithfully loyal and competent as him had particular uses.

Xemcel appeared in the room in a burst of light, generating some quiet murmurs throughout the room. Medeus sat up slightly, but still leaned to the side, resting his cheek on a clenched fist as Xemcel kneeled down.

"Emperor Medeus." Xemcel began, reaching into his robes and revealing a fleshy red sack. "King Jiol of Gra… is dead. This is all that is left of him, his bloody heart. The spawn has felled the nation of Gra."

The Manaketes around the room began to murmur amongst themselves. The total elimination of one component of the Dolhr Alliance no doubt troubled them. Medeus simply leaned back. "It is of no consequence. That human outlived his usefulness long ago. On this day, the spawn performed for me a great favor. Jiol and his nation was not even worth exercising Dolhr's power in striking down. He will be a marble curiosity for the rest of eternity." He paused, hearing the murmuring in the room die down. Medeus himself was pleased that a relative of Anri, even one so distantly related, was dead. He motioned at an anonymous Manakete in the room to prepare a pike for the heart. He returned his attention to his Hand. "It is only a matter of time before he moves back to Anri's kingdom. Xemcel. Do you and your aids know what I want you to do?"

Khozen and Bulzark moved away from Medeus and knelt beside Xemcel. Xemcel nodded to his master. "Yes, my Emperor. We depart, immediately."

* * *

><p><strong>Oy, when I drafted this, I underestimated how many post-battle scenes I'd be writing. Still, with the exception of the moment between Roshea, Linde, and Merric, I felt that every post-battle scene was completely essential. Especially the whole thing about Marth showing mercy to the soldiers who would accept the mercy.<strong>

**Anyway, this may or may not be the retirement of Albertus from the overall story, who is the only real OC I plan to have in this novelization.**

**Please review.**


	26. The Enchanted Sands

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>A blistering desert sun hung in the air, the rays of sunlight mercilessly bathing the harsh landscape, drying up what few traces of water were left in the barren wasteland of sand. Nothing thrived, let alone lived, in the desert of Khadein. At least, not without much in the way of aid.<p>

The one spot of civilization and shelter from the harsh elements in the desert was the city of Khadein. An enchanted city of mages hidden in the desert like a coveted oasis. Sometimes called a jewel hidden in the desert, a sight that would make any weary traveler's eyes brighten. A city that enjoyed a wealth of knowledge and a fountain of discipline. Free of conflicts and tensions where one could pursue knowledge of the arcane arts in peace.

In theory.

Once upon a time, that was a proper description of the great 'City of Magic'. That was before Gharnef's rise to power. The mages who enjoyed friendly rivalries with each other now plotted death upon the other. Teacher and student now conspired against each other, the student reveling in the idea of taking the teacher's knowledge and killing his instructor, and the teacher regarding his student as a pawn to use and discard as necessary, keeping the student strong but never too strong.

Anyone caught slaying a rival or teacher _was_ severely punished. Though, everyone knew that the punishment was for being so foolish as to allow yourself to be caught in the act, not for the act itself. No one cared enough about the deceased to seek vengeance for him on any level.

The ruling Pontifex of Khadein, Gharnef The Dark Pontifex, dabbled little in the everyday affairs of the dark mages who now controlled the nation. He was focused on his own experiments.

The dark energy of his magic circled through the small chamber he was in. The black tendrils of energy lashed violently through the air, snaking around the room, looking almost ready to violently break through the stonework.

Unamused and unimpressed, Gharnef clenched his hands, and the rebellious fingers of magic ceased their uncontrolled spasms through the air and flowed as Gharnef willed them. With thousands of the magical worms waiting obediently in the air, he sent them at a sword on the far end of the room.

They surged into the sword, corrupting the blade, creating something evil out of something once good. The blade, virtuous silver, began to dye a cold black as the shadows enveloped it from the inside out. Gharnef grinned at the sight as the blade developed black patches across the silver before turning solid black entirely. Next was the hilt, which was already turning a dark azure.

The corruption was complete, Gharnef relaxed himself as the experiment ended in grand success. Considerable planning and resources had been spent to ensure that this would work, but such things became trivial upon his success. All the tendrils of dark magic had entered the sword. It was a great accomplishment, it was-

An explosion suddenly rocked the room Gharnef was in, originating from the sword that had been possessed by shadows. Gharnef didn't flinch as some of the looser stone bricks were dislodged by the explosion and began to fly through the air. The magic of Imhullu protected him, the bricks bounced off of a black shield that spawned around him. Gharnef didn't even blink, having grown quite used to Imhullu's protection. He only frowned at his failing.

As the dust settled, he saw the sword lying on the ground, its virtuous silver restored and its golden hilt returned. Irritated, he walked over to it and picked it, Falchion, up off the ground.

"It's no use." He mumbled almost mournfully. "The blade forged of Naga's tooth… the divine powers cannot be suppressed, not even by Imhullu's power. If I cannot find a way to corrupt the divinity in this weapon, I have little chance of overthrowing Medeus."

He begrudgingly marveled at the purity of the divine blade, and of Naga's planning skills. In ancient times, Naga had concocted a unique… method, to keep anyone but Anri and his descendents, and Divine Dragons, from wielding the sword. Anyone besides that lineage who held the blade for too long would pay a 'dear price'. For all his knowledge of lore, his understanding of what that 'dear price' is was remarkably limited. Yet he could feel it, as he held the hilt of the weapon in his grip, he could feel Imhullu rushing to create a weak shield between his hand and the blade hilt as some form of energy tried to enter into him.

The stone door behind him slowly slid open with a loud rumbling sound, he turned around to see Eremiya entering. Upon the sight of him, Eremiya immediately fell face down at his feet. "Forgive this forbidden intrusion, master."

"Speak, Eremiya." Gharnef commanded, he knew his most reliable servant well enough that he knew that there was some urgent matter that had come to her attention, which had to be brought to his.

"An army is approaching the City of Khadein, coming from the direction of Gra."

Gharnef's eyes narrowed in understanding. An army coming from Gra could have meant only one thing. "So, prince Marth comes, his intentions are clear before he even sets foot into the city. His sole desire… to take back his lineage's treasure." He turned his gaze to Falchion still in his hand, and he tucked it into his robe. He looked out the door behind Eremiya, his eyes focusing on the window. The dots were approaching in the far, far distance. The battle would not commence for some time.

"Shall I send my puppets out, master?" Eremiya asked, "A small force should be sufficient to at least end the prince well before the League reaches Khadein. I… wish to redeem myself in your eyes, after the failure of my two elites in both Macedon and Grust."

The Dark Pontifex regarded her and her suggestion. "None of them will engage the League so prematurely." He said, Eremiya remained silent. "Take some of your inferior assassins, those incapable of true combat, and see to it that they remove all traces of the experiment I was conducting. Some of your higher products, those who were trained with Wyverns, will directly aid in the battle. They will masquerade as simple mercenaries. Though I do not expect them to survive."

Eremiya nodded. "Your will be done, master. My assassins may not survive, but the prince's life should be claimed easily."

Gharnef moved past her. He doubted that Marth would be felled today, but there were other things that concerned him right now. "An army that came to oppose my control of Khadein, and take back the things I claimed as my own…" he chuckled softly, then his voice increased in volume until it was a deep booming laughter. "They are not the first to do so. They won't be the last. Imhullu shall snuff out the weak candle of their very souls. The one thing I fear…" he paused for a moment at the thought. His brow furrowing at the simple thought of his one weakness. "…will never be brought to fight against me." He clenched his fist, and the shadows of Imhullu festered, black tendrils of forbidden power circling around his fingers. "Those capable of battle will… probe the members of the League, and weed out the incapable. There are many uses for all beings with strength and worth, even those who march against me and curse my name."

Without speaking another word, Eremiya rose and departed.

* * *

><p>"Sand, sand, sand…" Roshea muttered as he rode his horse across the dunes as the army approached Khadein. With the burning sun hanging above, and nothing of interest for miles around, there could be no denying the boredom on his face. Having spent nearly all his life in Aurelis, being in the desert was too drastic of a scene change for him. Archanea and Gra at least seemed to have the same grassy plains of the Aurelis he knew. This… was just a little too much. He started to complain out loud to nobody in particular as he wiped an armored hand across his forehead to rid himself of some sweat. "I've got sand in places I didn't even know I <em>had<em>."

"It's not that bad, you little twerp." Merric hummed as he took in the sight. Though an Altean at heart, going to Khadein was a little like coming home to him. He spent more of his life in the city of magic then he did in Altea itself. He took offense to Roshea complaining about the desert he was accustomed to. "Why are you even complaining? Shouldn't you be readying yourself to fight?"

Roshea looked at him, then sighed, hanging his head forward. "I don't see much to fight. Look in any direction you want, there's boredom as far as the eye can see."

Merric frowned at the words, feeling almost insulted. Then, he heard a weird groan from nearby. He turned to see Linde walking silently near them. She looked down at her sandals sinking into the sand as they walked, counting every step she took, looking beyond sullen as she marched. There was an unmistakable anxiety to her movements, and she seemed to be zoned out from everything around her. Merric leaned toward her.

"What's wrong, Linde?" Merric asked. Linde made no reply. Merric posed the question again, putting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Linde's head jerked up, blinking off her stupor. She shook her head…

"It's just… this was my father's world, wasn't it?" There was nothing abnormal about her eyes, and still Merric could see that tears were not far off. While this was something like returning to the place he belonged for him, it was a veritable nightmare for her. A nightmare bringing back memories of her father, which should have been pleasant memories, but they were laced with deep nostalgic pain. Her head sunk back down, a hand raising slightly to press onto her churning gut. "I was only here one time before. Khadein was in ruins, it had to have been right after my father and Gharnef… fought. That's where I found my father, at the time I couldn't understand the dark wounds he had."

"Imhullu." Merric said, speaking completely seriously. "Even with a staff, wounds from magic are difficult to heal, and Imhullu is one of the most destructive spells out there."

Linde's pace quickened. She knew, and Merric knew, by the time Linde had found her father, it was probably too late. The iris of her eyes nearly looked blank at first, but then she blinked, and a new determination, and anger, was in them. "_He_ is here."

Merric immediately knew she was talking about Gharnef, and nodded. "The Dark Pontifex is Khadein's current ruler. He has ruled Khadein ever since he stole Imhullu. It… would be better if he's not here today. I'm not sure if we can face him just yet…"

"I hope he's here." Linde said in a low voice, nearly growling the words out. "When I find him, I'm going to kill him."

Merric fell silent, as did Roshea. Linde's hands slowly clenched into shaking fists as she turned to both of her friends. "Let's go. I want to see… _him_."

* * *

><p>Gordin was brooding. He walked with both of his arms swinging by his side almost lifelessly. Nearly a two full weeks had passed since the defeat of Gra, and as an Altean he should have been overjoyed to see those who backstabbed Altea pay their dues. Yet he could find no peace within himself, and it was entirely because of what had happened immediately after the battle in Gra. He had realized his crush on Norne, and dared to approach her about it. Yet, the second before he could tell her that he wanted her and him to become a couple, the moment was interrupted by Tomas.<p>

He lost his nerve and his courage, and he couldn't bring himself to speak to Norne any further. Not about the crush, not about anything. He couldn't bring himself to talk to her at all. Even as she walked right next to him in the march to Khadein. That failing in Gra stabbed him through the heart and was eating him up inside. He had found the courage to try and speak to her about it, but now… there was only one thing ringing in his head.

_What was I thinking?_

As for Norne, she still didn't understand what Gordin had tried to say to her, but could tell that his inability to tell her whatever he wanted to say was bothering him. She wouldn't dare ask him about it, she feared that asking him would only make it worse for him. The only solace she got was making Tomas understand how angry she was at interrupting the moment between her and Gordin. Though, a simple two black eyes on the man did little to make her feel better.

So, here they were. Two best friends who were unable to talk to each other, though both likely longed to. Norne moved a little closer to the sulking Gordin, but didn't speak to him, or even try to reach out and touch him.

They were two that would frequently just be chatting away, well, mostly Norne talking to Gordin. Norne found the quietness between them almost unsettling. To her, it was like her friendship with Gordin was breaking, and she couldn't accept that happening.

_I have to try and talk to him._ She told herself, _…but, what can I say? I could say the wrong things _so_ easily. _She hated being fearful and uncertain, and longed for the casualness of times with Gordin that she wasn't enjoying now. More then once in the desert she reached a hand out to try and grab his shoulder and get them both talking again, but chickened out every time.

_Will we ever be talking to each other again? _A part of her silently despaired on the inside. She pined to spend time with Gordin again, she closed her eyes, desperately wanting to talk to him. She wanted to be… right beside him, always talking to him, laughing, maybe protecting the shy boy in social situations.

She took in a breath, perhaps this separation reminded her of how deeply Gordin figured into her life. She might have been forced to leave the army shortly after the pirate attack at Talys without his encouragement. There was so, so much that she owed him.

As she thought it over, and looked at him, her inability to talk to him hurt her even more. She realized, her feelings for him were deep… deeper then friendship. She blushed at the thought, but did not deny it as she might have earlier. Her heart suddenly cried to as much as see Gordin look at her, and she fell deeper into her uncertainty as to how to approach him.

* * *

><p>"Falchion should be here." Marth muttered, tensing slightly as Khadein came into view. "All that time thinking that I'd take it back when I faced Jiol, and it was in Khadein the entire time." He mumbled to himself, chastising himself for getting his hopes up in Gra, and reminding himself of the importance of this fight. Liberating Khadein, and retrieving Falchion, would be no small victory. If he removed Khadein from the Dolhr Alliance, their enemies would no longer have a means to train new mages, it would choke their enemies, depriving them of a powerful asset. Yet the greater victory would be the retrieval of Falchion, the one thing they needed, they <em>needed<em>, in order to fight Dolhr.

Wendell stood near the prince, sighing at the sight. It had been a long time since he had been in the familiar desert, and the sights had been piercing his very soul every step of the way. The desert had changed so much, and the desert had changed so _wrongly_.

The desert seemed so… dead, to Wendell. There were signs of life in the past, some manners of life did live, with the aid of magic. Some plants grew, some animals carved out a niche for themselves, it was not a desert that denied life itself, as it seemed to now. Wendell couldn't help but wonder if this was just the natural desert, without magic aiding what creatures dared to live there, or was purposeful corruption via the hands of Gharnef.

To the elderly Sage, the worst sight of all was the city he had been born in. Khadein had been a nation that was always strictly neutral in all matters. It accepted those capable of learning magic from all nations and trained them all equally, with no bias or prejudice. Anyone who wanted to learn magic would end up spending at least some time in the vaunted City of Magic. Despite the affinity for the magically inclined, it welcomed all peaceful travelers with open arms, offering at least a comfortable bed for the weary, and a place of solace for those who hungered for knowledge.

However neutral the city claimed to be, the position of Miloah as one of the White Sage's direct apprentices meant that it always favored Archanea more then any other nation. Despite that, Khadein was something of a neutral ground. No form of violence would ever be condoned, and no sides would be taken when other nations warred, nor would the city act as a camp for army units. A shelter for the wounded was all that Khadein would ever offer to warring soldiers.

Then, Gharnef rose to power, displacing the previous ruler, and Khadein had been unconditionally loyal to Dolhr and only Dolhr since, even as Gharnef and his mages had their own plots.

Now, Marth would lead the League to what had once been a haven detached from the conflicts of nations, and undoubtedly spread blood all across the roads that had normally been so free of such a substance.

"Our enemy will comprised mostly of magic users." Hardin noted, with just a twinge of discomfort in his voice. The League had faced magic users before, but never in such a concentrated quantity. This battle would be a great test, one that he privately admitted he wasn't looking forward to. He looked at Khadein as they drew ever nearer to the city. At this distance, he could make out the walls that surrounded the city, built tall to protect it from sandstorms. They doubled as a formidable defense in a siege, but they weren't what would truly intimidate any invaders. "Magic is not something to fool around with or underestimate. Our wisest action is to proceed slowly and cautiously upon the city." He turned to the others present for anyone else's opinion. Marth and Wendell both nodded.

"Against an army of mages, aggression will be favored, Coyote." Wolf said, standing not far from the two commanders. Marth and Hardin turned to him. "Mages are formidable only at a distance. To say that we should approach slowly… that is like telling us to die under their assault."

Marth was slightly disturbed at Wolf's aggressive tone, but Hardin simply smiled. "Your logic is sound, Wolf. However, that same assault is why I would urge caution against this enemy. The magic our enemies wield… armor is nothing to it. If we simply rush to the enemy-"

"I did not mean to imply _blind_ aggression, Coyote." Wolf interrupted. "Yet, approaching this enemy slowly only invites death. It is one thing to be cautious, it is another thing to give our enemy all the time they need to launch a proper assault upon us. Here, a slow approach is a fool's game."

Hardin looked at his best man. The words were blunt, and might have seemed overly critical, resembling an insult at Hardin's tactics, but Hardin simply nodded. "Thank you, Wolf. We shall take that into consideration as the strategy is finalized. You need only concern yourself with the battle. You're forging new territory with this battle."

Wolf quieted down, then nodded. He had a 'partner' to grow accustomed to, starting today, and one he hadn't asked for. He could only imagine himself having to divert from his battles all too often to cover for the mistakes of the Whitewing that Marth and Coyote saw fit to assign to him.

He knew that approaching enemy mages slowly was a painful mistake, when a single blade would so easily pierce their robes and rip into the fragile vitals. His arrows could drop them like flies… the notion of a slow approach would only make this battle more complicated then it needed to be. Yet they thought that approaching slowly was a viable tactic. With irritation in his movement, he turned and walked away.

"Does he normally contest your decisions like that?" Marth asked, bothered by Wolf's aggressive opinion. His own knights would sometimes speak their minds, but never so forcefully.

"Sometimes." Hardin answered, stroking his chin and slightly smiling. "Though, it's rarely a bad thing when he does so."

Marth quirked an eyebrow, Hardin gave a good chuckle at the reaction. "Never mind Wolf, Marth. We've a battle to make our final preparations for."

* * *

><p>The army was waiting just a few miles from Khadein, readying themselves for the battle. Wolf's eyes narrowed, this was exactly what he was arguing against. There was no telling what mages, especially an army of mages, could do if given the opportunity to prepare. He clenched his fists, feeling that no one else in the army saw the obvious mistake this was.<p>

A breeze swept past him, blowing some of the hot, sticky desert air away. In his relief, he grew slightly calmer and more relaxed, but his frustrations remained.

"Wolf." A voice came from behind. Wolf felt himself grow slightly more irritated, and turned to his new partner. Palla came up right beside him and looked straight at his face. "I saw that exchange you had with prince Hardin. You aren't treating your prince with the respect a knight should give to a liege."

Wolf returned Palla's look with a reflexive stony stare. She didn't back down from the glare. The woman's tone made it sound as if he was being scolded. He regarded her coldly. "What are you suggesting?"

"Exactly what I said. A knight should regard his liege with more respect then what you showed." She nodded, more to herself then to Wolf. "Let me suggest this, Wolf. Watch how I interact with princess Minerva. Learn from it. I pride myself on never saying anything out of line, and always showing the respect deserved of my liege."

The words were well-intentioned and meant to be helpful, but Wolf was unimpressed at the message. "…the only thing I'd learn from you is how to fawn." He neutrally said. Palla jerked back. "Learn from how you interact with your princess? There is nothing of value to learn from that. Not when you worship everything she does."

"I…" There were a number of responses Palla was expecting, this was not one of them. "I do not 'worship' my princess. When has it ever seemed like that?"

"In Gra castle." Wolf answered. "You said that 'my input is never necessary'. You never contest anything your princess says?"

Palla felt oddly vulnerable. "A-as a knight should act."

"That is how an _idiot_ acts, Palla." Wolf said. Palla was taken aback by the blunt word he used to describe her. "You do realize that you are in the best position to challenge her reasoning, do you not? You are the one who has to make it clear to her when she has made an error in judgment."

"T-that is not my place, Wolf." Palla said with a weakening voice. She knew she was losing control of this situation, but tried to remain calm. It was a struggle to get the words through her throat in the face of Wolf's critical gaze. Her words came out haltingly. "I serve princess Minerva. That is enough. She does not request my input, nor does she need it. I cannot say that I have ever considered one of her decisions to be the wrong choice. If ever I found a flaw in one of her plans, then it has to be my reasoning that is flawed."

Wolf's eyes narrowed. "Then you have forgotten how to think for yourself. It would also seem that the Macedonian princess is more shallow then I thought." Palla gaped at those words. No, no matter what anyone thought of Palla, surely no sane minded individual could have any problem with Minerva. "When I became an Aurelian knight, Coyote told me this. 'There are times I will ere in my judgment, or act too rashly. As an Aurelian knight, you must do more then simply serve and follow my orders. There will come times that it will fall to you to pull my head out of the clouds and stick my feet into the embers. Without such reminders, any human ruler will fall to arrogance and corruption, without fail.' I challenge Coyote at times because I am capable of thinking for myself without once displaying disloyalty to him. Sometimes he is wrong, and I point it out. Sometimes my reasoning is flawed, and he must bring it to my attention."

Wolf crossed his arms, regarding Palla even colder then he had earlier. "I now see the idiots that princess Minerva purposely surrounds herself with. Blind worshipers and pawns for her… no different then what King Michalis must surround himself with. Or perhaps, in this manner, King Michalis is the better, at least he doesn't pretend that his soldiers aren't simply a multitude of yes-men."

Palla fell silent, her mouth hanging open. She had nothing to say. She was… frustrated, at how he referred to her and frustrated at how he regarded Minerva. Yet, what frustrated her the most, was that she couldn't think of anything to say in her defense. From a certain point of view she might have… maybe she did effectively worship Minerva's plans and reasoning. She narrowed her eyes as she acknowledged that fact.

"I…" Palla began, but just bit her lip. She closed her eyes, but could still feel Wolf's gaze on her. "I… I will, think long and hard about what you said." She resented the tone he used to talk to her with, but reluctantly saw his point. Anyone who went too long without his or her style of thinking being opposed would end up arrogantly believing that they were never wrong. She didn't see Minerva as arrogant. Perhaps prideful, but…

"And if my words don't sink into you? You decide against fulfilling the proper duty of a knight?" Wolf asked, skeptical of her claim to think about his words.

Palla sighed, seeing her clear defeat in this argument. "Well, as you said… several times… I am an 'idiot'. But I will see if I can become worthy of something besides your ire and disgust."

Wolf watched her reaction closely, a part of him was almost impressed that she hadn't just angrily rejected what he had said and stormed off, as he expected her to. He nodded to her, then turned to walk away.

As he walked away, a thought struck Palla. "Um… wait, Wolf?" Wolf stopped, looking over his shoulder. With a nervous voice, Palla posed a question. "The discussion I and Catria had with you and Sedgar back in Gra… I was wondering… what does the word 'slave' mean to you?"

Wolf was frozen for a moment, and Palla caught a glimmer of anger in his eyes, she was suddenly frightened, and regretted asking, but Wolf simply returned his gaze to the front, his back to Palla. "_That_ is not important. Nor is it something you should waste your time asking. Do not speak to me about that again." He walked away, leaving Palla to draw a cautious breath for herself.

* * *

><p>The army began to slowly complete its preparations. None shirking or shrinking away, but few looked forward to facing the corrupt mages of Khadein. Marth and Hardin called for caution in this battle, and the advance was about to begin.<p>

The dry, hot desert air seemed a little rigid and hard to move through, more so for those among the army who flew through the air. A Pegasus normally favored a cool climate, especially the refined type of Pegasus that Caeda used. The breed that Catria and Palla flew was more accustomed to difficult flying environments. Whereas the prideful red Wyvern that Minerva flew had no difficulty with the dry heat, even if normally in a cooler habitat.

Catria strummed her fingers through the mane of her Pegasus, leaning forward and silently consoling it with a whisper, promising that the heat would not last long, but also said that the heat would get worse before it went away. The Pegasus neighed in a manner that seemed reminiscent of whining. Catria bonked it on the head with the palm of her hand in a slightly reprimanding fashion.

"Your first battle as a proper League soldier." She heard a voice, she turned to see prince Marth standing next to her. She gulped a little as Marth was giving her his undivided attention.

"And as your bodyguard." She said, trying to sound confident and fearless, but succeeded only in looking slightly nervous. Marth smiled at her, and she skittishly looked away from him.

"I'm in your hands." Marth said, trying to inspire some confidence in her. Catria could swear that she was growing warmer from the complimentary words. "Yours and Jagen's."

She gulped, then turned, seeing the elderly Altean Paladin on the other side of Marth. She had no doubt that it would take little time to make it clear who Marth's better bodyguard was, and managed a smug smile. As she thought about fighting with the prince's protection as her utmost goal, she wondered how often she would talk to him.

"Um… prince Marth, before we start this battle, can I ask something?"

Marth nodded in the affirmative. Catria took a breath. Palla would probably bite her head off if she knew that Catria was asking this. "There… may be times when I disagree with a decision you make. Am I… entitled to tell you my disagreements?"

He blinked at the question, noticing that she seemed to hold her breath, growing fearful of his answer. Catria started to from beads of sweat on her forehead, not from the desert heat, but from anxiety. Telling a superior of her disagreements with their decisions is something Palla had repeatedly told her not to do. Whether that superior was Minerva or someone else. Suddenly, she wished she hadn't spoken the question. If Marth was the sort of person who-

Marth took a simple breath before he spoke. "Yes." Catria's anxiety didn't melt away immediately, but it didn't rise any further. "When the soldiers around me speak their mind, they make me think of things that I hadn't, or make me look at the situation in ways I would have never considered. If you disagree with me, please tell me. There may very well be times when you are right and I am wrong."

Catria's eyes widened. She couldn't have imagined that the prince would have been so open with the idea of having his ideas challenged by his soldiers, then nodded. Her anxiety was replaced with a pleasant lightheadedness. "T-thank you, prince Marth, I'll serve you as a knight of the League."

"I wouldn't want it so impersonal." Marth whispered, catching Catria by surprise. "You may think it a foolish idea, but I'd prefer it if my relations with the knights was one of both duty and friendship, not just one of a prince and a serving knight."

His tone of voice was normal enough sounding, but his face looked nearly sheepish. Catria stared at the prince in shock, then relaxed into an easy grin. "Of course, prince Marth. Now we have a battle to fight, _friend_. You can leave your back to me."

Marth turned from her, taking a step forward. Hardin trotted his horse through the mass of soldiers to come up beside the Altean prince. The two had reached the agreement to fight this battle slowly. Some subtle tactics would be necessary to fight the army of mages in Khadein. Marth and Hardin had no intention of making a foolish charge into a wave of magic.

This was the battle to reclaim Falchion, the treasure of Altea, the greatest weapon against the Manaketes, and the only thing that Medeus likely feared. Marth was anticipating this eagerly. If all went well, a great victory would be attained today.

"Archanean League." Marth called, grabbing the attention of every single soldier present. He unsheathed his Rapier, holding it firmly by his side. "Today we fight to liberate Khadein from the Dolhr Alliance. We also fight to attain the weapon that will be essential to fighting Dolhr, and the Shadow Dragon. Falchion… torn from my father's hands long ago. We shall march in, and break the army that the Dark Pontifex commands, and put the City of Magic back into proper hands." He pointed his Rapier forward, and every soldier tensed. "With me!"

* * *

><p>Gharnef's decayed hands were on his tome, the one that granted him utter invincibility. Around him were the dark mages that swore loyalty to him.<p>

His lipless face grinned, and he nonchalantly pointed in the direction of the League. His mages obeyed the gestured order, ritually repeating the chant of their spells, and began to move out. They moved away from Khadein, all but gliding over the sand. Gharnef waiting for a time, then teleported away, moving to a more obscure location. It was not that he feared an encounter with his enemies, simply that he wanted to watch the League, and the League's abilities without unnecessary attention being drawn to him.

He looked to the side, seeing some cloaked figures walking in the direction of his research building. Their task, issued by Eremiya, was simply to retrieve his documents and any equipment that might be there, and destroy would they could not remove themselves. A basic job, one that would be impossible to fail at. Elsewhere, the 'mercenaries' were coming. Assassins riding Wyverns, they would aid his mages in the fight against the League.

This was a test for the League to overcome. They had to prove themselves worthy to take part in Gharnef's little game of nations. A game that no one but he knew was swiftly progressing.

He expected many League soldiers to die today, and only the truly capable would play his game. More, he expected, would fall to Eremiya's assassins then his mages. The feared mages that considered themselves the rulers of Khadein? They were like hive-minded insects, obeying their leader, that 'leader' being whomever displayed the greatest power. They had a certain skill, to be fair, but for all the power they craved and the positions they lusted for, they lacked the mind for plotting that Gharnef had. Plots and cunning instinct were a much more subtle, and dangerous, weapon to have in one's arsenal then simple power, Gharnef knew. Many times, it seemed that he had to rely on the likes of Grust or Macedon to accomplish a task that required martial might, something he truly loathed to do. It was only a shame that Eremiya's assassins had failed to eliminate the ruler of Macedon and the most prominent member of Grust's military, but they would all fall in time.

The 'mercenaries' were with his mages now, he began to move forward from his position, looking forward to seeing exactly how the League would face the challenge of magic. The prime would survive both mages and assassins, forged to unknowingly fight for Gharnef.

He… was in plain sight, but his position would attract little attention in the heat of the battle. He watched, seeing that the battle on the dunes outside of Khadein was just about to begin.

* * *

><p>Caution. No mistake could be afforded. Hardin let his enemy make the first move. One mage recited the words inscribed in his tome in a hollow voice, causing his hand to glow red. The mage pointed a finger at Hardin, and unleashed a fireball at the Aurelian.<p>

Hardin pulled on the rein of his horse, getting he and his steed out of the way of the lethal ball of flame. The feeling of heat was on his skin, but he ignored it and charged forward. His silver lance sunk without resistance into the mage's unarmored torso. The mage only had the energy to gasp in horror before Hardin tore the lance out, letting the mage slump down.

That was the first kill of the battle, but then the full might of Khadein's dark mages was upon the League. A veritable storm of balls of fire, shards of ice, and crackling electricity filled the air. They were supplemented by the enemy Dracoknights. The aerial assassins swooped down, rather expertly weaving through the magic barrage of their allies to reach the League.

Some of the Dracoknights would succeed in getting close to the League, many would not. Jeorge, Archanea's finest, sunk the blessed arrows of Parthia into either the stomachs of the Wyverns or their wings, sending the wounded beasts plummeting to the ground. The soft sand still offered a fatally quick stop for both beast and rider.

The assassins who did reach the League would find that they either underestimated the enemy, or overestimated themselves. Whether it was finding their skill falling short to Minerva's, or being ripped to pieces by Merric's Excalibur. A few were even killed by Catria when they dared to try and swoop down on prince Marth.

_So far, so good._ Marth thought as the Dracoknights were eliminated as a factor in this battle. A large number of enemy mages had fallen, but he was slightly troubled. Despite having the advantage, the League was being forced back from the barrage of magic. He begrudgingly saw the worth of such an overwhelmingly magic focused army, but the amount of mage corpses also illustrated the flaws of such a force.

Then one of the mages appeared with a tome that, even at a distance, was clearly different from the tomes the others were using. The mage chanted cryptically, then swung his hand to what seemed to be no effect.

Then the air in front of Marth distorted. At first it was just a blur in the air, reminiscent of the blurs that preceded Merric's wind blades, but another second passed, and it was clear that this was a very different spell.

What could best be described as small insects seemed to appear in the air. Their wings generated a peculiar unnatural buzzing noise, and their eyes glowed red.

He didn't realize how deeply he was looking at them, until they suddenly charged at him. He gasped at the sight of mandibles ready to tear flesh from bone, and leave him a half-eaten corpse on the desert sand.

"Prince Marth!" Catria reached out and pulled Marth to her as the insects closed in. Rather then tear off and devour his flesh, they simply shrieked through empty air, then evaporated back into whatever realm they came from.

It took a second for Marth's mind to register what happened, and then he noticed that Catria, from the saddle of her Pegasus, had protectively wrapped both of her arms around him, his chin on her shoulder. He fidgeted slightly against the tightening grip, Catria obediently let him go.

_Too close._ He thought, _We can't allow ourselves a slow advance if they can attack from that far away._

He nodded a thanks to Catria for saving him, then turned back to the battle. "Attack!" he commanded, seeing that their current tactics would eventually falter if the enemy employed magic like that. "Don't let there be any distance between you and those mages! Overrun them immediately!"

The battle restarted. The League soldiers pressed an attack. Injuries became more common among them, but they advanced, slaying enemy mages left and right, and gaining ground.

_It would seem that Wolf had the right idea._ Hardin noted. Some League soldiers would get injured by this strategy, but nothing the Clerics and the Curate in the army couldn't handle. The battle was in their favor earlier, and shifted even further into their favor now. Hardin was pleased, then looked to the side, looking at a fairly irrelevant looking building. He'd have simply turned back, but noticed some cloaked figures around the structure.

Thieves? No, it was unlikely they were thieves. People at large were terrified of Gharnef, not even brazen thieves and bandits would try to steal from Khadein. This had to be something else. He squinted his eyes, seeing no form of insignia on the cloaked men. It seemed minor, but Hardin did not dismiss the possibilities of this small event being of some subtle importance.

"Wolf, Palla." He commanded the nearest soldiers, Wolf turned to Coyote, keeping half of his attention on the battle and the other half on his prince, Palla also turned to the Aurelian prince, awaiting instructions. He motioned his head at the strange building. "Find out what those figures are doing. I doubt them to be thieves taking advantage of this carnage."

Wolf looked at the cloaked figures. Even from the distance, he noticed a clear efficiency to their movements, if it weren't for the fact that they were operating in broad daylight they might have been difficult to spot. They were no fools, and no common thieves, if they were thieves at all.

"At once, Coyote." Wolf said, nodding, motioning for Palla to follow him. They temporarily departed from the battle.

* * *

><p>Gharnef stood, watching the battle. The League did well, very well. Much better then he anticipated… more would be declared 'worthy' then he expected. A much superior force to the swarm of mages that worshipped him only to attain power for themselves. He marveled at the resolve, adaptability, and zeal of the League. Had his mages possessed even a fraction of the League's capabilities, he could have openly declared his rebellion against Medeus and the Dolhr Alliance long ago.<p>

He took a step forward, watching the League closely. They were well-trained, already tempered well by the trials they had endured. The mages of Khadein offered them a test unlike any that had preceded it, but in end, the test was trifling to them. He was well pleased.

"Gharnef." Gharnef's focus on the League was broken by the sound of a voice. The speaker was elderly, with a voice vaguely familiar to the Dark Pontifex. He looked to the side to see an elderly sage. Gharnef blinked, thinking hard to the people he had known before and after his rise to power, trying to place the wrinkled face…

"Wendell." Gharnef said, recognizing the elderly figure. He turned to his old… acquaintance. They had never been close enough for the word 'friend' to be applicable. The warmest they had ever spoken was when Wendell had approached Gharnef, then a promising and virtuous student of magic, to congratulate him on becoming one of Gotoh's apprentices.

The Sage was actually significantly older then Gharnef, though now that Imhullu had twisted Gharnef into the facsimile of a demon, that fact no longer held any meaning. Gharnef had held Wendell as a wise, if out of touch teacher of magic prior to his rise to power. Gharnef regarded Wendell as a simple fly now, annoying, but possessing little real worth.

"I see the effects of Imhullu have not been kind to you, _Dark_ Pontifex." The words came out neutrally, but when Wendell addressed Gharnef, he made Gharnef's title sound like something that a Manakete would be ashamed of. Gharnef only smirked.

"A small price to pay. Imhullu's power exceeded even my expectations. It gave me the power I needed."

Wendell took a step forward. He could sense Gharnef's staggering power. There was no chance he could best Gharnef… no, that was an inaccurate statement. There was no way he could best _Imhullu_. "The power to do what, Gharnef?" He knew that with a simple crack of Gharnef's wrist he could be no more, but he refused to back down. "To commit petty revenge over simply not being chosen as the inheritor of Aura? To make a mockery of everything Khadein stood for? To slaughter innocents, even children? To fall into the trap of greed, always wanting and never being satisfied? To have the title of Medeus' _errand boy _be your grand station in life?"

He had listened to Wendell with amusement, but the title of 'errand boy' seemed to stroke Gharnef's ire. "I am not part of the Dolhr Alliance for the sake of the Shadow Dragon. I rule Khadein, the City of Magic, a position worthy of me. Yet, it is only a stepping stone for my destiny."

"And what is your destiny?"

Gharnef grinned. "To see the future, where all shall bow to the Dark Pontifex of Khadein. Even Medeus."

Wendell only shook his head. "Fool. You may have had virtue and valor once, but now you're simply a pawn to powers that you simply believe that you control." He pointed an accusing figure at Gharnef. "Any world that you rule… its evil would be outstripped only by its ignorance."

Gharnef felt insulted by the words, but… his grin returned, silencing Wendell would be the simplest, easiest thing. Wendell had to have understand that as well, he seemed to take comfort in his final accusations toward Gharnef. Now…

"Teacher!" Merric suddenly ran up next to Wendell. The elderly sage was shocked by his apprentice's presence at this moment. Immediately afterwards, Linde was on the other side of Wendell. She looked scornfully at the man in front of her, the man who was almost demon-like in appearance. She had never seen him before, but she knew, this was the Dark Pontifex, her father's murderer.

"So, Gharnef, is it?" Merric sauntered a few steps forward arrogantly. He grinned, taking the Excalibur tome out. Wendell's eyes widened in horror, but Merric remained confident. "I rather like Khadein, I think I'll have it go back to how it used to be."

Wendell froze, unable to draw breath. When he managed to speak, he practically screamed. "No, Merric, _no_! Do not challenge the might of Imhullu!"

A warning given too late. Merric chanted the recitation to summon the power of Excalibur. The air blurred, the desert wind forged into blades of wind, ready to rend Gharnef's head and limbs from his body. Wendell gaped at the sight of the blades of Excalibur approaching Gharnef, but the Dark Pontifex simply grinned.

"Too easy. He's not even running." Merric said, turning to Wendell. "Hey, teacher, that guy was a big name right? Does that mean that I'm-"

"Gharnef would not be defeated so easily!" Wendell snapped at his student. "Have you forgotten what tome he wields? The effect it offers to its wielder?"

Merric blinked, then turned back to the position Gharnef was standing in. The blades were still going toward him, and then…

Bits of shadows appeared around Gharnef. The globes of darkness spawned into the air, each taking the blow for every blade of wind that Merric summoned, then dispersed as the threat to Gharnef disappeared.

"Wha…" Merric took a step back, not believing what he had just seen. The ruler of Khadein stood, without the slightest scratch on him. "But… but… how?" Then, with a gasp, he remembered everything Wendell has told him about Imhullu.

Gharnef smiled, looking as if he hadn't moved at all when the blades came. He began to walk forward, slowly. "Excalibur… tempering the very wind itself into blades." His smile didn't fade, and he began to chuckle. "Your parlor tricks are _amusing_. Now, allow me to show you, wind mage, the true meaning of _power_."

Holding a black tome in his hand, a tome that just… didn't seem natural at all, he chanted spine-tingling words in a haunting, forgotten language. His eyes glowed menacingly at the sinister power that began to channel through him. He didn't have to as much as gesture at Merric, but simply widened his eyes to offer a command to the dark powers of Imhullu. On Gharnef's command, a black mist appeared in front of him, assuming the near physical, but still ethereal, shape of a skull. The ghastly conjured skull opened its mouth, and fired a white beam at Merric.

"Merric!" Both Wendell and Linde screamed, but Merric was frozen in mixed awe and fear. The beam hit him, the power of Imhullu coursed through his body, burning his flesh with its dark power, before finally the white beam dissolved.

"No!" Linde rushed to Merric's side, catching him in her arms as he began to fall backwards. She fell to her knees, holding Merric tightly, not letting go of him. Merric still breathed, but the agony was plain as day on his face. Linde was overcome with worry, but it quickly shifted to rage. As she held Merric protectively in her arms, she looked up at Gharnef. "Do you have to take my friends from me as well?"

Gharnef raised an eyebrow. "Do I… know you, child?"

"You killed my father!" Linde screamed at the Dark Pontifex. "You killed him…" she looked down at Merric, gritting his teeth from the deep pain he was in.

"You'll have to be more specific then that." Gharnef said with a neutral tone, "I've killed a lot of people."

Linde shook with rage, then began to reach for her tome…

"No, Li… Linde." Merric managed to say through his pain, "Don't let him… see your… tome." He reached a shaking hand up and grabbed Linde's hand, "Don't…" Linde shook with rage and glared at Gharnef, but did as Merric told her to. If it weren't for Imhullu she'd have charged over to him and ripped Gharnef apart with her bare hands.

Gharnef studied Linde carefully. He blinked at her expression of rage.

_I… have seen that face before… but, where?_ Gharnef wondered, trying to pull some information out of his subconscious. There was something deeply familiar about her expression, her face. He had seen it before, from someone in particular. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't recall.

Linde held Merric close, eventually he passed out from the pain. Linde cradling him as she glared at Gharnef for the attack. Gharnef seemed to be thinking about something, but then he shook the thought off. He raised his hand, preparing to summon the full might of Imhullu to eradicate all three standing before him all at once…

"Merric!" Gharnef pulled his hand back as Marth appeared, the prince of Altea looked in shock at his friend, lying in pain. He turned to Gharnef as Roshea dismounted from his horse and knelt down next to the wounded mage.

"Gharnef…" Marth seethed, "Where is Falchion?"

_The prince has arrived._ Gharnef noted. It would do him little good to slay the commander of the League, not when he had great plans for this army. He looked at Marth as the prince postured in rage over the wounds to the cocky mage. He noted Marth's battle prowess, and leadership skills, and…

He smiled grimly. A plan was just birthed in his mind. He rejoiced, he wouldn't have to corrupt Falchion, after all. A well developed plot to have Falchion directly serve him regardless of the state of the blade was already formed.

"I fear that I have no further time to spend with you, young prince." Gharnef bellowed a chuckle, designed to mock the prince. Marth seemed to grow angrier, but did not give into the temptation to attack. "Take Khadein if you want, but if you desire Falchion… come and find me."

"You'd abandon Khadein?" Wendell asked. "All the power the City of Magic means?"

Gharnef regarded Wendell as a blind fool, without the slightest glimmer of insight. "The mages who vow loyalty to me are nothing. You can do with them as you see fit. I have… another base of operations. One where I sit at a much _greater_ position of power."

Gharnef then stretched his arms out, letting himself be enveloped into a ball of light, quickly teleporting off of the dunes of sand, leaving the League with his echoing laughter.

* * *

><p>"What were you doing?" In close combat, the cloaked figures posed little threat to Palla, and even less to Wolf. Most of them were already deceased on the sands. Their corpses, baking in the sun, would be a putrid sight in just a few hours. Palla was unnerved by the reality of that, but Wolf was focused entirely on the single figure still alive.<p>

Wolf held him a few inches off the ground, his hand around the man's throat. He posed his question again. "What were you doing?"

The man groaned, squirming and trying to fight back, both of his hands on Wolf's wrist, trying to pry the hand off, but he was clearly so grossly outclassed by Wolf. The pain he was in loosened his lips, just slightly. "We… we were just… doing as… instructed."

Wolf tightened his hand on the man's neck, it was so tight the man could barely breath. "Do not toy with me. _Who_ instructed you to do _what_?"

The man gasped, barely able to take in the oxygen necessary to speak. "We… were removing, or destroying, everything in that building. Hide… Master Gharnef's… experiment."

"Gharnef told you to do this?" Wolf asked. "What was he trying to hide?" The man said nothing in response.

"Do not test the limits of my patience." Wolf warned, he tightened his grip further, making it impossible for the man to breath. "Last chance. Who gave you the order? Gharnef, or another? I will spare you if you comply."

"E…" the man said, his eyes containing a mix of fear and defiance. Yet he formed what would be the last sounds he could make. "E…Erem-" he gagged, trying desperately to breath but was completely incapable of doing so.

"Erem?" Palla asked, "That has to be part of a name. Who are you talking about?" The man turned to the Whitewing. Had this of been a Grustian or a Macedonian, Palla would have been horrified at what Wolf was doing, but she knew the character of those who served Gharnef, and had no pity for the man. "Who did you just mention?"

He looked at Palla, then Wolf shook him, reminding him of who he should be truly fearing. He spoke slowly and threateningly. "Who did you nearly name? _Answer me_."

The man gagged again, then offered a triumphant smile to Wolf. His eyes rolled back into his head and his arms fell, dangling lifelessly. Irritated, Wolf released the corpse's neck, letting the man fall deceased to the ground. He turned to Palla. "We're investigating that building. I want to see what we stopped them from trying to remove."

The inside of the building was dark, poorly lit by braziers. Most of the light was courtesy of light streaming in from a lone window. Wolf walked in without a second thought, Palla looked more uncertain, and jumped at some dancing shadows she saw from the corner of her eye. The small building seemed to have the air of something deeply malevolent. Wolf led Palla to a small room, which seemed to be the only other room in the building. The second room seemed to be highly unkempt, and looked like it had endured some kind of damage very recently. Within this seemingly neglected room was… what seemed to be a small library.

A bookshelf filled with tomes and books. Even without being an expert on magic, Wolf could sense that the books and tomes would be nearly impossible to find elsewhere. Palla seemed to realize it as well, very forbidden knowledge was being stored here. Yet, the most prominent thing that caught Wolf's eye was a tall stack of papers with a quill pen nearby. He walked over to it…

He picked up the top sheet of paper and started to read some of the words. To his ire, it was mostly words and equations that only an accomplished mage would understand. Yet one thing he saw, was that 'Falchion' was a word that was brought up frequently. He couldn't tell what the paper was saying, and after a few moments he put the paper back down.

"I… know a little about magic." Palla said, looking elsewhere in the room, recalling princess Maria enthusiastically telling her, among others, little facts about magic, as Maria learned how to use a Heal Staff. "Yet I know that I have never seen anything like this before." She picked up a small scepter on a table as Wolf turned to her.

"Don't touch that!" Wolf commanded, Palla turned to him with puzzlement, then the scepter she was holding suddenly started to shake in her hand. A fireball was released, Wolf had to duck under the flame and let it disperse on the wall with an explosion.

Wolf got up and walked over to Palla, knocking the staff from her hands. "Don't touch _anything_. Neither of us knows what these items are capable of."

Palla looked down in shame, mouthing an apology for nearly killing Wolf accidentally. With a sigh, Wolf grabbed the entire stack of papers he had been looking at earlier and lifted it up. He turned to see Palla's quizzical expression. "We'll need Wendell to make sense of what's written here. It may contain very vital information."

He looked at Palla and nodded the command to move out, they both left the building. They passed by the corpses of the men, whom they didn't know were half-trained assassins, Palla got on her Pegasus and followed Wolf to the city of Khadein.

* * *

><p>Gharnef reappeared within the city proper. He wasted no time. The League would be here in mere minutes. There were things that had to be spirited away immediately.<p>

"Eremiya." He immediately addressed his most reliable servant. He was not panicked, but there was a clear urgency in his voice. "Take your assassins, and depart for the Temple of Thabes. We shall let them have the City of Magic."

"M…master?" Eremiya asked, taken aback by the words. "We are to abandon… Khadein?"

"It means nothing to me, Eremiya. The mages here mean less then even that. Those who I have considered worthy already take residence in the temple. You know that this nation was always a temporary asset. All you need bother yourself with is ensuring that my experiment was efficiently removed from Khadein."

Eremiya suddenly looked frightened, and took a deep breath. Gharnef noted the action, and waited to hear whatever it was she had to say. She spoke cautiously, with fear and hesitation laced into her words "One of the Aurelians, and one of the Macedonian Whitewings, killed everyone who was supposed to be removing all evidence of your experiment."

Gharnef's lips curled in anger. "I was unmoved by the death of the assassins aboard the Wyverns. Yet, this…" his eyes clenched shut. "Are you incapable of training anyone who can challenge the enemies who have some small capability to hinder my plans?" He threw the failures to claim Michalis' and Camus' life at her. He threw his head back and growled. "It would seem the assassin's success of slaying lesser rivals lulled me into misplacing my faith in their, and your, skill. Aurelis produces nothing of note, a horseman should have been nothing to even half-trained assassins. The Macedonian should have fallen easily as well. You and your assassins have allowed the proof of my experiments to fall into their hands."

Eremiya looked away, not daring to answer her master's words. She held her staff closer to herself, and took a fearful breath in.

The thought of the death-penalty occurred to Gharnef, his hands clenched, with Imhullu's energy wafting off of them. After a moment, he composed himself with an effort, he may have overestimated the assassins, but they still had their uses. "It matters little what they learn from my research." Gharnef said, catching Eremiya by surprise. She looked at her master, hopeful for the prospect of not being punished with death. "The full scope of what I was doing is not detailed, and they have no means of stopping me, or what is to come. Simply take your assassins to the temple, we shall do nothing but observe the enemy until the time is right."

Yes, master." Eremiya was relieved that Gharnef had decided against punishment. "My puppets shall leave immediately, and I shall see to it that their training leaves them with twice the skill they had preciously."

"I hope so, Eremiya, for your sake. In light of precious failings, I shall be less forgiving from this day onward. Their greatest trial is in the foreseeable future." Gharnef said, Eremiya's heart skipped a small beat. "Depart. The League will be here in minutes. Neither you or your assassins can match their might."

Eremiya hastened to obey as Gharnef walked off. He had nothing to acquire, there was merely one thing he wanted to do again. He moved to the main study, once shared only by himself, Gotoh, and Miloah. He raised a hand to stroke his chin in deep thought.

That woman he saw on the desert dunes, he had never seen her before, and he knew that. Yet there was a certain… nostalgic air to her. He didn't understand it, but resigned himself to spending his last few minutes in Khadein trying to determine who she was.

His eyes turned to the three portraits in the room. Expensive, hand drawn portraits hung on the wall, the pictures larger then a Manakete in its true form. The first portrait depicted Teacher Gotoh, the White Sage, who refused him the power of Aura. The second had once been of he himself before Imhullu twisted his visage, he had torn the picture out and burned it. That man was a separate person from him.

The third was of Miloah, the man who had been Imhullu's first victim in eons. He looked at his rival and enemy, thoughts of the girl who glared so scornfully at him intermingled with his last moments speaking to Miloah. He had left Miloah to die slowly from the wounds Imhullu inflicted, he planned to return later to find Aura, but to his surprise, it was gone.

He thought about Miloah, and the girl, and… and…

His eyes widened in realization, and he looked at Miloah's portrait harder.

"_Daughter_… so, you had a _daughter_. You were wise to hide her very existence from me. Now the secret is out… and your failings are complete." He allowed himself a feeling of grim satisfaction at the thought of the girl dying against the same man who killed her father. "In time you will be joined for her. Merciful, is it not? I shall allow you to spend eternity in hell with your flesh and blood."

A grin on his face, he teleported out of Khadein.

* * *

><p>"Falchion isn't here." Marth growled. The mages of Khadein were decimated in the battle, and a search for the blade had began immediately after the city itself had been secured. Yet, try as they might, there was no trace of the divine blade anymore. Nor, it would seem, was there any trace of Gharnef.<p>

It was obvious… Gharnef had taken the blade with him. Marth had hoped that Gharnef's claim that finding Falchion would require finding Gharnef was an empty boast. That, it would seem, had just been wishful thinking. Falchion had now eluded Marth twice, and remained in improper hands. It grated deeply on Marth's nerves, Gharnef had no business wielding the sword. Those of his lineage were the only ones who deserved the blade, anger boiled up in his heart, he looked ready to lunge at somebody.

"Prince Marth." Marth snapped around, only to find Wolf and Palla, Wolf was holding a stack of papers. Wolf's head jerked back a little from Marth's aggressive body language, but he held his ground. "My apologies to interrupt your thoughts sire, but these papers appear to conduct some manner of experiment that Gharnef was conducting, but I believe we will need Wendell to read it."

Marth didn't seem impressed or interested. "Take it to the Sage then."

Wolf spoke again, there was something that Marth had to know. "I understand little of what is written here, but the word 'Falchion' comes up frequently in what I _can_ understand." Marth's eyes widened in surprise. He took a step forward, taking the stack of papers from Wolf.

"Thank you, Wolf, Palla." No anger, impatience, or dismissive tone remained in his voice. "I'll see to it that this is brought to someone capable of understanding the contents."

The two nodded, bowing to Marth before leaving the room.

Palla's mind was flooded with questions she wanted to ask Wolf. She wondered how much he would humor her on. If this forced and unexpected partnership was going to work out, she needed to be able to understand Wolf. She suspected that she was an open book to him. All she truly knew about him was that he was a highly skilled, and rather cold, Aurelian who nearly killed her once.

He wasn't speaking to her at the moment, and she was honestly thankful for that, after having nothing to say in her defense in a discussion with him before the battle. Yet she couldn't shake the notion that everything that she did in the battle today was a mistake in his eyes. A notion that was only heightened when she nearly killed him by accident with that scepter.

He wandered off, clearly not expecting Palla to follow. Palla chewed her lip, feeling the need to learn more, but knew that asking Wolf about it himself was pointless. She'd have to find another… someone who knew Wolf, if she wanted to ask these questions.

* * *

><p>Roshea and Linde sighed in unison as Lena, having spent an hour in the healing, was still not even halfway done with dealing with the wounds Imhullu had inflicted.<p>

The two had remained silent as they hovered over the still critically wounded mage. Linde could now see why trying to save her father with a Heal Staff would have been such a useless gesture. The wounds from Imhullu would take so long for even an experienced Cleric to heal, Gharnef would have returned to find Linde trying to heal her father, and simply killed them both.

Linde felt that Merric's injuries were her own fault. Even if revealing the Aura tome would have likely sparked a very unpleasant reaction from Gharnef, she still could have attacked Gharnef, and taken the wounds for Merric. Even if not, she could have at least pushed Merric out of the way of Imhullu. She chastised herself for her lack of action when Merric needed her.

As she criticized herself, she heard a groan, she looked to see Merric, still heavily injured, starting to stir. He opened his eyes to weakly look around. The first thing he saw was Lena's tired face hovering over him, he looked to both sides to see Linde and Roshea. They both noticed his awakening, but still wore faces of deep worry. He offered a smile to them both, Roshea managed to make a return smile, but Linde was still fretting.

"He's stable." Lena assured them when she saw Merric wake up, putting a hand gently on the mage's forehead, as if she was trying to gauge Merric's body temperature. "He'll only recover from here, but it'll be at more then hour before he's ready to leave."

"More then… oh, come on." Merric whined, trying to at least get up into a sitting position, but felt a sharp pain as he started to lift up, and fell back down.

"Don't move." Linde ordered, reaching out and grabbing Merric by the shoulder to hold him down. "Don't do anything to make yourself feel worse, just do as the Cleric says."

He sighed, then tried to offer Linde some puppy dog eyes. She answered with a reprimanding glare, and it was clear that the matter was settled. Roshea began to quietly snicker, Lena looked at the Aurelian and raised an eyebrow, the Cleric was the only one who didn't notice what had just happened.

With a sigh, Roshea stood up, feeling relieved at Merric's recovery. "If it's all uphill from here, maybe I should get going. There might be some extra task I can do."

Linde looked a little disappointed at Roshea's decision to leave, but then smiled at Roshea's desire to be helpful with the rest of the army. "Sure, we'll be fine."

"Don't let the boring sands get you." Merric taunted with a weak voice, recalling the short conversation he shared with Roshea shortly before the battle. Roshea didn't even bother responding to that, simply walking out of the room.

Roshea stepped into the hallway, taking a moment to lean on the door he shut behind him. For all their banter and pseudo insults, he had been horrified at Merric's injuries, worrying and fretting alongside Linde in the hope that he would come through. Which he did. Of _course_ he did, Merric was too annoying to die.

As he got up off the door, he heard footsteps approaching. He tensed, reaching for his weapon just in case. Khadein was only recently liberated, and some loyalist to the disappeared Gharnef could have theoretically still been here. He waited, the footsteps got louder, he'd keep any enemies from getting to the wounded Merric himself if he had to.

The owner of the footsteps rounded the corner, and Roshea relaxed himself. It was just Palla, but one look at her face told him that she was determined to do something. He would respect that, and just let her walk past him, but to his surprise, Palla stopped and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"I was looking for you." Palla said. "I want to ask you some questions." She was careful to use a tone that made it clear that he was allowed to refuse. This was not an interrogation.

"…about what?" Roshea asked thoughtfully, seeing some critical need in Palla's eyes. "I'll help if I can."

Palla smiled, finding herself able to relax as she spoke. "If I'm going to be Wolf's partner, I need to know more about him, but, I don't think I can just ask him myself."

There was a look of uncharacteristic hesitation on Roshea, he looked to the side, possibly debating whether or not he could honestly help her, but eventually he nodded. "If it'll help you and Wolf, then sure. I probably know him better then Sedgar or Vyland."

Asking Sedgar might have been possible, Palla noted. Asking Vyland however, was completely out of the question. Vyland _hated_ Macedonians… it took only one incident to affirm that fact, to ask him for anything was simply begging for a violent incident. "Let's find a better place then a hallway for this, Roshea."

* * *

><p>After Merric had finished his healing, he and Linde began to walk through Khadein together. Despite being healed, Merric's body still ached, and Linde insisted that he lean on her to walk.<p>

With Khadein hopefully back on the path to becoming what it once was, Linde took the chance to see her father's world. She and Merric entered the study of the past ruler. The first thing that caught her eye were the three hung portraits. Two were intact, the person on the portrait clearly visible, but the third portrait seemed to have had the picture ripped out.

She recognized one of the intact portraits as her father, Miloah, easily enough. The other one she did not.

"Gotoh, the White Sage." Merric said, looking at the portrait Linde was raising an eyebrow at. "He was… the teacher of Gharnef, and Miloah. He disappeared when Gharnef rose to power." He shook his head, "Everything that happened Khadein can be traced to the White Sage giving Aura to Miloah and not to Gharnef."

"My father's teacher…" Linde stared at the man in the top portrait. Anything her father had taught her, he learned from this man. He seemed to perfectly fit her image of a infallibly wise old sage. She turned to Merric, "You said he disappeared?"

"We don't know _exactly_ what happened to him." Merric said, "Though, if Gharnef had killed him, he'd back it up with his head. He's out there." He shrugged. "Somewhere."

For one moment, Linde felt like the man had just abandoned Khadein when things had spiraled so out of control. She threw the thought away quickly enough, Gotoh had not intended any of this, and he was her father's teacher. He _had_ to be a virtuous man…

"This one…" Linde pointed at the portrait whose contents had been ripped out. "It's supposed to show Gharnef, isn't it?"

Merric nodded, slowly. "When I was a student, I only came into this room one time. It was supposed to be private for the three, but the portrait of Gharnef was intact at the time. Considering Gharnef's character, I wonder why he would destroy his own, but leave intact the portraits of the two people he must have hated the most…"

Linde placed Merric gently into one of the red chairs, then walked up to the three portraits. Her eyes, and her thoughts, returned to the portrait of her father. Linde wondered what it was like for her father to live in Khadein…

* * *

><p>Roshea shrugged. "Wolf wouldn't be Wolf if he wasn't critical of others." Palla frowned at the words as she sat beside Roshea on a little bench. "You'd have to be Coyote, or one of his brothers in spirit, to not be on the receiving end of one of his lashings pretty much everyday."<p>

"It's nice to know that I'm not an exception." Palla said, not feeling particularly better.

"You'd probably get on his good side if you can stay composed when he's offering those kind of words." Roshea said, seeing that Palla looked almost rattled at some earlier discussion she must have had with Wolf. He felt that Palla would be good at staying calm in the face of criticism once she understood Wolf's personality.

Palla closed her eyes gently, recalling the conflict of viewpoints she had with Wolf earlier today. She looked at Roshea again, "So, what ideal does Wolf believe in? Peace, or something else? Or does he just adopt whatever prince Hardin fights for?"

Roshea looked a little intimidated by the question, then he sighed. "Wolf doesn't believe in anything like that."

Palla cocked her head quizzically. Roshea smiled, it took him a moment to convey Wolf's perceptions and values into words. "Things like peace or harmony don't mean much to Wolf, Palla. He's loyal to _people_, not ideals. He is the single most loyal person you could ever hope to meet, and he asks for loyalty in return. If he calls you a friend, or family, he'll put entire military operations at risk to come to your aid. He does it because, as his friend he expects you to… no, because he _knows_ that you'd do the same for him." He looked down at the floor, "Most of the people in the League are just convenient allies for him."

"I… I see." Palla was deeply surprised by all that. She, admittedly, didn't see Wolf as the sort of person who bothered with defending friends and family like that, but a man obsessed with duty. She… liked this particular fact about Wolf, it sounded like what she would do if Catria or Est were in danger. "Maybe, someday, he'll call me a friend."

"Just don't act submissive to him." Roshea said, "Wolf _really_ hates people who try to toady up to him."

She smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." She put a hand on Roshea's shoulder, her mind now swimming with new thoughts about Wolf. Toadying up to people… that had to have been how Wolf interpreted Palla's way of serving Minerva. She wanted to change Wolf's view of her before it became too seeded.

Roshea looked at Palla as she began to think to herself. He liked her gentle personality. His brothers were compassionate and considerate with him, but 'gentle' would have been the wrong word. Palla was gentle like Linde was, but even more so. He decided he liked it. He liked having a friendship with Palla.

She stood up, offering a hand to help Roshea up. "I might try to talk to Wolf again. This partnership won't work out if we can't get along."

"I'm sure you can get along." Roshea assured her, Palla smiled at the comforting words.

"Thank you." She put a hand on Roshea's head and swept up some of the hair that was starting to come down, then took a step back. "I hope we'll talk again, Roshea."

* * *

><p>"This will take many weeks to fully make sense of." Wendell admitted, looking over the papers that were undoubtedly penned by Gharnef himself. "It seems to be research on the effects of Imhullu. Though he mentions Falchion in both related and unrelated text. Both are objects that even a highly regarded Sage like me has only has precious little information on."<p>

Marth frowned at the time he would have to wait, but slowly accepted the fact. "Learning more about Imhullu would be important, but I'm more interested in what he has to say about Falchion. Perhaps it will offer some hint as to where he is keeping the divine blade."

Wendell nodded to the prince. "I understand, I shall begin reading this immediately. I must admit to being curious as to what research he conducted into Imhullu, but I shall start off with what he has to say about Falchion."

The sage left the room, leaving Marth alone. The prince sighed to himself, Falchion had eluded him _again_. He sat himself down on a bench, the hands on his legs tightening into fists. They fulfilled one goal of the battle, liberating Khadein, but the loss of Falchion nearly invalidated that victory. Marth's first intention was to find Falchion before he did anything else… and-

_Marth._ An ethereal voice sprung up in his mind, and Marth shot up back to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his Rapier.

"Who's there?" He demanded, ready to defend himself, his eyes tracing for any unknown figure.

_I mean you no harm, prince Marth._ The voice answered calmingly. _I am Gotoh._

"Gotoh… the White Sage?" Marth relaxed, but his fingers still curled around the hilt. "The one who taught both Miloah and Gharnef?"

The voice did not respond immediately. When it did, a sense of shame intermingled with the even tone. _Yes, it is as you say. I am Gotoh, the last ruler of Khadein. Gharnef's recent behavior can be attributed to my foolish underestimating of his pride. But it is you and the rest of the continent, not I, who suffer for my mistakes._

Marth said nothing. He didn't hold anything against Gotoh for that, Gharnef was responsible for his own actions. He wondered if Gotoh could see him, he nodded to offer a sign that the White Sage could continue.

_I am grieved for the actions of my apprentice, for what he has done to the continent, and for what he has done to my other apprentice, who was once like a brother to Gharnef. I wish to make amends for such gross errors in judgment, but as he is now, nothing can stand before Gharnef._

"Nothing?"

Without seeing him, Marth sensed that Gotoh nodded to confirm Marth's fear._ It is the power of Imhullu, Marth. The one who holds that tome is rendered untouchable. Cannot be killed, cannot be hurt, cannot be scratched, cannot fall ill. Weapons of metal, and other magic, cannot pierce the barrier. It is an intoxicating effect, but one that comes at a dear cost. The moment you walk down the path Imhullu sets before you, it will forever dominate your life, your destiny. I knew what a wielder of the spell could do, I tried to hide the spell, my two apprentices were the only ones who were aware of the tome's location, but… Gharnef stole it out of spite for not being named Aura's successor._

"Isn't there anything we can do to get past Imhullu?"

Another pause. _Yes. There is a way in which to diffuse the ultimate protection that Imhullu offers. I can craft a spell that will pierce Imhullu's protection, but…_

"But…?" Marth hung onto the words, waiting for the opportunity Gotoh would give him.

_I need… something, to forge the spell. Two orbs, brimming with an ancient power, dating back to the time of your ancestor, Anri. The Starsphere, and the Lightsphere. With them, I shall make for you the tome of Starlight, the only thing capable of shattering Imhullu's shadow imbued defense."_

"Where are they?" Marth asked, feeling excitement coursing through him. If Gharnef had Falchion, then it would be best to acquire this Starlight first. With this knowledge, he could form a plan to fight Gharnef, one of the most foul humans of the Dolhr Alliance.

_In the Fane of Raman. You would find it on the way to Grust._

"Then that's where I'm going."

_No._ Gotoh reprimanded. _No, go to your land, Altea, first. For every day you spend trying to fight the Dolhr Alliance, Dolhr itself forces your people to bear the yoke of deepest atrocity. They make _your _people suffer for the successes _you_ have on the battlefield. You must free them. You can head to the Fane of Raman after your nation's liberations._

Marth paused, the desire to take back Falchion, and the desire to free his homeland quickly wrestled in his mind. It was not a long struggle, Marth knew that his people took precedence over the rights of his lineage, and the decision was made painlessly. "I understand, White Sage. I shall head to Altea immediately."

Gotoh's presence, pleased with Marth's resolve, departed from the prince's mind.

* * *

><p>Dark flames illuminated the Temple of Thabes. Ominous black flames were contained in the braziers, casting a foul light in the halls of the temple. The flames were a small note next to the undeniable aura of nearly tangible hatred and envy that pervaded every brick of the ancient stonework.<p>

Gharnef walked through the Temple of Thabes. The dark mages who had possessed the skill necessary to catch his interest, enough to be confided in the reality of Eremiya's existence, wandered freely through the halls of the temple. They studied, they plotted for power, they were ready for whatever Gharnef would ask of them. Gharnef was lightly amused, Marth had aided him in exterminating those who lusted for and yet would never have gained his favor. It was merciful to cut them down early.

Eremiya's assassins were also here, faceless puppets who knew loyalty to Gharnef first, and Eremiya second. They trained with their metal and their tomes, ready to strike unseen at whatever target Gharnef or Eremiya would assign to them.

Gharnef paid them and their matriarch instructor no mind. He walked past a masked axe man who stood tall as he made his way to his private chambers in the Temple, passing the magical Apparatus that empowered him just as much as Imhullu itself and entered his personal study. He walked past the books filled with his studies on Imhullu and the Falchion. He walked past tables that held dissected Manakete organs, part of his research to determine how to best fight the creatures, and finally came to an inconspicuous door. He opened it and walked into a small prison cell. The conditions of the cell were horrid, inhumane, something comparable to a Dolhr cell, and somehow, worse then even that. It was filthy, looking as if it hadn't been clean in years, dirty water had dripped from the ceiling into small puddles on the ground. Rats and insects wandered around freely, spreading their filth. There was a small table with a raw piece of meat on it. It was half-eaten. The cell's occupant had likely got quite used to such unpleasant food by this point in time.

"Dear, dear princess Elice." Gharnef said to the white-gowned woman chained to a chair by her wrists. The elder sister of prince Marth, the one who abandoned safety and liberty to secure her younger brother's escape, and whose whereabouts were unknown to nearly the entire continent. The blue-haired princess looked at Gharnef with a mix of scorn and resentment.

"My answer remains the same as always." She said quietly, defiantly. "No. I will _not_ use such a sacred staff for your purposes."

He smiled. "That… is not what I intended to ask, milady." He spoke the last word in a tone that seemed vaguely sarcastic. "I merely wish to inform you about… a new development."

Elice's resentment didn't fade, but a new look of curiosity was in her eyes for just a brief moment.

"The little brother you helped escape by acting as a decoy?" He waited for a reaction from her. He knew that the mention of Marth no doubt inspired fear and dread in her, but she hid it well. "He has returned as an acting force. He led his army to Khadein earlier today…"

"Wha-" Elice tried to angrily stand up, but the chains on her wrists pulled her back down. "You… if you hurt him…"

Gharnef grew amused by her reaction. "Oh, he's not dead, not yet. Perhaps I shall gently guide his army to those who… irk me. Your brother is so… malleable."

Elice's eyes widened, then narrowed, in rage. "You just signed your death warrant. Your defeat will just be a stepping down for him to fulfill his destiny. There will be _no_ escape."

The Dark Pontifex could only laugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Elice's return after not being seen in this story for ages.<strong>

**Big stuff to happen next. The battle for Altea will be a critical event.**

**Please review.**


	27. Horror and Atrocity

**Was originally going to just do FE11's Chapter 16 right here, but I'll instead do another interlude chapter to introduce the situation Altea is in.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>A deep seated fear, dread.<p>

Ever since that day that Gra's betrayal came to light and he was forced to flee, Marth had yearned and dreamt for the chance to return to Altea. Rid it of whatever Manakete worshippers were present in the nation, and put it back on the path it should have been on all along.

He always imagined taking his Rapier to his foes, letting the blade bite through enemy armor, he himself getting covered in his enemy's blood. He imagined scouring all of Altea and routing all traces of those who would oppose the rightful prince to the land, most of all, he pictured himself killing whatever soulless parasite invited himself onto his father's throne.

Home. It seemed that no matter who you were, it was a concept that gave anyone solace. The place that you belonged was a place that seemed to nurture the soul and feel nothing short of contentment, Marth wanted to take back the home he remembered. Those who defiled it… would not get his pity. Neither would he have any mercy for those who had defiled the homes of his people.

Yet now, at the time he would take back his entire nation, he found… he was afraid.

He dreaded to know what Dolhr had done to Altea, and to see how much Altea had… changed. Try as he might to summon his resolve, and his duty to his nation as its prince, the fear of how _wrong_ Altea might have become under a Dolhr despot was difficult to suppress. More then once as they approached, he stopped marching, and seemed to simply quiver where he stood. Every time, someone's hand, sometimes Hardin's, sometimes Caeda's, sometimes Nyna's, landed on his shoulder. They gave him a simple look, a wordless reminder that now was not the time to be worried.

"Your people are counting on you." Hardin had said on one occasion, breaking the usual silence. For a moment, Marth marveled at, and envied, Hardin's greater resolve in the face of atrocity. He wondered if he could have remained calm and even if he had personally seen his nation be burnt to the ground, as Hardin had.

Of course, Hardin's nation of Aurelis was _invaded_ by Macedon, not _occupied_ by Dolhr, there was a clear, astronomical difference. Macedon would have been simply ruthless, Dolhr couldn't have been anything but devoid of conscious.

Marth could remember walking across ashen fields in Aurelis, fields that should have been beautiful meadows and brooks. The largest clumps of ashes undoubtedly had once been houses. As he thought about it, he was thankful that the fire had occurred long enough ago that were was no possibility to catch the stench of burning flesh while he was in the ravaged Aurelis.

His anxiety for what _might_ have happened to Altea gripped at him once more, and his pace slowed. His heart beat faster, sounding like a loud drum that was felt by all of his senses. His legs moved slower and slower until he practically stopped. Almost ritualistically, a hand fell on his shoulder. Inwardly, Marth was lightly amused at how his friends were practically watching him for any sign of doubt or dread, but the amusement drowned under those mentioned dark emotions. He wondered who would seek to console him this time. Hardin? Minerva?

…Catria.

"You're wearing that face a lot, prince Marth." Marth's Macedonian bodyguard spoke. The words were quietly whispered, deep with the understanding of why he must have been feeling that way. "This is a battle you should be begging to fight."

"I know…" Marth said, he'd been reminding himself of that very fact over and over again as they crossed Altea's border in a desperate attempt to beat back the ominous feeling in his gut. "I know, I just…" his stomach churned, screaming at him to not force himself to see the sights, but he slowly forced himself to start walking again, slowly.

"You… are scared at the simple thought of what Dolhr might have done to Altea." Catria surmised. She dismounted off of her Pegasus, letting it trot next to her as she walked right by Marth.

Marth sighed. Everyone else who had consoled him had managed to pluck that fact out of his heart so easily, it didn't surprise him that Catria saw it as well.

The prince was terrified to see what had happened to Altea. Yet in his current state of near-despair, Catria wondered if he was looking at the situation in the wrong way. "You're scared to see what's happened to Altea and its people." She said, looking deeply at Marth's face.

"Of course I am." He might have intended to snap at the question, but his voice came out unexpectedly weakly. "Everything Dolhr has done to the nation… everything I failed to be here to save the people from… it… it's…"

Catria took a breath in. Consoling was Palla's field of expertise, but… she would try. Certain that she had his attention, Catria smiled at him tenderly, which, hopefully, would disarm him of any anger he felt. She tried to pull up the words that she thought Palla would use in the same situation. "You're scared… to see what Dolhr has done. Not because it's a sign of your failing, but because of the pain your people will be in." She held her breath until he reacted. Marth raised an eyebrow, Catria couldn't tell how the prince was feeling, but he did at least look more curious then troubled right now.

She managed a smile that she hoped looked nurturing and supportive. "You're the ideal prince. You don't want your people to be hurt. So you don't even want to know what they've been going through. All that dread you're feeling, it's because you want the best for your people. A part of you… almost wants to stop you from seeing what's happened."

Marth opened his mouth to speak, but his words clung to his tongue. Slowly, his mouth closed, looking shamed and… exposed. He closed his eyes, once, twice he tried to force the words out of his throat, on the third time he succeeded. "I don't want them to suffer… they shouldn't be suffering, their only crime is in being Altean, the people who should be suffering are the ones who…" he trailed off only shortly after beginning, the words clinging to his throat again, and he noticed that the simple thought of his people suffering was making him breath hard.

Catria's reassuring smile faded somewhat as an unsettling image of suffering was birthed in her mind. Yet no matter how horrible any vision of pain might be for her, it would undoubtedly be far, _far_ worse for Marth. The people were his responsibility, and to Marth this must have seemed to be the most brutal failing on his part. "You don't need to be frightened by the idea of what we might see, everything we see, we're here to put a stop to, and, you know I'll do my part to help you."

Marth stared at Catria, feeling like every little fact about him had been spread out bare before her. He was slightly embarrassed by how easily he could be read right now, but all the facts being plainly laid out seemed to make it simpler to confront them. He didn't feel better, but he seemed to see the problem more easily. He inclined his head to the supportive girl. "Thank… you, Catria."

She smiled at the humble thanks. "I'm just trying to help my… friend, prince Marth." She felt her face heating up slightly as she stared deeply into his eyes. She began to look to the front. "Anyway, please don't think too hard on it, we're here to free Altea, let's not dwell too much o-" she suddenly stopped, pointing a finger forward, "Prince Marth!"

Marth was lightly surprised at her voice, and followed the direction of the pointing finger. He almost retched at the sight. There were three pikes in the ground, embedded in the soil near a withered, leafless tree. Impaled on each pike was… a human head.

The sight was so repulsive a thing that it took several seconds for Marth, who had grown accustomed to gore in this war, to properly react.

"Scouts!" He called urgently, several of the army's more… intuitive soldiers stepped forward, chief among them was Wolf. Marth, already recovered from his horror at the sight, pointed a finger at the heads. "Investigate that. Tell me when they died."

* * *

><p>Marth crossed his arms as several Aurelians and Alteans examined the heads. A few seemed reluctant to as much as touch all that remained of these three Altean souls. After several minutes, Wolf approached Marth.<p>

"Your report?" Marth asked, though not looking forward to the answer.

"There are no signs of decay, and the heads still remain warm." Wolf summarized quickly, today was a chilly day, they should have cooled quickly in the biting cold, but the heat of blood and life had lingered within the heads. Wolf held a hand out, revealing a sticky red substance that had coated his hands during the investigation. "The blood in them remains fresh. They couldn't have been killed more then a few hours ago."

"Some kind of… warning, directed at the League." Marth guessed, all three heads had been removed from the pikes to be examined. Organs and skull pieces had been removed and methodically studied by Wolf and the others. Marth admired their ability to partake in the necessary task, but did not envy them.

Wolf's eyes turned to the side, eventually he pivoted his upper body to turn to the decapitated heads now tossed on the side of the road. The League would likely spend a few minutes burying the heads in a respectful manner, hopefully pardoning them from their gross mistreatment of the dead.

"We can't be sure, prince." Wolf said, not particularly moved or sorrowed, but still troubled by the sight. "We can't be certain of the purpose of these heads until we see what it's like in Altea in general."

Marth took the discomforting words in. Wolf's words weren't unfounded. This could have been a recent execution, utter coincidence that the pikes were on the same road that the League would take as they entered Altea. Neither could he deny that these might have been present simply to rattle him. Rattle him and the Alteans foremost, and the others in the League secondly.

That contemplation led to a dilemma of choice.

"This could be a trap." Marth muttered beneath his breath. The enemy could be waiting, ready to rout an agitated League that wasn't thinking straight. Or perhaps the enemy was holding patrols like no threat was even remotely close. He shuddered at the idea of such pikes being everywhere in Altea.

Either way, some information would be desired, and if this was a trap, well, he didn't see him losing anything by waiting.

"Wolf." Marth addressed, speaking with careful authority. "I believe I can trust you with stealth. I want you to go and ascertain the status of the enemy and the strengths of the enemy. I also want you to see the conditions the Altean people live in and how they've responded to this occupation. Try to avoid contact with the Alteans if you can. You are… obviously not Altean, your simple face might garner unnecessary attention."

There was a look of readiness from the so clearly Aurelian face. Wolf was no fool at stealth. In fact, Marth figured, it was probably no exaggeration to say that Wolf might have been the best practitioner of stealth on the continent.

"Understood, prince Marth. I shall depart immediately."

"What of your partner, Wolf?" A new voice entered the conversation before Wolf could begin to move away. Minerva stepped forward with a gleam of curiosity in her eyes, wondering exactly how her best Whitewing and this Aurelian were getting along after their short time together. In her eyes, the fact that Wolf didn't even think of bringing Palla with him was a sign that things were not going well.

"I have never seen her employ stealth." Wolf said frankly, not sounding critical. "I have no basis to judge her capabilities on this subject. Yet, regardless, I would rather she not accompany me. The more follow, the more easily spotted."

Minerva nodded, not liking the notion that one of her soldiers would be a hindrance to the Aurelian, but she herself had never seen Palla engage in stealth. Pragmatically speaking… it might have been better to send Wolf off on his own.

"Perhaps this would be a good time to see how she would perform." Marth said without thinking.

Wolf looked at the Altean prince calmly. "Maybe, but such an important assignment is not a 'good time' to see how she would perform. Even supposing she might be adept at this, she would be out of her element, off of her Pegasus. If she was spotted, she would not be able to fight her best."

Marth and Minerva were both willing to accept that argument, their heads nodding, and it seemed the matter was settled. Then another being approached. Wolf tilted his head slightly and his eye's widened at Coyote coming to them.

"I didn't train you to be inflexible." Hardin noted, coming to the small group, having clearly overheard the conversation.

Wolf nodded to Coyote. "I am not, Coyote. Yet the presence of Palla could conceivably compromise this assignment. I would not support such an idea." He slightly tensed, "I can handle this much more simply without her presence."

"That negates the reason as to why you were assigned to be Palla's partner." Hardin said neutrally, reminding Wolf that Palla being with him wasn't some spontaneous decision. "We wanted to see if the knights of both nations would be able to look past the butchering of Aurelis and work alongside each other in all tasks. If it seems as though you put up with Palla for simple jobs but push her aside for any difficult assignments…"

"I am not holding Macedon's invasion of Aurelis against the Whitewing, and I do not regard her as… utterly incapable." Wolf responded, his voice just slightly rising. He turned over the information in his head, examining the possibilities, and what he believed Coyote was reasoning. Fighting off the urge to sigh, he looked at Coyote, and saw that his prince had already made the final ruling. "I understand. If she is my partner, she must be accustomed to the assignments issued to me. I shall inform her that she will be accompanying me into Altea."

He bowed his head to Hardin, carefully concealing his doubts about Palla being present with him throughout this assignment. This was… he would not mince words, this was a handicap more then anything else, but he would not speak that. He may argue against Coyote at times, but he would never undermine Coyote's authority or go against his explicit will.

* * *

><p>Hollstandt, the Grust general directly serving the Manakete despot, Morzas, surveyed the land of… New Dolhr.<p>

Ever since he had come to New Dolhr, the conquered realm of Anri, he had not reveled, had not felt the impulse of joy or merriment. He had not laughed, or as much as smiled. Rather, he always felt queasy, sick, about to faint. He found something to be… horribly wrong, in just about everything around him.

Perhaps, had he been born Dolhrian, things would have been different. Yet, as a man born and raised in Grust, and taught the value of morality, he had his share of misgivings over the treatment of the… New Dolhrians. His dark thoughts seemed to be clear on his harsh, unpleasant looking face, perhaps succeeding only in making him look more intimidating to the New Dolhrians. His face creased with the somber thoughts, and of the hopelessness of doing anything about what was happening.

He wrinkled his nose slightly, recalling some of the 'charges' the New Dolhrians had been accused of. He sighed, Morzas has made it quite clear how to respond to any kind of transgression. 'I rule New Dolhr.' the Manakete had said to him once, 'I needn't bother myself with swatting lesser gadflies. That will be your duty.'

There was a tone in Morzas' voice as he spoke that more then simply troubled Hollstandt. There was sickening amusement in the Manakete's words as he made it clear that no charge was to be answered with anything less then death. The more painful, the better.

Hollstandt posed the question of what actions a person could be charged with, and how to administer death. Morzas simply smiled at him and said 'use your imagination.'

Though shaken at the gravity of his actions, Hollstandt did as he was instructed. Those sentenced to death were many, the methods of execution numerous. The possessions of the deceased were turned to ash, Morzas wasn't interested in anything that was produced in this land.

However, those who openly rebelled, who raised sword against Dolhr, they were bound and sent to Morzas within the castle of New Dolhr. Hollstandt was ignorant as to what happened to those brought before Morzas, and he wished to remain so.

Sometimes, late at night, he could hear the screaming from within the castle. The sort of screams that would make every hair on a jaded war veteran stand on end.

Another Manakete, one named Xemcel, usually attended by one other Manakete, but recently two, frequently visited Morzas to check on the progress of the 'weeding out' of every trace of rebellion here. Those living in New Dolhr were to be groomed into worshippers of Medeus, they would be unconditionally loyal to the Emperor… or they would die. Hollstandt knew that the Manaketes weren't picky about how the people of this nation turned out. All they were interested in was the 'justice' of handling Anri's people like this.

Lately, Xemcel's visits had become less frequent, and the Manaketes spoke at greater length. Hollstandt was not privy to what was going on, but he could tell that something was up. Immediately after his last meeting with Xemcel just earlier today, Morzas demanded that Hollstandt prepare three people to use as an 'example'. He reluctantly obeyed, finding three people and convicted them with utterly mock charges. Morzas personally left the castle, escorted by a small army of Dolhrian guards, to oversee the executions. The Manakete chided Hollstandt for his mercy of a quick death, he wanted the faces of the Alteans to be in utter anguish at the end, but did not stop the guillotine blade from falling.

Morzas commanded the severed heads be put on pikes and brought to a location of his choosing. Hollstandt didn't understand why Morzas would choose such a vague location near the nation's border. Yet he had no way to protest, and simply did as he was instructed.

_These are not the morals I was instilled with._ He mused. He remembered, years ago, Camus The Sable had appeared before his unit and gave them a rousing speech about loyalty and honor, things he had not seen ever since he had been stationed here. Even his men, fellow Grustians he had trained with, no longer displayed the traits that he felt every Grust soldier should have been instilled with. They enjoyed mocking and jeering these… New Dolhrians, threatening and robbing them at any chance, joining in with the Dolhrians on abusing the people without provocation. Another Grust soldier, who held a rank identical to Hollstandt's, going by the name of Dactyl, seemed to be one of the worst. Gleefully tearing families apart and helping himself to the possessions of those he destroyed. These soldiers of Grust fell far below the moral standards of the Sable Order. It was difficult for Hollstandt to resist the urge to lean his head back and scream at this… madness.

He hoped that Camus, still young by the standards of the knight, would never be in this position. To be torn between doing what he knew in the heart to be right, and doing the deeds that honored King Ludwik's command.

Everyone would have to answer to the gods for their crimes someday. Hollstandt suspected that for him and his men, that day would come sooner then expected.

* * *

><p>Wolf moved through Altea, stealthily scouting the area for the sake of prince Marth. He moved slowly, examining all possibilities as he moved, even in soft soil he left almost no trace that he had ever been there. One could look at him and could presume that the Aurelian could walk through sand without leaving any footprints.<p>

To his slight ire, Palla accompanied him. Palla, Wolf found, had a certain general talent at stealth, but it would have been inaccurate to say that she was good at it in the way she needed to be. The traces she left behind were not glaringly obvious, but… they were there if you looked.

The day was overcast, but the sun still pierced the clouds here and there. It _felt_ improperly bright and cheerful, running contradictory to the sights Wolf expected he and Palla to see today. He could feel the slightest speck of pity for Palla, the memories of what Dolhr did to Altea would likely ruin her mood on future days of pleasant weather.

Still, even with her company, Wolf did his job, scouting out the situation in Altea, dodging surprisingly well-coordinated units of patrols, observing the villages in the area, both the intact ones, and the ones who had seemingly been burnt to the ground.

The burnt remains proved to be a sobering sight as banners of Dolhr circled the ashes, leaving no doubt as to the identify of the arsonists. As they neared such sights, the unmistakable stench of burning flesh assaulted their sense of smell. Wolf was used to the smell, Palla was not, and looked close to vomiting as she desperately wished for her nose to never work again.

It did not end at such sights. Pikes were spread somewhat arbitrarily throughout the nation, each having some body part impaled on them. Some held a disembodied leg or an arm, or a head or a heart. Wolf even recognized lungs and stomachs on some of them.

Of course, for every pike he spotted, there seemed to be a pile not far from them. A pile of organs and extremities, cut from the body and laid out on the ground. 'Cutting Piles' Wolf decided to mentally term them.

There were more horrors to come. A slab of stone had a clothed skeleton chained to it. Wolf wondered if starvation was what killed the man… or perhaps he was stoned while the chains held him.

A bloody, few weeks old corpse was tied to a tree, the top half of the body severed from the bottom half at the waist. Wolf couldn't make an accurate guess as to how the man had been killed.

Some corpses seemed to float in the pools of water. Only upon further inspection did it become apparent that these men had been chained underwater and eventually drowned. The corpses only floated freely now thanks to the chain eroding underwater.

People that seemed to have been ripped into four pieces were strewn around. The ropes attached to them made it clear that they had been drawn and quartered, their remains left to rot upon the grass.

Yet, what would likely plague Palla the most was the next sight.

She had pushed her horror off for the moment and turned to regard Wolf. Though his face seemed slightly paler, he hadn't been bothered by these sights like she had been. She could only imagine that he found her shaking and her horror at these sights to be signs of being an incapable soldier. These were sights that a soldier had to respond somewhat indifferently to, or at least that's what she presumed Wolf's perception to be. He had looked at her frequently as they took in these sights, his disdain barely hidden, his disappointment plainly obvious. He clearly held her in low regard, and she seemed to fail him time and again. She planned to double herself in all fields… then wondered, for the first time, why proving herself to Wolf seemed to mean so much to her.

He wasn't verbally abusive or cruel to her, but he was… very critical of her. The man was a noble person, otherwise Roshea wouldn't have spoken so well of him. Yet he, along with Vyland and perhaps Sedgar as well, seemed determined to dislike her. Palla took in a breath, and then the corner of her eye saw another sight, one that made everything they had seen so far seem trite in comparison.

"W…Wolf." She stammered, pointing a shaking finger at a withered tree not supporting any leaves. Wolf followed the finger to see… something, swaying on the branches. At first glance, one might presume that is was simply laundry hung up to dry. Upon closer inspection, they were nothing so simple or innocent.

Skin. Human skin. Swaying from the branches like linen cloth. Wolf narrowed his eyes. It seemed as though some Alteans had been literally skinned alive, their skin tied to the tree branches. The skins looked like malformed humans hanging from the branches to flap as the wind blew by.

"It… it's too much…" Palla said in a low voice, looking ready to vomit. She stood on precarious legs, threatening to fall down at any second. The sight was too much to bear, but try as she might, she couldn't pull herself from it. She swallowed down the unpleasant concoction that tried to come up from her stomach. She was unable to understand how anyone could be so cruel. "No one… no one with even a shred of conscious would-"

"Manaketes." Wolf spoke quickly, uttering the name of the species that frequently seemed so… unconscionable. "Dolhrian torture. I doubt this is close to them at their worst."

Palla looked at the skin. She had wandered through Dolhr Keep more then once, and had journeyed to Dolhr frequently. Yet she never saw… what the Manaketes would really do to those they despised.

Her stomach seemed to convulse as a bile began to build in her throat. These sights… they were beyond atrocious, beyond sickening. No one who claimed to be righteous, as the Manaketes frequently swore they were, would ever do anything like this. Her head began to sink down as she shut her eyes tightly.

"My shoulder." Wolf said, taking Palla by surprise and confusing her.

She tried to say 'what', but succeeded only in grunting in confusion, utterly failing to understand what Wolf was talking about.

"Take it." Wolf said with subtle irritation, "Lean on it. You're about to faint."

Palla blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating. Wolf was displaying some… kind of understanding for her? She couldn't bring herself to believe it, but she still approached him.

"I… I'm sorry, for this." She leaned herself onto Wolf's back, only now realizing that she was breathing heavily.

"If you're not ready for sights like this, you should have let me go alone." Wolf said sharply. Palla cringed at the harsh words, her fingers digging into Wolf's light armor, knowing that this was far less then what Wolf expected from a partner. She wondered if she'd ever seem to be honestly capable in his eyes. Compared to Minerva, he was a very different overseer, and demanded far more. Yet, he wasn't telling her to do anything he would have refused to do or thought himself incapable of doing.

After a few minutes, she felt herself come to terms with the sights, and pushed herself off of Wolf's back. "Forgive… me, n-now, let's get back to what we're here to do."

* * *

><p>Another hour of their task came and went, Palla now a bit stronger in the face of the sights they saw. Eventually, they came cross what seemed to be the only sign of Altean settlement near the castle. Two Altean villages close by each other… close enough that a person could stand at the village gate of one and toss a rock over the surrounding wall of the other.<p>

"We must see how the Alteans are coping with these living conditions." Wolf spoke quietly, recalling the order Marth had given. He could see patrols nearby… enemy soldiers marching around the village. He withheld himself from sighing, entering the city may be out of the question, considering Palla's inadequate stealth.

"Do not let anyone, Altean or otherwise, know of our presence, Palla." Palla nodded at the command. There had been no sign that anyone was aware of their presence so far, it would be best if it was kept that way until the battle began. The scales would be tipped into the League's favor if they could take the enemy by surprise. Then something caught the eye of both of them. A young man, an older woman, both Altean, were walking outside of the gates of one of the villages. They moved to the gate, looking ready to enter, when a patrol comprised of three soldiers stopped them.

From the distance, Wolf and Palla could only hear shouting, no words could be coherently heard at this distance. Yet Wolf could plainly see that the two Alteans were being charged with some mock, nonexistent crime. His first impulse was to interfere, but he rejected the thought as quickly as it came. The mission took precedence. "We can't interfere, that would reveal our-"

He turned to Palla to ensure that she was listening to him, but she suddenly darted forward. Irritation coursed through Wolf as Palla impulsively leapt out to throw herself to the aid of the Alteans. She moved too fast for Wolf to realize what she was doing and restrain her in time.

Direct defiance of command. This would not be forgotten. With annoyance in his step, Wolf grabbed the hilt of his sword and followed her.

"Please, we were only-" the Altean man protested, but he was immediately boxed in the face by one of the soldiers. The older woman stayed silent, holding a bag filled with picked fruits.

"Outside of the village without supervision." One of the soldiers smirked in satisfaction. The woman saw that this was the opportunity the soldiers were hungry for. Interrogation and harassment was a sport for much of the occupation army. "Very suspicious. You weren't… oh, you know…"

"We were just… picking fruit." The woman slowly said, telling the honest truth. One soldier sneered at her, his hand slowly moving for his sword. A look at the soldier's face made it clear that he had taken part in the detaining of people who had done less then simply go to pick edible fruit on a cloudy day.

"Sure you were." The soldier muttered sarcastically. "You'll be coming with me, I'll have plenty of questions for you." The color left the woman's eyes, and she gripped her bag more tightly. Once a soldier hauled you off, there was no returning to your village, or your life, ever. The soldier slowly unsheathed his sword with an ominous slowness. He flipped the sword up in the air and caught it, pointing the blade, shining in the sun, at the woman. "Do you have any objections to-"

He noticed a shift in the focus of woman's eyes, and quickly snapped around. He simply gasped as two figures, a man and a woman, were upon him. The woman speared him straight in the gut, spurting his blood out while the man killed one of the other soldiers with one sword swipe to the chest, and launched an arrow at the third and final soldier to fatal effect.

Without warning, the short battle ended nearly the instant after it began. It happened so quickly, the two Alteans could only stare dumbly at their saviors for a few moments.

Finally, one of them, the man, began to form words. "W… who are… y-"

"You… you…" the woman croaked at them, her shock melted to a sense of mixed thankfulness and fear at these two strangers. Wolf and Palla both stared at the two, the woman shook her head and regained her composure. "G-get in the village, quickly. There are no guards in the gates."

* * *

><p>The woman lit a candle within what Wolf presumed to be her own house, then sat down. She invited Wolf and Palla to sit at the table. Palla found the dimly lit room somehow disconcerting… but took a moment to admire the architecture of the building as she and Wolf took a seat. A prideful Altean house, no doubt.<p>

The Altean man, who Wolf and Palla shared the presumption of being the woman's son, simply leaned on the wall with his arms crossed. Despite having been saved from the soldiers, he didn't look thankful. He seemed nearly hostile.

"Strangers…" The woman spoke after a time, relaxing herself in a chair. "I owe you my thanks. Once a soldier takes you in for questioning… there is no coming back." Her lips continued to move for a moment, and she leaned forward. "Now, you have my thanks, but… who are you? Those are not the faces of any Altean I have ever seen."

Apprehension built in Palla's chest, but Wolf remained calm. Simply leaning forward slightly, he did what he presumed to be the wisest action in this situation. He would answer the question honestly. "I am an Aurelian knight, Wolf." The eyes of the Alteans widened in shock at Wolf's ethnicity. Unperturbed, Wolf continued. "Aurelis suffered much at the hands of the Dolhr Alliance but we… ultimately, pushed them out of Aurelis." He cautiously dodged pointing out the Altean army's assistance in defeating the enemies, he didn't want to implicate Marth… yet. "We came here to see if there was anything we could… do, about this nation's situation."

The woman nodded.

"What is she?" The man asked, looking at Palla, who stared back in surprise at the question and the aggressive tone. "She _looks_ Macedonian. That's a nation who assists Dolhr." He tensed, Palla grew unnerved at the unmistakable look of hostility from the man. He clenched his fists and postured…

Wolf stretched his arm out and placed a hand between Palla and the Altean man. "She is Aurelian." He lied, Palla's eyes widened in shock, yet Wolf spoke so frankly she almost believed the words herself. "She was… raised in Aurelis. She has no place within the ranks of King Michalis' Dragoons." That part was actually completely true, she had a place in Minerva's Whitewings instead. For a moment, no sounds were made as the sudden tension in the room disappeared.

"So, Aurelis is free." The woman sighed, breaking the icy silence Wolf's words had produced. "Maybe there is some… hope, after all. We haven't had a spark of hope here in… New Dolhr, for so, so long."

Palla blinked at what the woman just said. "Pardon me, but, this nation, isn't it actually called Alt-"

"_No_!" The woman bellowed wide-eyed with fear at Palla. Palla recoiled from the tone of voice, the woman nearly rose out of her chair, but slowly composed herself, raising a hand across her temple. "J-just saying the true name of this nation easily gets you killed. Dolhr wishes to stamp out any remnant of the old nation. We can't even speak the name of the nation's founder, or the prince."

_Anri_. Palla knew that name well. The one who slew Medeus in ancient times. Ever since Medeus returned, Anri had likely been the focus of many thoughts. Even her own. If you didn't swear loyalty to Dolhr, or live in fear of the Empire, you likely spoke of Anri as the hero that all knights and champions aspired to be compared to.

"The prince…" the man spoke up, picking himself up off the wall. "Why would they even want to stamp out every mention of _him_? It's not like we have much reason to admire the guy who ditched us when the going got tough."

Palla instinctively grew annoyed with the tone the man used, and became even more frustrated with what he said. Yet she couldn't tell them just _how_ close prince Marth was. "He is the prince of your nation, I'm sure he's trying to find a way to help you even n-"

"No he _isn't_." The man retorted. "The first sign of trouble, he booked. Princess Elice tried to help him… just a shame that she accepted custody to cover for the escape of a _real_ winner of a prince. At least she tried to stick with us, not skip off to some resort island, or wherever the prince went."

Wolf's brows fell in an annoyance that was impossible to completely hide. "What if he returns, fighting to save the nation?" Wolf asked, resisting the urge to tap his fingers on the table.

"He won't, he'd only return if someone else liberated the nation for-"

"_Enough_ of that." The woman said, turning to give the man a harsh glare, he flashed a defiant look, then the woman turned back to Wolf and Palla. "Where our prince walks now is unknown to us. He may be out there readying an army, or maybe not. We don't know, people come into New Dolhr, but no one is allowed out of it. We can't get information about the outside world."

"Not that an army could do anything." The man said, leaning back onto the wall and crossing his arms, "Dolhr is invincible. Doesn't matter how many people rally to the prince or anyone else, Dolhr will simply destroy them. Standing up against the Empire is idiotic."

Wolf could see very well that this man was not one he could get along with. "So, you wouldn't think of ever raising a sword against Dolhr? Putting your life on the line for your nation?" He watched the man closely. The Altean had to be only slightly older then Roshea, but he clearly had nothing of Roshea's sense of duty or courage.

"What's the point?" The man asked, "If anyone runs out, Dolhr would just kill them. The sooner you understand the fact that we're under Dolhr's heel to stay, the sooner you'll understand how to keep yourself alive. We're New Dolhrians now, we stopped being Alteans a long time ago."

Palla found her patience bleeding out. It was appalling to think that a man so apathetic and so submissive to Dolhr was of the same race of people as prince Marth. "We of… Aurelis, came here to see if we could do something to help your nation, _Altea_." She fearlessly emphasized the nation's proper name, the man flinched a little. " Dolhr's presence was thrown out of Aurelis, do you think it's impossible for that to happen again?"

"Of course I do." He responded, "I'd rather report you and get the Manakete in the castle to look graciously at me then have anything to do with your suicidal crusade. Like it or not, the continent belongs to Dolhr. It's a hard life and a hard fact, but even idiots need to accept it."

Not for an instant was Palla impressed. She saw very well what kind of person this was. This man was content to sit back and curse his lot, and yet, not lift a finger to do anything to improve it. She could not bring herself to just say nothing to the words. "Life is hard, _sir_. You face it, or you don't. I intend to _face_ Dolhr and _free_ Altea. You can just sit here and whine to your heart's content. When Dolhr is thrown out… and I saw 'when', not 'if', I wouldn't be surprised if a person like _you_ suddenly acted like you were the biggest supporter of liberation from day one."

The man postured in the deepest offense, he looked ready to lunge at her and try to beat her to a bloody pulp, though it was a foregone conclusion that Palla would overpower him easily. Palla felt good after making the comment, and she was satisfied that the man seemed to be speechless. Then she immediately turned to Wolf. She suspected that she had again failed the Aurelian, spoken out of line, acted prematurely, let emotion overrule reason.

On the contrary, Wolf did not look at her with thinly veiled annoyance. Rather, he looked as if he had acquired a new respect for her. Palla felt almost proud, but more relieved, that Wolf was looking upon her favorably for once. Perhaps, she had used the same words Wolf would use in that situation.

The Altean woman heard and felt the message Palla said, and quietly stood up. Her next words would have a deep meaning. "If opposing Dolhr is your desire, then there is someone you should meet."

* * *

><p>Wolf and Palla found themselves in a smaller, but better lit, room. Braziers lined the walls, Palla felt somewhat more at ease thanks to the lighting, but the smaller size of the room left her feeling slightly claustrophobic. There was a man in armor in the room with them. He had blonde hair, and stood with his eyes closed, though looking like a man who hadn't seen battle for quite some time, there seemed to be an undeniable air of skill to the man. Lances and swords lined the wall, seeming to add credence to the idea that the man was a professional soldier.<p>

The Altean woman had bowed respectfully to the man and left, leaving Wolf and Palla with him. The man stood motionless for some time, until eventually the heat of the flames produced a slight bead of sweat on his forehead. The feeling of the sweat dripping down his forehead seemed to wake him from his near trance, and he opened his eyes.

"You two seek to oppose Dolhr's rule of the land formally known as Anri's Realm." He said, clearly a statement and not a question. He approached them, watching their faces closely. Wolf was clearly Aurelian, but… try as they might to evade the fact, Palla was not. She was Macedonian… but the knight said nothing of it. He realized that she was no spy.

"I heard about you, killed three of Grust's soldiers outside the village." He paced around them, "That is foolish. The moment they realize that their comrades are deceased, Grust will swarm over the village. There will be no escape for you."

Wolf wasn't the slightest bit intimidated. He knew his skill, and he knew Grust's skill. His only true concern was that the enemy would realize the League's presence. "Neither Grust or Dolhr inspires much fear in me. We've fought both before."

"The patrols of this nation is conducted by Grust, but the real power lies in the Dolhr forces residing within the castle, under the thrall of a Manakete named Morzas. To fight them is a fool's errand, their numbers are infinite."

Palla remembered meeting Morzas briefly in Dolhr Keep. The simple, brief encounter had left her shivering with fright. Even so, she was unconcerned about the odds. "We are not afraid. The… resistance, has fought Dolhr troops before."

"You'd only succeed in creating false hope. You'll just be killed, and your heads, put on display, will crush the resolve of anyone who looked upon your resistance with hope."

Wolf closed his eyes for a moment. This was the defeatist attitude that some Aurelians had adopted when fighting Macedon's invasion. How many times had he personally chided someone for having that viewpoint? He would have nothing of it. "I'd rather die on my feet, then wallow in a slum cursing my lot in life."

The knight blinked, looking ready to utter more cynicism, then unexpectedly smiled. He seemed to study Wolf and Palla, and seemed pleased with what he was seeing. "You two are the first people I've seen in a long time who have the courage and strength to really _fight_ the Empire." He took a breath in, composing himself for his next words. "My name is Arran. Once upon a time, I served as a wandering captain, a trainer of knights." Wolf hid his surprise. Though hardly someone nations would fight over to recruit, the name 'Arran' had no small meaning.

"I came to this land to see firsthand what was happening, but nothing could have prepared me for the full extent of Dolhr's depravity." Arran's forehead creased in a mental agony. "The cruelty seemed to spike about a year ago."

Wolf and Palla looked at each other. A year ago was when Marth left Talys and appeared in Aurelis. Dolhr… had been making Marth's nation pay for its prince's crusade.

"Long have I sought to strike at Dolhr, even if it had to be done with my dying breath. Yet I was not so foolish as to fight them by myself, I would simply die, and nothing would have changed."

Palla understood. Marth didn't have the strength to liberate Altea on his own, and Minerva didn't have the strength to put Macedon back on the right path by herself. Ideals and courage were good, but an army was also necessary. "Are there any others in Altea who search for an army to fight Dolhr with?"

Arran nodded. "In the nearby village, there is a man named Samson. He has the courage and the strength an army would be searching for. Unfortunately, this village and the village Samson lives in have always been on bad terms with each other. They wouldn't give us entry if they knew we came from this village. I have had to speak with him in secret ever since we met."

Wolf was appalled by the words, one hand of his reflexively clenching. "The entire nation is decaying from Dolhr's influence. People are executed over petty, and most likely, frequently made up charges. Do you really mean to tell me that the people of these two villages won't put some petty feud aside to face the occupation army?"

Arran sighed. "That same thought has been swimming through my mind for quite some time now. I have spoken to Samson on some occasions, always under the cover of night and always in secret, he wants to join an army to face Dolhr, but he and I alone are no army."

"Is there anyone else who would be interested in fighting Dolhr?" Wolf asked.

There was a distinctive pause. "Maybe." Arran said, stroking his chin. "Maybe. There is a man that Dolhr seeks the strengths of. They seek it so badly that they simply locked him up, and have proven to be reluctant to kill him." He allowed himself a bitter smirk, still surprised that this strange man he was speaking of yet lived. "I have no idea what his abilities are, but it must be something considerable for Morzas himself to personally order that this man _not_ be executed."

Wolf took that in, surprised that the Manakete would specifically order anyone's survival. "Anyone else?"

"No-" Arran began and then stopped himself and sighed. "Only yesterday, a mage came into the nation, I don't know _why_, exactly. Regardless of his reasons, it took little time before the Grustian patrollers tried to arrest him on suspicion that he was a spy. He put up… quite the fight. He fought strictly out of self-defense, but still piled quite a few Grust soldiers up single-handedly before they finally subdued him. I do not imagine that he has been executed just yet. Though, if there is nothing that will occupy the attention of Dolhr, it would likely only be a matter of time."

A silence set in. Between the three of them, they clearly did not have the man-power to attack a prison for this individual's sake, and they had no leads on this mage's whereabouts. Wolf shifted uncomfortably at the knowledge that there were only four who might defy Dolhr in all of Altea. "That's it? There's no one else?"

Arran nodded. "Dolhr, or rather, Morzas, has done much to instill fear and suffering in this land. He put several rebellions down since he came here." He took a breath in, clenching one of his fists. "At one point, the occupiers were Camus The Sable and his Sable Order. They were… humane. Except for having to pay a tribute, life went on more or less as it always had. Then Dolhr felt his touch was too soft, and replaced him with Morzas. His cruelty ignited rebellions that he only too gleefully put down. Yet he's never satisfied with just torturing and killing the rebels." Eyes closed lightly, Arran's hands clenched. "The family of every rebel is hunted down and brought before Morzas to face 'justice'. This particular fact is why so few people dare rebel anymore."

Palla stopped, her mouth hanging open. It took some time for her head to wrap around the reality that being a resistance fighter would condemn your family. Arran sighed, then moved across the small room. "You are scouts for a larger army, are you not?"

"…yes." Wolf answered after a moment of deliberation. He had concluded that Arran would be an ally, he could be told about the presence of the League. Yet he wouldn't know of the League's name, or Marth's presence, until later. "Our resistance is waiting near the borders."

Arran nodded. "I shall send word to Samson. He'll meet us at the gates of his village." He turned the doorknob, "Best we leave as early as possible. It will be only be a matter of time before Grust descends on the villages to find whomever killed those Grust soldiers." There was a small touch of somberness to his face. They may not have realized, but from experience Arran knew that if an actual killer of those three soldiers couldn't be found, someone in the village would be used as a scapegoat. Grust would not end their investigation empty-handed…

* * *

><p>Samson walked out of the village gate in a manner that seemed almost casual and flippant. Yet his mind was ever focused and sharp, he was ready for… something. He wasn't sure what, exactly. He had received a message from his strange friend of circumstance, Arran, to wait at the gates of his village.<p>

He didn't understand. Though, mercenaries who lived by the strength the meat in their arms provided usually weren't the most masterful at figuring out confusing messages. Yet here he was, complying with his friend's sudden, unexpected request.

As the breeze blew past, he noticed that the air was damp. His eyes drifted upward, feeling water on his face, the clouds were gathering. Samson grew slightly irked at the waiting, feeling like something was about to happen.

He was half-tempted to draw his sword from his scabbard and make a few practice swings. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of metal boots stomping on the Altean grass. It could have been Grustian troops, but he turned, sure of the fact that it was Arran.

He was proven right. The highly skilled knight that was Arran was approaching him from behind. There were two others with him, a man and a woman who Samson recognized at a glance to not be locals. Yet his focus remained on Arran's fierce glare.

Something was up. "Something I should know about, Arran?" He asked, taking a moment to glance more at the faces of Arran's two friends, and he grew uncomfortable. Slowly, his hand started to reach for his sword in case this was a trap.

"These two." Arran said quickly, as if he noticed Samson's sudden anxiousness. "Are the first two in a long time who have the courage and strength to face Dolhr."

"Alone?" Samson asked, no matter how skilled, he doubted that these two alone would inspire much hope.

Arran smiled as if he expected the question. Samson suspected that he had indeed expected it. "They're part of a larger resistance that's come to… _Altea_."

Samson blinked at how Arran fearlessly referred to the nation by its proper name. It seemed to be a sign of confidence. The knight clearly believed that the day to face Dolhr had finally come. Samson admitted that he was impressed, Arran had dismissed the members of so many past resistances when they tried to recruit him in the past. So many Altean resistances claimed that they knew what they were up against, but were dismantled so effortlessly by the occupation army. This resistance Arran seemed to honestly believe had a chance. Even with Arran's confidence, something still nagged at Samson.

"What are the standards of this resistance?" Samson asked. "I don't work for anybody who has low morals. I may depend on clients to give me the money for my next meal, but I don't lower myself to massacres and exploitation."

"You needn't worry, old friend." Arran assured, "Their superiors are deserving of our good faith."

There was a moment of hesitation in the mercenary. "How can you be sure?"

"I have seen these two and listened to them. Only people of great morals would have soldiers like these in their army."

Samson seemed to remain hesitant for a moment longer, but quickly shook it off. "Their names, then?"

"Wolf." Wolf said, speaking for himself as Arran tried to identify the two himself. "…and Palla."

The mercenary nodded. He tried to speak, intending to ask them who their commanding officer was, but a distinctive rumble cut him off. He looked skyward, seeing a flash, and dark clouds spreading threateningly across the noon sky.

"It'll be raining soon." Samson mused, already feeling the moisture in the air. His muscled tingled as if icy wetness has been splashed on them already. "Let's get back to your resistance on the double." He clenched his fist, "You don't know how long I've wanted to try and face Dolhr and its Grustian dogs. You have given me a great opportunity."

Palla smiled, walking past Wolf and Arran, taking a second to sweep a hand through her hair, which would likely be wet and sticking to her in a few hours. She looked at Wolf briefly, the Aurelian didn't respond, he didn't even return her gaze. Slight disappointment coursed through her, but she silenced the feeling. Having had Wolf look at her approvingly earlier was enough. "Let's head back. Wolf and I still need to report on our findings in Altea. And perhaps the… commander…" she blinked to herself. 'Commander' now referred to Marth, not Minerva. "…can ask you up front about Altea's situation."

* * *

><p>Regally designed and bejeweled braziers lined the ornate throne room of the New Dolhrian Castle. The red-hot light illuminated the red and purple colors of the castle day and night, an almost awe-inspiring light.<p>

Water flowed freely through the room in a channel surrounding the throne room. Once, it had been clean, pristine, beautiful and clear. Now it was filthy, sickening just to look at. Yet the Dolhrian troops in the room were unconcerned. They busied themselves entirely with their duties. To serve unconditionally to their masters, and, when called to do so, lay down their lives for the Manaketes.

Morzas, the Manakete who ruled New Dolhr now, sat quietly on the throne. His intimidating ashen skin and yellow eyes was plain as day in the hood of his cloak. He leaned back, tossing his head onto the back of the throne, the throne that had been built for Anri in a time long gone. A smirk flittered across his face at how he now sat in Anri's throne, and had sat here for… some time now.

When the Sable Order occupied Grust, Camus The Sable never sat in the throne as he was entitled to. Morzas, unlike Camus, would not miss the sweet justice of taking the throne of Anri's legacy as his own chair. In the end, Morzas was merciful, the fair thing to do was to reduce the throne to rubble. The throne itself was surely honored to not hold a worm like Anri or his descendents, but a Manakete.

He reveled in sitting here every day, enjoying the thought of Anri looked at him with horror and disgust, but the spirit being utterly incapable of doing anything about it. Crippled and helpless, like that worm _should_ have been all along.

Another thing that he enjoyed was the stand next to him. It contained a single skull, that of Queen Liza, the last queen of New Dolhr, and the mother of the spawn. The skull, now eroded somewhat by its years on display, stood as a grim reminder of what Dolhr would do with anyone associated with Anri's legacy.

He enjoyed the sight of the Queen's skull. It reminded him of her face as she died. Even with so little breath left in her she had screamed… so beautifully, as she surrendered her soul to the next plane.

As much as he enjoyed the memory, he had something else to focus on. The words Xemcel, accompanied by Bulzark and Khozen, had imparted to him earlier.

_The spawn comes, ready to take back the land of New Dolhr for his own kind._ Xemcel had said, _This League would gain too much should he succeed. Find him. Kill him. Put an end to the last wielder of Falchion._

Morzas had smiled back. _The spawn thinks himself worthy on account of routing the mere insects we had in Aurelis in Archanea, but he will find the ruler of New Dolhr to be a far more daunting foe. His head will be on a pike, his ill-conceived crusade to face Dolhr broken in the marble halls he once called his home._

Xemcel had smiled at the declaration of a fellow Manakete, one of the same… breed, as he, the Hand of Medeus. Yet, as it happened, Morzas was slightly troubled. Had he been seeing things, or was Xemcel's smile… forced?

He shook his head of the thought. The spawn will die, he would bleed his life out on the marble steps that led to the throne. Emperor Medeus would reign supreme, humanity forever under Medeus' heel, to grovel for mercy and be denied.

And he, Morzas, was the champion who would make this a reality. He could not understand why the spawn undertook this crusade, but Morzas was ready for him. The human's inconceivably stupid plan to defeat the Emperor would end, today. Morzas would allow Medeus to make the… _finest_ example, of the spawn.

* * *

><p><strong>As you can see, both Samson and Arran are recruited here, rather then just one or the other as it is in the game. Wolf's question about the villages being unable to put aside their differences is more or less what's always ringed through my mind everytime I do this chapter in the game.<strong>

**Please review.**


	28. Blood Upon Altean Soil

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>"Repeat that." Marth said, his voice shaking as he demanded confirmation of what he just heard.<p>

Ever since they had left Khadein, Wendell has been focusing all of his free time on reading some text that had been recovered from the City of Magic, penned by Gharnef himself. He was, admittedly, fascinated about Imhullu and the powers Gharnef had discovered, though he would never risk trying to use them himself. They were forbidden, and he had never protested Gotoh's decision to forbid them, and he would honor Gotoh's decision, no matter what… benefits, Imhullu might offer.

Now, having read through the files multiple times, he had decided to inform Marth of his findings. He took no joy in informing Marth of what he had found, especially the information pertaining to Falchion, but it was necessary that the prince know.

"Just as I said, sire." Wendell nodded, "The texts clearly states that Gharnef has been attempting to corrupt the Divine Blade by trying to possess it with Imhullu's power. He is doing this to try and have someone wield the blade without being of your lineage." Marth postured, Wendell continued before the prince could say or do anything. "According to these files, he has yet to actually succeed at this. Apparently, the sword seems to somehow forcibly eject Imhullu by itself every time he tries. No matter how much he tries to bend Falchion's holy properties to his purposes, he cannot seem to break down the holy energy storied within the blade."

Marth was still shaking. Not from the cold, though it was getting colder as a drizzle came. It was starting to rain, and there were clear signs that it was starting to fall harder. Though relieved that Gharnef had not yet succeeded in corrupting the sword, Marth was still enraged at what Gharnef was doing.

He had gone straight to Wendell the moment he heard that the Sage felt that he was done with the text. In the end, what he learned from Wendell was the last thing he needed to be told about right now. Between Wolf and Palla's unsettling report about the treatment of the Alteans, and Arran and Samson's first hand recollections of life in Altea… to know that Gharnef was trying to warp Falchion in such a way was the last straw.

He spun around, his fists clenching of their own accord. "We're moving out. Immediately." He half-marched, half-stomped away, to give the order. Wendell said nothing, words weren't going to calm the prince down, and everyone was pining to move out, anyway. Yet, Wendell could only hope that Marth's agitated state would not result in anything… spiraling out of control. Too much rested on the prince's shoulders…

Wendell raised his head up, feeling the rain pelting his aged face. The strength of the rain was increasing… transcending from a drizzle to a much stronger storm. This battle would be wet and miserable, and he knew that none of the League cared.

* * *

><p>"So, this is it." Abel muttered, the normally calm knight feeling the fangs of anticipation biting at him. He held his weapon so firmly that his hand began to cramp up, but it didn't bother him. His thoughts were on an old friend, and he wondered how that old friend was doing, if he was even still alive.<p>

"Your sacrifice was not in vain. Here we are, back in Altea, old friend." The hand not holding a weapon clenched into a fist.

"Um… excuse me." A female voice spoke, Abel turned to see one of the Macedonian Whitewings, Palla, quirking an eyebrow at him. "I… forgive me for sticking my nose in your business, but… 'old friend'?"

Abel stared at her for a second, Palla looked slightly ashamed to be prying, but… it was no great secret.

"When we had to flee from Altea when Gra betrayed us, one of us… wasn't able to leave with us." Abel took in a shaking breath at the memory. "The main force of both Gra and Grust appeared, and as we were, we had no hope of defeating them. To preserve prince Marth's life, and in turn, Altea's hope, the decision was reached to create a… decoy."

Palla's mouth opened as she heard the story. Keeping Altea's prince safe had required leaving someone at the mercy of the enemy. And, at the knowledge that they had been duped, Palla could only imagine what Gra and Grust would have done to this friend of Abel's. She looked at Abel, and wonder how it would feel like if she had to watch Catria or Est make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of ensuring Minerva' survival.

"Frey." Abel said in a low voice, his head dipping down. "He risked his life to get prince Marth safely out of Altea, and ensure that hope remain for the entire continent." Abel's eyes shut tightly, "We don't know precisely what happened to him, but, I… I don't think he's still alive."

Palla nodded. "I'm… sorry to hear that." She tried to sound comforting and reassuring, speaking in a manner that would help the man in some way. Just by looking at him, Palla could tell that Abel believed that it should have been him, not this Frey, who made that sacrifice. "The Altean knights are… not together, on a day that they should be. They should be standing shoulder to shoulder, ready to take back their home."

Abel listened to those words, and saw… _something_, in Palla's eyes, an almost sorrowful glint. "Are the Whitewings all together?"

The look in her eyes disappeared instantly, replaced with concealed shock. "Wha… what do you mean? The Whitewings… are here."

He could see the apprehension building in Palla, he decided to push his point. "In the Lefcandith Valley, I saw this pink-haired girl, her name was Est. She and I got into a fight outside of the village we found Bantu at… I won but… I decided to let her go."

Palla stared at Abel, simply gaping at him. "T…that was, Est, m-my youngest sister. Y-you-" Abel studied Palla's body language, she was growing tense, and he wondered if she might lunge at him simply for having fought Est. Palla's next words would come as a surprise to Abel. "I… t-thank you, for sparing her. If anything happened to little Est, I-"

"Where is she?" Abel asked, looking around himself. "Did something happen to her?"

"She…" Palla bit her lip, "When we heard that princess Minerva joined the League, I wanted all of us to go. Est insisted that there was something she had to get in Grust first, something that was 'personal'. She told us to go ahead and that she'd be right behind. I didn't want to, but… I needed to make a decision before anyone in Grust noticed us." She sighed deeply, feeling like an entire colony of worms were eating away at her stomach. "Catria and I have been with the League for some time now… and we still haven't seen Est coming."

Abel nodded. He felt sorry for Palla, who was clearly blaming herself for Est not being here and confirmed to be safe.

"Then, we should find her." Abel said frankly. "She's out there, somewhere."

"She might be-" Palla trailed off, not daring to say the word that would have been so painful, and perhaps too real.

"I doubt it." Abel said calmingly, "That girl I saw, she couldn't have died so easily. We'll find her before too long."

Palla looked at Abel, she seemed to be somehow… put at ease, by finding someone who was sure that Est was alive and safe. "If she's alive, I know I'll find her." She said after a long moment where the falling rain was all the noise in the air. Her stomach was calm now. "Oh, Abel…"

Abel raised an eyebrow at Palla's softer tone of voice, and silently waited for her to speak again. "Do yourself a favor and don't bring up the fact you fought Est in front of Catria. Her reaction… won't be pleasant. Trust me on that."

He smiled more warmly then he would have expected to prior to this battle. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

* * *

><p>Billowing clouds stretched almost ominously over the land of Altea. Dark, nearly jet-black clouds blanketed the sky, then, as if it was the avatar of some weeping deity, the clouds released the water stored in them.<p>

Not a veritable downpour, not yet, but a heavy rain nonetheless. The water splashed down upon the dying land, almost mockingly offering water to the plants that were no longer alive to utilize the nutrients.

The rain fell upon the beaten roads, leaving them wet and slippery and difficult to traverse. Yet still, a Grustian pressed on, heading toward the seat of power of the castle.

The man raised a hand up to shield his face from the irritating rain. His balding head and bearded face were plain as day on this Grustian general. Peculiarly traveling alone on a day not fit for dogs, the man came up to the gates of the New Dolhrian castle.

General Hollstandt permitted the Grustian entry, through he flashed a disappointed look at the man first.

The Grustian paid no mind to Hollstandt and ducked inside the dry castle. He, General Dactyl, took a moment to shake some loose water off of his dripping armor before continuing on. Even with his small shake-off, he left puddles behind him as he walked to the throne room.

Two Dolhrian soldiers were by the doors to the throne room, clearly aware that he was coming. They were standing motionless, but then suddenly moved to open the doors for him, letting him walk into the throne room without losing any stride.

Whether day or night, the braziers in the throne room were always lit, which required that someone always be awake to tend to them. Even with the rain clouds blocking out most of the sunlight, it was bright and… warm, here. Trying his best to ignore the Dolhrian bodyguards in the room that turned to him with unsettlingly piercing glares, Dactyl moved to the steps before the throne and knelt down.

Dactyl kept an outward air of indifference, but a small part of him was unnerved by the Dolhrian soldiers. Unfeeling, almost unthinking, serving Dolhr unconditionally and ready to fight with every last ounce of energy in their body for the sake of their masters.

They were born to live as pawns, they fought for the honor of the Manaketes and died for the glory of Medeus. It was similar to Camus' loyalty to King Ludwik, but somehow, darker, more mindless. Dactyl has pleased that they regarded him as an ally of convenience. He had heard enough stories about their skill and brutality to never want them as enemies.

Morzas sat comfortably, sipping from a goblet of wine. Morzas has grown quite fond of these beverages during his centuries long lifetime. He enjoyed feeling the rich flavor of the drinks rolling down the tongue of his human form.

Dactyl did not dare speak, did not dare invade Master Morzas' delightful bliss. As he looked at the Manakete, Dactyl's heart soared at the idea of pouring some of that into his own mouth, but he kept himself from giving any clear audible clues to that fact.

Eventually, the wine was drained from the goblet, the king's goblet, and Morzas put it down on the armrest of the throne, relaxing himself with a heavy sigh. He looked forward, down to the steps of the throne, and grunted in recognition.

"Ah, Dactyl." Morzas recognized the man he had summoned. The Grustian didn't as much as nod in recognition to the words, he wouldn't do anything before a Manakete without permission, but Morzas could see a crease of irritation on the man's face. He had clearly been kneeling there for some time.

Morzas did not bother rising, nor did he give Dactyl permission to stand, but he smiled at the old knight. Old only by human standards, Dactyl was a toddler compared to the several centuries old Morzas. "You have responded to my summon promptly."

Dactyl did not speak. No one did anything before a Manakete until express permission to do so had been given. If Morzas did not kill him, the Dolhrians in the room would tear him apart. Instead, Dactyl simply tilted his head down a little further in recognition.

"You have proven to be a worthy Grust specimen in the past. Obedient and callous, deserving of some… accolades, perhaps." Dactyl silently balked at being termed as 'obedient' like he was some creature on a leash, but was mollified by the mention of accolades. Morzas grinned, sensing a change in Dactyl's temperament. "General Dactyl of Grust, I'm afraid I haven't the time to speak eloquently. There is something you must know… I informed General Hollstandt of this only shortly before your own arrival. The spawn is marching toward the castle."

Spawn? Dactyl blinked, then immediately his head raised and his eyes widened in realization. Prince Marth was coming here… then… surely his orders were to cut the pri-_the spawn _down before he might reach the castle. His heart seemed to jump at the proposition.

"I shall see to it that the spawn is dead by the end of the day." Dactyl said, so overwhelmed by the thought of the reward he might get that he neglected to remember to not speak until asked to.

Morzas simply smiled as the Dolhrian guards postured in offense. "No." His husky voice was almost melodic, cutting Dactyl's hope down at the knees. "It will be impossible for the people of this land to not notice the fighting that occurs. As fighting breaks out in New Dolhr, many people might presume that now is an opportune time to try to attack us. As the spawn tries to blaze a path straight to the castle gates, you are to ensure that the vermin of New Dolhr remain obedient. No one is to be allowed to leave their villages until I can detain the spawn."

Dactyl felt his good cheer fade somewhat. Then, a question popped into his mind. To his discomfort, Morzas knew exactly what the question was. "I haven't the time to write a complete missive, being focused solely on preparing for the spawn's arrival, so I instead summoned you via messenger. I did not wish to leave a paper trail of this command or these facts, things that could be intercepted and turned to the advantage of the… people. They may be under my heel, but they won't miss a chance to try to force me off. Such is the way of humans… now, return to Castle Helena immediately. Remember… police the people well." Morzas raised his chin slightly, condescendingly. "Discipline the New Dolhrians if you must, every transgression is to be answered with a stiffened corpse in the grass without exception. Do not fear rebellion. Fear facing my wrath, should they slip through your human fingers."

Dactyl gulped, then nodded. Morzas signaled for him to rise and leave. Dactyl rose, not forgetting to bow deeply, submissively, to the Manakete, then turned and left.

"Expendable worm." Morzas mused as the Grustian left. He shook his head, he cared nothing for the man, and in that sense, he was no different then most humans in Morzas' eyes. Dactyl was a man who raised no objections, spoken or no, to Dolhrian rule, but he lacked the capabilities in a commanding officer that Morzas would have wanted. Still, he needed someone to ensure that new, unsightly variables did not interfere.

With a slight grin, he turned to the skull of Queen Liza, sitting on the stand right by the throne. "So, Queen Liza, your son is coming. Tell me, Queen, do you believe he has any chance to topple me?"

The skull sat motionless.

"No," Morzas smirked, "I don't think so, either."

* * *

><p>Hollstandt stood motionless out in the rain when he could hold his post just as easily near the gates where it was dry. He was thankful that he was blessed with good eyes, he could see so clearly, it was as if the rain was not there at all.<p>

Dactyl walked past him. "It seems you have your work cut out for you." He nodded, affirming that both were aware of Marth's coming. Dactyl offered a smirk, a cocky and unspoken 'good luck'. Both men were well-aware that their values ran in direct contrast, and Dactyl enjoyed giving Hollstandt a small dig.

"I simply do as instructed." Hollstandt said, hoping that his voice felt like raw anger, and was not laced with the dread he truly felt. He was not looking forward to fighting the League, those who fought the good fight, but he wasn't ready to relinquish his hold on his life just yet. Dactyl paused for a second, looking like he might be ready to say something, but instead just took a breath, and went back into the rain.

Hollstandt watched Dactyl go until he disappeared. His eyes turned skyward to the clouds above, squinting against the rain. The clouds almost looked like a black blanket above him, in fact, they almost looked like the instrument of the gods' will, come here to drown Grust and Dolhr for their brutality. With a sigh, he turned to one of his soldiers. "What is the status of the League? Have they been spotted yet?"

"Sir." The soldier began, looking to the distance, across the rainy fields. "Yes, they've been spotted, General Hollstandt. They've already engaged our army."

* * *

><p>Navarre descended onto the enemy. His Killing Edge cleanly sliced through the raindrops in the air surrounding him, and for a moment, it looked almost like he was dancing. Yet what he was doing was far from graceful.<p>

Grustian soldiers tried to face him, and were cut down easily. Warm limbs safely concealed under thick armor were effortlessly cut through. Blood fell upon the ground, mixing with the mud to form a sickly concoction that the League and the Grust soldiers fought on.

He fought without feeling or emotion as the blood coated him. In lulls in the battle, he stood perfectly still, looking almost as if he was brooding, his hair falling over his face. His hair was plastered to his face, more of him was wet by blood rather then rainwater. Then, his body jerked to motion, and the Killing Edge slashed fatally across the neck of an advancing Grustian soldier.

The bodies piled up around him, and yet, on this occasion, Navarre was not being the League soldier who was killing the most enemies…

Marth brought the League forward. He felt as if he was somewhere between hatred and fear, but he still flew forward, his Rapier piercing through Grustian armor. He breathed hard, despite the cold rain splashing down on him, he felt hot, almost on fire. There was a spark of rage in him… he and the League went forward.

Caeda looked at Marth with concern. His temperament was… more fierce then usual. As her Pegasus fought against the icy rain, flapping the freezing water off of its delicate wings, Caeda kept her eyes on the prince. Surely he was safe, with Jagen and Catria beside him, and yet… she moved closer to him, trying to watch over him from above. This anger was not like him… he was shaking with rage. Perhaps, should he be live long enough to calm down, he'd wonder how he ever summoned such raw anger. Or maybe he'd think the anger was completely justified.

Marth was nearly a berserker, laying Grustians down with a speed and efficiency that seemed to put Navarre to shame. He, the prince of the all but enslaved nation, was here to break the invaders, and _nothing_ would stop him from doing that.

It wasn't just Marth, the Alteans of the army all seemed to be performing far better then they did in any other fight.

It was _their_ land. It was _their_ home. It was _personal_. This battle had so much more meaning then the attack on Gra. They pushed more and more skill and strength out of their bodies and their minds. It seemed as though the Alteans could have handled breaking the occupation army in Altea all by themselves.

Abel and Cain went forward, dispatching the Grustians that defiled their homes. Cain felt that, maybe after today, after the prince was back where he belonged, he would be absolved of being forced to abandon his king.

The normally calm Abel was… agitated, on this day. As he marched through Altea, his thoughts traced to Frey, and he wondered if Cain was thinking about the same person. The old friend whose sacrifice was still fresh in their minds the last time they stood on Altean soil. If only he could be here to see that his sacrifice was not in vain, that the courage he showed had brought hope…

Draug moved forward, a mountain of armor ready to collide with Grust's forces. He easily slogged his way through Grust's forces, his lance dotting the Altean landscape with the bodies of these unwanted and unneeded invaders.

Jagen's emotions did not overrule anything about what he was doing. He simply continued his duties as one of Marth's bodyguards. Though he wouldn't deny that he enjoyed watching the Grust soldiers fall, and see Marth come ever closer to taking back his home.

Merric summoned Excalibur, letting the blades of wind leave the Grustians sprawled around in pieces. His actions were swift and efficient, there was nothing self-indulgent in his movements as he directed the wind blades across the land. One could sense that even the light-hearted mage had a personal investment in this battle. Nothing would stop him from seeing Altea be returned to what it once was.

Most of the Alteans felt good, great, their blood boiled with unmistakable enthusiasm as they made deep progress into Altea and began to take their land back. The castle could be seen in the far distance, but Gordin couldn't seem to draw upon any righteous anger.

His arrows sank into the Grustians with lethal effect. He was fighting better then he ever had before, just like the other Alteans, and yet, his mind was not here, not entirely.

Norne occupied some of his thoughts, and even if he couldn't bring himself to talk to her, he was trying to protect her. Other thoughts were on… his brother. Left behind in Altea, he wanted to find him. Yet his duties as a knight took a painful precedence.

He tried to push forward, blocking the thoughts of either person out. Mutely, he put another arrow on his bowstring and took aim, breathing hard, feeling hot even with the cool water splashing down on him. What emotion created the hotness, he couldn't say.

* * *

><p>A few of the most prominent of the League went in another direction. They went in the direction of the prison that Arran had pointed out earlier. Prince Hardin, with Sedgar and Vyland, undertook this task for Marth's sake, and at once assaulted the iron building.<p>

In light of the League's attack, the prison did not seem well defended. The number of guards present seemed utterly token. Most of them, Sedgar believed, had been called elsewhere to deal with the approaching Archanean League. Hardin drove his Silver Lance through the chest of one guard as if the breastplate hadn't even been there. Sedgar and Vyland did the same, slaying what precious few Grustians were stationed at the prison before entering the building itself.

There was nothing complicated about the structure… it held precious few cells. Hardin doubted that Dolhr had much use for a prison with a large quantity of cells, any prisoners would be executed quickly, and the cells vacated quite swiftly.

Yet, if information was to be trusted, there should have been at least one cell that had a prisoner in it. The three went through the prison, killing the occasional guard, and finally found one cell that actually had its door closed and locked.

"Coyote, allow me." Vyland offered, dismounting off of his steed and standing across from the door. He turned to Hardin, who nodded his approval. Vyland smirked with pride, then charged. He pivoted his body, and shoulder-tackled the steel door. Testament to the man's strength, the door, undoubtedly well built and extremely sturdy, burst from its hinges on Vyland's first attempt.

Vyland smirked again, though raised a hand to soothe his shoulder, taking a step back as Hardin and Sedgar stepped forward.

"Excuse me, is anyone-" Sedgar began to speak as he entered, and then his eyes caught a single man dressed in a loose outfit lying on a cold slab of a bed as if the sounds of battle, death, and a door being ripped off its hinges didn't register on him at all. The man lifted his head up slightly and looked dopily at the people who had just entered the cell, then flipped to his feet.

Sedgar took a look at the man. He was… dare he say it, very effeminate looking. The man approached, more accurately, _sauntered over _tothe Aurelians with an overly casual demeanor, rather inappropriate and odd for someone who was being penned up in prison.

"Are you… the one Dolhr was evasive about killing?" Sedgar asked, trying hard to not raise an eyebrow at the man's peculiar antics.

"Yep." He answered, swaying his head from side to side, the feathers of his headband moving with the motion, then he turned away from Sedgar, turning toward Hardin. "Thanks for springin' me. They kept telling me to do as they say or I'd 'meet my end'." He rolled his eyes, acting as if a death threat was a slap on the wrist. "Tell me, you here to fight Dolhr?" He tilted his head in a manner that seemed playful. If he was trying to put anyone at ease by being casual, he was failing. He was succeeding only at getting under Sedgar and Vyland's skin.

Hardin only looked at the man neutrally. "Yes, we and the Archanean League. We are here to free Altea from Dolhr's stench."

The man grinned playfully. "The name's Xane. I come from a land that's… well, pretty far away. You probably wouldn't have heard about it, I won't waste your time with storytelling."

Hardin didn't say anything, but he could see a slight hint of concealed discomfort on Xane's face, as if he feared being questioned about exactly where he came from. Hardin contemplated speaking, but decided not to.

"If you're the one we were told Dolhr was reluctant to kill…" Vyland began, "Then what is this 'great ability' of yours?"

Xane smiled self-indulgently, "Oh, you know…" he pointed a finger at Vyland and smiled teasingly, his body flashed with light, and the entire room was illuminated. Sedgar and Vyland both raised their gauntlets in front of their eyes in the face of the light, and Hardin had to lightly close his own eyes at the brightness. It was, Hardin noted, almost identical to the flash of light that preceded a Manakete assuming dragon form.

When the light finally dispersed, the three Aurelians found that Xane had vanished, and in his place was…

Sedgar blinked. He turned to his side, Vyland was there, as he had been a second ago. Yet in front of him, where Xane had been a moment ago, stood a second Vyland.

"I can assume the shape of other humans." The second Vyland explained, putting his hands behind his head and tilting himself in an overly friendly manner.

"Creepy." Vyland said, watching the Vyland-Xane start acting in a manner highly uncharacteristic of Vyland himself. The sight more then got under his skin. "_Anyway_," he tried to change the subject, "Are you interested in helping us fight Dolhr?"

"Sure." Xane said, to Vyland's delight he assumed his old form again. "I don't mind fighting for people with… character. Just tell me where we're going."

"We're to regroup with the rest of the army as quickly as possible." Sedgar replied, "The objective is to storm the Altean Castle and wrest it from Dolhr's hands."

Xane smiled, at this point the smile alone was annoying Sedgar. The weird… Changling, one might call Xane, strolled out of the cell. "Let's get going then. Wouldn't want to be a slowpoke or anything." He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the Aurelians. "Come on, you slowpokes."

* * *

><p>Hollstandt watched the scene from a distance. The League was still miles away from the castle, but they were growing ever closer, pushing through the Grustian troops. He nodded in recognition of their skill, but…<p>

"Soldiers of Grust!" He commanded to those around him as he noticed some of them begin to hesitant against the enemy horde. "Fear not their skill or strength! Rise with sword and lance in hand. Charge forth, you, the finest of Grust, second only to the Sable Order! Go, go forth and kill for the honor of King Ludwik!"

There seemed to be a spark in that speech, a spark to ignite the hearts of the Grustians. A rallying cry from the Grust soldiers ripped forth from the lips of what troops were there to hear Hollstandt's words. The wave of cheer seemed to almost beat back the rain for several seconds. Filled with pride, and belief in victory, they surged forward.

Hollstandt gripped his lance tightly, his face was wet. Wet by rain, but more from sweat. It was appropriate that it rained so hard today. It was deeply appropriate. He watched the enemy meet the latest wave of Grust troops, and he sighed. Dread built within him at the sight of the skirmish that would decide whether or not he would have to enter the fray himself. He had sent a great majority of the Grust troops at them, and yet, it might have not been enough.

He did not want to die, just like any other regular person did not want to die. He did not know in what way the battle would result, and felt that victory would not be attained easily be either side, but he knew that no matter the result, he would not be pleased.

In no way did he desire to have his corpse tossed upon the ground, to be thrown aside and not be mourned as the League stormed the castle. Yet neither did he want to face the League. They were… fighting the good fight, something that Grust wasn't doing. The stress was building, and bubbling over.

_They seem to have attained a new vigor._ Hardin noted as he rejoined the battle, killing a Grustian soldier that had tried to jump at the Curate, Wrys. _Is it a battle-frenzy resulting from a perceived inevitable defeat, or perhaps…_

He thought for a moment, then shook the thought off, killing another Grustian soldier who approached him. No matter what, the march to the Altean Castle has already progressed past its mid-point. The brunt of the Grustian force was here, if the Grust force was toppled in this particular exchange, then the battle outside of the castle was already decided.

The League fall upon their Grustian enemies. They were not even in the castle, and already the fighting had turned furious and bloody. If Altea was to be reborn, it was going to reborn in blood, so, so much blood.

And the Alteans would be the ones to spill the most blood. The soldiers of Altea laid waste to the Grustian cohorts that had been allowed free reign in Altea for far too long. The soldiers of Archanea and the mercenaries of Talys couldn't hold a candle against the performance of the Alteans.

For a time, Astram had believed that Archanea, more specifically, Nyna, was the heart and soul of the League. Yet, he looked at the performance of the Alteans, and begrudgingly saw that they, the Alteans, were at least fangs and blades of this army set to rid the world of Dolhr's stench. Even if they were merely just a part of Nyna's army.

Prince Hardin and his best man Wolf, and the swordsman of unknown origins, Navarre, seemed to be the only ones who were holding a candle to the Alteans. Hardin was fighting just as well as Marth, the two princes fought with equal skill against their enemies, and a bloody swath was cut through the enemy.

Grust was not merely buckling, it was collapsing in its own blood, sprawled out on the land they occupied at the behest of Dolhr. They were being defeated so completely that some of the League soldiers were able to stop for a moment and see the Grustians falling in droves. Some Grustians died mercifully quickly, a stab through the chest or the head, others would not know such a bliss. Some fell with grievous wounds, crying for some manner of aid but were ignored in the cacophony of battle, and they had no choice but to resign themselves to bleeding their lives out on Altean soil.

In time, the skirmish was over, most of the League soldiers had a part of their body soaked with blood, little to none of it being their own. The blood started to wash off in the rain, and without stopping to rest, the League continued on. There were more enemies, and few of the League felt fatigued. Instead, their muscles and minds seemed to remain strong, some seemed to be in the middle of some kind of battle high.

"They're coming." Hollstandt mused. His army was in tatters… the army that had broken resistance after resistance, the army that had slaughtered New Dolhrian insurgencies down to the last man without fail every time…

It was in ruins. Hollstandt had only a handful of men staying with him, the army that had denied so many resistances in the past had been broken in just a few hours by the army of the returning prince. Stress coursed through every fiber of Hollstandt's being, the next fight he would partake in wouldn't be for Dolhr, or Grust, or even King Ludwik. It would be a desperate battle for survival, and one he wasn't sure he would manage to triumph in.

Prince Marth approaching the opposing general slowly, his wet cape seemingly plastered to his back. It almost looked as if he was willing to accept a surrender from Hollstandt.

That would be nice, but life wasn't. Hollstandt still had his pride, stubborn as pride usually was, and he would not surrender. He… doubted that Dolhr would allow him to get away with surrendering, anyway. If Marth let him go, Dolhr would find him, and he'd learn a new definition of pain and suffering at their hands for his cowardice.

"Very impressive." He called to the prince after a moment of silent thought. He might have clapped in congratulations, but he wouldn't dare release his lance. "Many resistances have come before me, and they were all dead before they even reached the palace gates. You have fought well. However, you have one last challenge between you and the palace gates."

His only choice was to fight. Pride would be satisfied.

He wondered if Marth had actually intended to request surrender, but the prince didn't look surprised at all. The League rushed at Hollstandt.

"Together, soldiers!" Hollstandt commanded to his final men, "Stay together!" They held their ground and waited for the League to descend upon them, when they did, Hollstandt himself entered the battle.

No slouch at combat, Hollstandt easily belted a few League soldiers away and advanced, trying to reach one of the army's commanders. What soldiers of his that he had left following him, keeping the League from assaulting his back.

His armor saved his life dozens of times as he waded through the Archanean League. He tried to approach Hardin, feeling that Marth was too well defended to try and attack. He knocked some final League soldiers out of the way… and then felt a sharp sense of pain shoot through him.

Sedgar allowed himself a quick smirk. His arrow entered through a gap in the enemy general's armor quite well. Hollstandt grimaced, and then Hardin attacked him.

The lance thrust did not even crack Hollstandt's armor, but it did force him to take a step back. With a grunt, Hollstandt moved forward again, not even bothering to remove the arrow piercing into his shoulder, and tried another attack.

Hardin dodged the lance thrust, and countered. He didn't try to counter-thrust with his own lance, but instead rode his horse to the side and grabbed the arrow sticking into his enemy's shoulder. Hollstandt yelled with pain as Hardin ripped the arrow out.

Grimacing for a second, Hollstandt pushed the pain away and swung his lance, ignoring the pain that coursed through his arm when he moved it. The swing forced several advancing League soldiers to back away from him and give him a small moment to take a breath and get his bearings.

He charged at his enemies once more, mindful of the fact that some of his men were already down and dead. With what precious few were left, he moved again, once more targeting Hardin.

This time, he dodged Sedgar's arrow and came to the Aurelian prince, planning to take down the Coyote of Aurelis with one fatal blow before the League snuffed his own life out. Thoroughly unimpressed, Hardin held his lance steady and let his enemy foolishly come to him.

Hollstandt thrust his lance at Hardin, but Hardin simply dodged, then grabbed the wooden handle of Hollstandt's weapon, and with a simple motion, tore the weapon from its master's grip.

For one second, one second that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Hollstandt saw that he had been disarmed, and realized all the ramifications of that fact. He understood it all in the slow moving split-second between the lance being torn from his hand, and his eyes widening in surprise.

There was the smallest of lulls in the battle, and then Hollstandt felt a deep pain in his hip. Ogma's heavy sword collided with his side, sending him off with a crack in his armor. Other attacks supplemented Ogma's, dozens of blows tested the strength of his armor until at last, one attack blew a hole in his breastplate.

_Camus…_ Hollstandt's thoughts turned to the man who inspired him so deeply. _They are no match for you… I leave the rest in your capable hands._

Hardin thrust his Silver Lance at Hollstandt's chest, his lance perfectly sinking into where the armor had been torn off. Hollstandt gasped as he felt the lance enter his chest, he wondered for a moment if it would pierce through his entire body, and almost as if it was fate's answer, it did just that.

The tip of the lance, now coated in blood, appeared from out of Hollstandt's back, breaking through the armor that had protected his backside. Hardin waited for a moment, then pulled his lance completely out of his enemy.

The blood squirted and oozed out of Hollstandt's chest and back. He raised his hands up, almost looking like he was trying to stop the blood flow. His eyes moved to Hardin with an expression that looked… calm, as if he had no fear of the end. Then, both emotion and color drained from them, and he collapsed on the ground.

He could feel the rainwater hitting his still open eyes, and yet, he didn't seem to have the strength to shut his eyelids. He simply laid down upon the ground, feebly breathing.

_Is this… my punishment? _His mind conjured its final thoughts, and the images of the cruelty he had allowed to happen in New Dolhr flashed through his mind one final them. Afterwards, he breathed his last as his body shut down, and life abandoned him.

Hardin paused, looking at the remains of the Grustian for an extended moment, then turned around as the last few Grustians fell, cold and silent upon the wet ground.

Marth glanced around, his eyes darting to and fro across the landscape around the castle. He nodded, confirming that no more Grustians were present, he was satisfied with the results of the battle. Turning himself, he focused himself on the gates of home.

The Altean Castle… outwardly, it looked no different then as he remembered it, but he wondered what it looked like inside. He wondered if the throne room was still the same, or his room, or Elice's. So much about what defined his home could have changed so… horribly.

His mind was flooded with memories. They should have been joyful memories, but the events that tore him from his home laced his nostalgia with unexpected sorrow and anger.

It started to rain harder.

"Marth." A familiar voice began to speak, forcefully, but not unkindly. With the battle over, Nyna safely waded through the Grustian corpses and approached him. "Marth, the battle is over."

"The battle outside, Nyna." Marth answered, the hand not firmly wrapped around the hilt of his Rapier clenched into a fist. "There is still the battle within, and it will be Dolhr, not Grust, waiting for us within those walls." His very heart quivered at the knowledge that Dolhr, the instigator of the entire crisis, had housed itself in _his_ home. It was… unacceptable, and something would be done about it _now_.

Nyna's hand coolly gripped Marth's shoulder. "Perhaps… you should share this moment and your feelings with the soldiers. They've fought long and hard, and you've helped many of them in ways that… could never be conveyed in words. They're about to do the same for you."

Marth's entire body seemed to jerk. He turned to Nyna and nodded.

"Soldiers." Marth addressed, his voice surprisingly calm for a man who seemed to be in the thrall of a berserker rage earlier. Caeda heard the word, and instinctively she realized that Marth's voice was on the verge of breaking. "My land has suffered much under Dolhr, but now I have the chance to correct everything. I… could not have done this by myself. I owe so much to… each and every one of you."

Minerva listened closely. Marth's words would be very different then the ones she would use when they went to Macedon. Marth and her, though good friends, were in completely different situations. She couldn't relate to his problem. Yet as she listened to the words he spoke, she couldn't stop her freezing and wet body from heating up slightly at the thought of Marth having anything to thank her or be indebted to her for.

"The battle isn't over yet." Marth reminded everyone as some League soldiers began to swell with pride, Marth put a hand across his chest. "We have one last fight between us and a liberated Altea. Let us go, and let this be the last day my people had to wake up to Dolhr's oppression!"

A cheer shook the air, and the Alteans shouted louder then any other soldier.

Gordin felt slightly uplifted, and almost smiled. He turned to Norne, who was already looking at him. They both skittishly looked away from each other with a subtle blush, almost impossible to see in the rain. Gordin wanted to talk to her, but couldn't. He shook his head, trying desperately to think about the battle.

If all went well, Altea would be free today. Perhaps that would allow him to speak to her again. If he didn't have the courage to talk to Norne after the battle, he never would. He'd just have to… see, how things would go.

In a manner reminiscent of a mindless mob, the proud League stormed the castle.

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><p>"So, my old 'friend' went down fighting, hmm?" Dactyl read the report of the battle outside of the New Dolhrian castle closely, feeling no pity or sorrow at the news of Hollstandt's death.<p>

On one hand, Dactyl felt that he could have defeated the League, captured the prince and, with Morzas' blessings, send him to Medeus. He could bask in the accolades for the rest of his life. On the other hand, he had no interest in trying to stand up against the army that had such a personal stake in this battle. Not to mention the same army that had attained more then a few completely overwhelming victories against seemingly impossible odds.

It was just as well… Morzas would defeat the prince easily, and life would go on as it was in New Dolhr. He could live without glory and honor on this occasion, he supposed.

"What of the people?"

The messenger who handed him the report inclined his head. "They do not know exactly what's going on, but they're aware that something is bothering the Grust troops. It might only be a matter of time before they-"

"Discipline any who show rebellious tendencies." Dactyl responded. "No one is to leave their village, and everyone is to be escorted by Grustian troops when they leave their house. Any who leave unattended is to be killed immediately. Furthermore, tell the soldiers that any New Dolhrians who as much as twitches in a way that they don't like must be put to death. Master Morzas can make further judgments when he comes here himself later, when the battle is over."

"Yes, sir." The messenger responded, "And… what of the outsider? The prisoner?"

Dactyl leaned his head back and sighed. "I had honestly forgotten about the mage." He grew flustered with embarrassment over his forgetfulness. "Execut-" he stopped himself as quickly as he began, raising a hand to order the messenger to not try and carry out the order. "Keep him in chains for now. He may still be of some use to us."

"I understand, sir." The messenger would obey. "That red-haired mage won't escape, he'll stay in the prison until you or Master Morzas decide otherwise."

"Very good. Now, you are dismissed." Dactyl felt no fear or dread, he was continuing on as normal. Though annoyed to miss out on seeing the battle, things would go on as they always had, and all he had to do was sit and be comfortable, here, in Helena Castle.

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><p>A Dolhrian knelt before Morzas, he was, unfortunately, about to provide bad news, but he did not relent. "Master, the gates have been breached. The spawn has entered the New Dolhrian castle."<p>

"I don't understand…" Morzas mumbled to himself. "How can he think he can topple Dolhr? We rule all under the watch of our benevolent Emperor. The short-sighted foolishness of humans… I will never understand it. Does honor and pride and their hypocritical idea of 'justice' mean so much to them that they will charge toward death itself shrieking for those very things?"

He thought for a second, then shook his head, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. Then it grew wider, his lips pulling back until his smile resembled a skull, matching the skull of Queen Liza. The spawn's quest… he could not begin to understand the mad reasoning, but he would revel in slaughtering the League like humans slaughter cattle. He turned to the Dolhrians in the room. "Take defensive positions. Do not let the spawn in this room. Kill them. Kill _all_ of them."

The Dolhrian bowed his head to Morzas, then rose and left.

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><p><strong>Big fight coming next.<strong>

**Please review.**


	29. Genocidal Despot: vs Morzas

**Big stuff to happen in this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>The wall was cold. The stonework of the Altean Castle stood with an ominous quietness, as if holding its breath for what was about to happen.<p>

Throughout the years, it had eroded little. The cool metal walls looked almost identical to how they looked when Gra descended upon the nation, what blood had been shed and what corpses had fallen that day had been long since cleaned up. They might have been nearly unchanged from the day that the castle was built for Anri. The walls seemed to almost be laced with deep, meaningful memories.

Old spars. King Cornelius teaching his young son, Marth, about combat. Some of Marth's earliest memories were of his wooden sword connecting against his father's defense. Jagen and Frey becoming Marth's new instructors as the boy began to grow in both body and strength. None doubted that Marth would grow into a fine swordsman, perhaps even finer then his father.

Pleasant nights. Princess Elice has always enjoyed reading books and scrolls, and practicing with her staffs. She also enjoyed telling her usually disinterested younger brother about whatever she was reading. Queen Liza and King Cornelius tried their best to collect the most rare books for their daughter, who was starting to become almost intellectual.

Just… life. Marth and Elice both enjoyed the lives they were living, even as their parents were preparing them for their adult life, where they would rule Altea. The spirit of Anri himself must have surely been watching over the next generation of his descendents as they grew in the seemingly impregnable castle.

Each and every memory, which were priceless treasures to both of the royal children, seemed to be etched into every inch of the metal.

A new, much more painful memory would be etched in them today. Marth was returning home, but there was no ease or casualness or a celebratory air in the halls. Only an eerie silence, as the castle, as if it was a living entity, seemed to hold its breath and wait to see who would end victorious on this day.

Morzas sat on the throne that once rightfully belonged to King Cornelius, and now, prince Marth. His finger tapped impatiently and tensely on the armrest of the throne. Morzas was a being who had lived several centuries, but impatience was not unknown to him. Today was important, very important. Rivaling the importance of the day that Medeus has been brought back to them.

He clutched at his Dragonstone, it glittered a peculiar blue color under the red light of the braziers. A seemingly uncontrollable energy swirled inside it. It was very different from the red stones that Khozen and Bulzark had. It was very similar to Xemcel's stone.

It pulsed with energy. An energy that was wild, untamed, fierce…

…magical. Something that could be roughly defined as a blue flame burned within, pining to escape.

Morzas found himself wanting to take it and assume his true form, but he relented. The time to feel the rush was not yet. It would be soon, but not yet.

His eyes focused on the single door to the room, wondering if the Dolhrian humans, worthless though they were in his eyes, would inflict any causalities on the League. Before the army of Dolhr, Morzas wondered, not for the first time, why the League thought they could possibly triumph.

"Come, spawn of Anri. Come to me. I await you in _my_ throne room."

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><p>The Dolhr troops were waiting patiently all throughout the New Dolhrian castle, every fiber of their beings itched for combat. Their bloodlust was nearly palpable, every muscle was ready to be thrown against the enemy. They could hear the League soldiers approaching with the clinking sound of their boots upon the marble floor. This is what they had been waiting for…<p>

The chance to rid the world of the Emperor's only real enemy, the blue-haired prince of this land. To serve the Manaketes was what they were born to do, and to perform a deed that would please the Emperor himself… muscles would tingle and mouths would water at the simple thought. They waited patiently for their chance to come, they would wait here in the castle for a thousand years for the chance to do something that would have Medeus look favorably upon them…

Their patience was rewarded. Soldiers they did not recognize entered into the halls of the castle. The Archanean League came upon the first regiment of Dolhrian troops. An inhuman war cry ripped forth from Dolhrian lips, and the fanatical loyalists of the Manaketes descended upon their enemies.

The battle was beginning, and Marth was already breathing hard. The Dolhrian troops, much like the Dolhrians in the Archanean Palace, were well beyond the soldiers of Grust they had fought before. They had been raised in an environment where you either triumphed or died, it was no surprise that their physical prowess and reflexes was well beyond anything any other nation produced. Even the Archanean League wasn't comprised of the best of the best, despite having some of the continent's greatest elites in its ranks.

Marth was covered with blood, some of it his own, but he didn't feel it, nor did he feel the pain from what wounds he had received. All he could see were the people who had defiled his home. The people who had no right and no business being here.

The Dolhrians were a formidable army, but for all the time they had walked the halls of the castle, they simply didn't know the castle like Marth did. To the prince, coordinating the League was a simple task, Dolhr had not changed the design of the castle. Marth led the League to the hallway that contained his room, his sister's room, and the master bedroom of his parents. His Rapier plunged deeply and easily into the well-toned Dolhrian bodies that laid claim to the hall, the purple carpet was stained red with the blood pooling under their bodies.

The League seemed to get beaten back here and there, but it would just spring back. The Dolhrians, as a whole, had much greater strength of arm, but they were ill-prepared for the League's sheer spirit.

One Dolhrian soldier sprang forth and managed to wound Marth with a slice down his arm, a wound too large to ignore, even in the heat of battle. As the prince grimaced, Catria avenged the wound to Marth with a fatal stab of her lance through the Dolhrian's chest.

Injuries were more common then usual among the League soldiers, just like they had been in the Archanean Palace. Marth grunted, soothing his now bloody arm for a second, then returned to the battle. Gritting his teeth, his heart thumping more loudly then it ever had before, he and the soldiers with him charged through the hall, laying waste to the Dolhrians.

Several frantic minutes passed, and the Dolhrians in the hall were defeated. Marth took a few breaths in, disturbed by the sight of bloody death in the one place that should have always been the most secure, his home and haven, but he understood the necessity of the killing. He turned, his eyes focusing on the door to his room. He felt strong temptation, he desired to see the insides of his room, unattended by him for two and a half years. Thoughts of what it might look like, what had changed, what hadn't, flooded through his mind.

"Sire…" Jagen spoke, looking like he wanted to say something further, but trailed off as he noticed what Marth was looking at, and what he had to be thinking about. Jagen took a slow, calming breath in. The elderly knight took in the sights around him, being full well capable of recognizing… _everything_. Even the metal of the walls was familiar to him, despite much of it now red and wet with blood. Being in the castle again felt like reuniting with a warm friend he hadn't seen in a long, long time. He turned back to Marth. "Sire, we-"

"-have no time to waste on memories." Marth said, finished Jagen's sentence for him as he shook the thoughts of his room off. He clutched at his bloody arm, able to feel the pain better now that the adrenaline of combat was just slightly ebbing, Maria stepped forward to deal with the wound. "Memories can wait until after the battle is over. Until Dolhr is gone from my castle, I cannot go in there."

Jagen nodded, though the inability to enter his room so clearly pained Marth. "Let us go, prince. Dolhr still holds strong in nearly every corner of the castle."

The League moved through the castle, following Marth's lead. He left no stone unturned, leading the League to every area of the castle, going from soldier dormitories to the stables, the guardhouse, the kitchen, the chapel, and the treasury. The battle was proving to be long and exhausting, sticky blood was spreading across the ground, most from the Dolhrians, others came from the occasional injured League soldier.

Hardin felt oddly overwhelmed by the size and scope of the castle, and wondered how this battle was affecting Marth. He knew it wasn't easy, to not only know that his home had been taken from him, and to have to see his home become a battlefield covered in blood like this. Hardin was well aware of what it was like, he had experienced it himself in the last battle they fought before they had joined to became the Archanean League. He and Marth led the League soldiers to the doors to the Throne Room of the Altean Castle. Dolhr was there to meet him outside those proud, familiar red doors. Without any threats or commands issued, both armies lunged at each other.

The Dolhrians fought with everything they had. Hardin could admit that they fought well, but they lacked the resolve to overcome the drive that empowered the League troops.

Wolf and Jeorge's arrows had picked off a fair number of Dolhrians before the two sides even met each other. The Dolhrians screamed incoherently as they met the League in combat. As the two armies met and clashed, the clanging sound of metal striking metal was loud enough to make a person's ears bleed. Splatters of blood adorned the walls and the floor of the Altean hall as the fighting began.

There was little that was coherent about the battle, even as Marth and Hardin issued orders. The League pushed forward as if it was a massive wall instructed to kill everything that moved. The Dolhrians were fearless, and many of them dared to wade through the mob of League soldiers, only for their fearlessness to be rewarded with an edged weapon into their chest.

Maria was present, and worked frantically to heal injuries, even some that had been administered to her older sister. A few soldiers stayed near her, as well as near Lena and Wrys, guarding them as they struggled to sew the flesh of the injured.

One Dolhrian tried to approach Linde, and was swiftly killed by a reactive Roshea. Ogma's thick blade broke through enemy armor and smashed through rib cages to reach delicate organs. Navarre left his enemies behind in disembodied parts. The Dolhrians swarmed the hall, and the League met them at bulk.

Hardin could feel a small twinge of pity for the Dolhrians. If only they had been born outside of Dolhr, they could have been so much more. They could have lived lives that meant something… now, all they could be given was death.

The battle continued for at least an hour outside of the throne room. So seemingly infinite was Dolhr's numbers and battle prowess that at times the League was nearly forced out of the hall, but they simply came back. Marth charged forward, Hardin beside him, leading the League forward. The image of his home the way it was supposed to be shot through his mind, and he charged without any hesitation with the League at his side, the soldiers in the hall were thrown down, dead and deceased.

The throne room was ahead of them. Marth took in a deep breath as this last skirmish outside of the throne room ended. He felt the pang of both anticipation and fear, his mind began to reel, and he looked almost dizzy and nauseous. He did not want to see what was behind that door, but he also wanted to kill whomever had invited himself on his father's throne.

A hand gripped his shoulder, Marth turned to see Hardin looking at him sympathetically.

"You've done enough today, Marth." He nodded at his Altean friend, his hand falling from Marth's shoulder. "Please, friend, stand back. Allow me to fight this fight. You've seen and gone through more then enough for one day. I-"

"No." Marth whispered, staring defiantly, looking straight into Hardin's eyes.

Hardin was taken aback by the subtly fierce rebuff, and spoke again, leaning in and speaking quietly to Marth, his words more forceful. "Marth, I know this is personal for you, but there are feelings that you need to confront first. This time leave it to your allies and friends. You've helped all of us enough throughout this war, today let us-"

"No." Marth spoke louder this time. Hardin sighed, not taking offense, and could see that Marth was set on his course of action. "This is Altea's business, and _only_ Altea's business."

Hardin relented, resisting the urge to shake his head at the Altean's stubbornness. He would abide by that decision, even if he privately contested it. He contested it only for Marth's own sake, he was not sure if it was wise for Marth, ruled by his emotions right now, to enter those doors. But Marth, the commander of the League, whose word was final, would make his own decisions.

Marth breathed hard, then looked over his shoulder. "Every Altean soldier in the League is going in with me. Everyone else is to wait outside these doors."

Several League troops glanced at each other, some looked indignant, others patiently understood what was happening. Without a moment's hesitation, Cain stepped forward with a fearless, almost excited expression, followed by the almost emotionless looking Abel.

Abel took in a breath and closed his eyes. _Just watch, Frey. Just watch._

Jagen readied himself, holding his Silver Lance in his hand as he approached. Merric came near at his friend and liege's request. Draug lumbered ahead in his formidable armor.

Gordin took a deep breath and stepped forward, forcing himself not to tremble at the thought of what might be on the other side of the doors. He stood fearfully near the prince, and then a calming hand grabbed him by the shoulder. His eyes caught Norne standing beside him.

"Norne." Marth addressed the young volunteer archer with a soft tone, "You aren't a knight of Altea. If you don't want to do this, then-"

"Please, prince Marth." Norne bowed her head toward the prince. "I'm Altean, and I'd like to have a hand in getting our nation back on its proper path." Norne swallowed, feeling the build up of anxiety in her chest. She pushed the feeling down. There was also another reason as to why she wanted to enter those large, intimidating doors. She turned to Gordin, her mind trailing off from the thought she was thinking.

"Okay." Marth said, accepting Norne's accompaniment. He looked over the Altean troops and was pleased. Turning around, he placed one hand on the door and began to push. "The Alteans of the League will handle this by themselves. All other troops… simply wait out here."

The door opened with a large creak, ominous light seeped into the hall from the throne room. It almost looked as if Marth was opening the door to some realm of death. He stepped in without fear, and the door began to close behind him and the other Alteans. The view into the throne room diminished to the size of a tiny crack, and then the door closed with a sinister thud.

_No… _Caeda took in a fearful breath. Somewhere inside her chest, she felt as though that was the last time she would see Marth among the living, the next meeting would see him as a corpse. It was too horrible an idea to contemplate, but the idea would not leave her mind. Dismounting off of her Pegasus, she gazed at the door, straining to hear… anything from the other side, all she heard was Marth and the Alteans walking away from the throne room doors. She heard disagreeing murmurings from the other League soldiers as Marth went to challenge the despot, some were doubtful that Marth's choice was a wise one. Caeda despaired somewhere on the inside.

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><p>Warm light bathed the throne room. Burning fires contained in the braziers illuminated the room. The light reflected off of the metal walls and floors, making everything in the throne room seem easy to spot. The room had a red carpet, and purple drapes were hung on the wall behind the throne. As Marth walked forward, it seemed to almost be a perfect mirror of the throne room as it was on the last day of his old life. The only noises he heard was crackling fire and the distant sound of the rain outside the castle. Considering it was the seat of power for Dolhr in the land, it was inappropriately… <em>welcoming<em>.

The picture was ruined by the sight of the water in the room. The throne was normally circled by a stream of water, but rather then the cool, blue water that Marth remembered, the water there was little more then sludge. A filthy, putrid liquid, all who might drink from it risked illness and death. The brown liquid flowed sluggishly around the throne.

"Welcome to the New Dolhrian Castle." A husky, sinister voice resonated through the air.

Marth's eyes immediately moved to the throne, and the hooded figure seated there.

He once questioned others, such as Nyna and Minerva, about the status of Altea. While they hadn't known exactly what was going on in Altea, he did ascertain the name of the man who had stolen the throne…

"Morzas." Marth breathed as his eyes narrowed.

A deep, skin-crawling chuckle echoed through the room, Morzas slowly rose from the throne, his robe flowing with the movement. He stood up straight, his ashen skin, which would have been deeply unnatural for humans, was plain as day in the hood of his robe. His golden eyes bore into the spawn before him.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you." Marth hissed, taking a step forward. The Alteans with him wore similar vindictive expressions.

Morzas raised his chin, then took a step forward. "The prince of New Dolhr has returned to his castle." He watched Marth posture in insult and offense. "Does the true name of this land sting your human pride? Let it. Simple wounded pride is _nothing_ compared to what you will endure in the coming months. Today, you shall bear witness to the death of the hope you sowed so carefully. You… will bear witness to your League being torn to pieces by me, I shall destroy your knights, cook them to bone and ash. I shall go out, find those not of New Dolhrian heritage who wait beyond the door, and slaughter them as well. You will bear witness to all of it, but will be unable to do anything about it. You will only be able to curse yourself by bringing them to me to die. Then, once that is done, I will bring you to Dolhr. Bound and helpless, you will beg the Emperor for mercy, and he _will_ deny you. The glorious pain you endure for months on end before you die will be the final fatal blow to humanity's futile delusion of a continent not under our rule." Morzas grinned. Revenge, it was like fruit, it tasted best when ripe, it would not do to see Marth, the descendent of the hated Anri, die so quickly.

"I plan to see this day end very differently." Marth growled, his Rapier in hand. "Not for a day longer will the name 'New Dolhr' be spoken, and you won't lay a finger on _any_ of my allies."

Morzas did not react with amusement, as he might have been expected to, but instead raised his eyebrow. "Your kind has long confused me, spawn of Anri. You fight and defy and revolt to carve out some craven existence. Why, in the face of the Dolhr Empire, in the face of _death itself_, do you insist on this rebellion? You humans lost your one feeble chance for victory the moment King Cornelius died, it is time you understand that. There is no shame in admitting defeat when the outcome is so obvious." He looked over the prince carefully, looking for any hint of understanding in the prince's eyes. "Perhaps now, you will see the foolishness in your actions. It's not too late to run a second time, spawn. Abandon these foolish 'comrades' of yours, depart and pray you never see my face again, you will be spared. If the spawn of Anri resigned himself to living an empty life in some cave somewhere… I doubt that the Emperor would bother searching for you. This is a most gracious offer, accept, and you will continue to taste life for decades to come. What do you say?"

Marth's answer was to hold his Rapier closely. The tip of the blade pointing threateningly at Morzas. "What do you _think_ my answer is?"

"And does this short-sighted prince speak for all of you, hmm? Surely you are not so foolish as to continue on with the crusade of this madman. You must know that standing against Dolhr is simply wanting to die." He looked at the other Alteans. Not one of them moved.

Morzas bowed his head and sighed. "I suppose there was little point in asking. You humans… death itself is sport to you. You charge toward it, your chests swelling with delight." He flashed a wicked smile. "Spawn of Anri, let me give you something that will _surely_ delight you. A family reunion." He grabbed the skull on the stand near him. "I personally tortured this one to death. Her screams were more exquisite then any past or future New Dolhrian, but then, what's more beautiful then seeing a noble of this land twist in agony?" He watched Marth closely, taking pleasure at seeing the prince's eyes widen in disgust and horror. "Spawn. Greet your _mother_, the dear Queen Liza." He threw the skull forward as the room echoed with his booming laughter, he watched the skull fly through the air and land on the ground with a pleasing cracking sound.

Marth took a few steps forward, then picked up the skull of his mother. The jawbone was slightly cracked from impacting the floor, but it was mostly intact. Marth's hands quivered as he held the skull, all that was left of his mother. He knew his father was dead, now he could plainly see that his mother was dead. He thought that, maybe, when he came, he… he didn't know what he expected, but he hoped that he could find his family.

"My prince…" Abel said softly, sympathetically, as Marth held his mother's skull close.

"_Morzas_!" Marth screamed, holding his Rapier as he stared at the Manakete, his vision blurring as tears tried to come. He had never simultaneously held so much anger and sorrow in his chest before.

Morzas reached a hand into his robe and clutched his Dragonstone. "I don't know why you humans even bother. Even in my most delusional moments, I would not imagine that the Emperor could be honestly challenged. Yet, if a door to the next life is what you want, then please, allow me…"

His fingers gripped the Dragonstone, and the energy pulsed into him. He smiled. "You have no wits. None at all. I am different from Khozen, whom you faced at the fields of Archanea. A Fire Dragon could not stop you… but, a _Mage_ Dragon…!"

A blinding light illuminated the throne where Morzas stood, Marth raised a hand to shield his eyes until the light dwindled, then beheld a sight… unlike any Manakete he had seen before.

Morzas studied Marth closely, his lips curling until his draconic face had a facsimile of a smile as he let Marth behold his true form. Morzas' head was connected to a long, elongated neck that connected to his body, his skin was ashen, rather then red, and leaner then the Manaketes they had encountered before. His talons were longer, sharper, but thinner, then the talons of Mannu or Khozen. All in all, his form didn't seem quite as muscular and imposing as Bantu's true form, but there was something… unmistakably intimidating about Morzas' true form.

"Too late for regrets, humans." Morzas threatened.

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><p>There was no celebratory air outside of the throne room, even on the day that might end in the liberation of Altea. Most of the soldiers felt tense and insecure. The commander of all of them was on the other side of that door, facing an undoubtedly critical threat with only a few soldiers to help him. No one outright admitted it, but many privately felt that it was a mistake on Marth's part to permit only the Alteans to partake in the battle in the throne room. The feelings only became more pronounced at the sound of a burst, and the sight of light seeping through the doorframe, and everyone knew that a Manakete was in the room.<p>

Catria was pacing, going back and forth in a small area, her eyes constantly darting to the door. She gulped, wishing that she, as Marth's bodyguard, could have been an exception and allowed in. Her presence could have made all the difference between Marth's survival and death…

"Worrying isn't going to get this over with any quicker." Palla told her younger sister, though she carried a certain level of anxiety in her own chest. "You need to calm down."

"…might be outmatched." Catria whispered, holding her hands to her chest before turning to Palla. "The entire League could be crushed today, everything hinges on prince Marth emerging victorious, and we're forbidden from doing anything that could help him. We're just sitting here, and I feel completely helpless when the battle is going on in there. I could… I could _do_ something, but I'm forbidden. Of course I'm going to worry. How can I _not_ be worried about him?"

A small silence set in, and Palla quirked an eyebrow at her younger sister. Catria saw it, and her heart sank. "I…I mean, I'm worried about _them_." The word 'him' seemed to have slipped out without her attention. She flustered. "Why aren't _you_ worried about them?"

"I…" Palla seemed at a loss of words for a moment, then quickly continued speaking. "I guess I'm better at hiding my worries. Worrying won't increase their chance for victory. All we can do is have faith." In any other situation, she'd have allowed herself a funny little smirk, but not today. She turned away from Catria, and began to look at her partner, Wolf. She expected him to have his arms crossed and to be anxiously tapping his foot, but…

_He looks so… calm._ Palla observed, only vaguely surprised. Wolf confidently stood straight up, his eyes not darting around nervously, his head not bowing with billowing doubts or concerns. In no way did he seem stressed or vexed by the situation. He was either unconcerned, or he was completely convinced that Marth would attain victory.

She found herself envying Wolf's lack of fear or anxiety. She continued to look at him, oblivious to the fact that she was starting to rudely stare at the man without good cause. She stared at him, almost like a girl with a crush.

Shock and embarrassment suddenly coursed through her, and she tore her eyes from Wolf. _No, no, that's not it. That's _not _how I think of him._

She wondered if Wolf noticed she was staring at him. He gave no clear sign… but she was willing to bet that he was well aware, but did nothing until she realized what she was doing.

A sigh escaped her mouth, and for a moment she looked more bothered then worried.

_Merric…_ Linde felt herself worrying for the Altean mage more then anyone else who went through those doors. Merric was quickly becoming one of the people she trusted the most and cared for the most, and she refused to think about continuing on in this war without him. She had already had a scare in Khadein over his possible death.

She wished Roshea was sitting with her, but he was with his brothers for now. She could have wished for Nyna's presence, but she was busy talking to Hardin and Minerva. At this moment, she just wanted someone who she could look to for some measure of comfort.

Her hands clenched into fists, then slowly unclenched as she leaned against a wall. _Don't die Merric, don't die. _It was like a mantra for her for the moment, repeating in her head over and over feeling in her gut was just a little _too_ reminiscent of the feeling she had when she went to Khadein to try and find her father. The last thing she ever wanted to do was cradle Merric's dying body. It took every fiber of will-power to respect Marth's declaration that what was going on past those doors was truly Altea's business alone.

"Are you sure we shouldn't intervene?" Minerva asked, crossing her arms. Beads of sweat were appearing on her forehead. The stress was getting to her as she spoke to Hardin and Caeda and Nyna. "If he only asked, I'd liberate his nation for him with one swing of Hauteclere."

"I feel much the same way." Hardin answered, "But it's his choice. He decided that only the Alteans would face the Manakete on the other side of that door."

"He's being selfish." Minerva mused, "I don't like this. He could easily get himself killed. If that happens, then where are we?"

Caeda looked uncomfortable, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Fear for Marth's sake had paralyzed her mouth, and she couldn't seem to speak right now. More then once she tried to tell herself that she was placing her external fears on the situation, but it didn't soothe her. She recalled her dream about a misshapen Manakete slaying Marth and… she fell deeper into her fear. There was a Manakete past those doors… and it could have been the nearly deformed one she saw in the dream. She shut her eyes, her worry and fears manifesting themselves as tears forcing their way out. Hardin and Minerva didn't seem to notice, and continued as if she wasn't there.

"Have faith." Hardin said, taking Minerva by surprise. "He's not someone who would get himself killed on a fool's errand. He will come back to us safely."

Minerva lightly closed her eyes, then opened them again. "I'm not put at ease. I owe Maria's safety to him, I can't stand to just stand here and do nothing when I could help him. Just once, I wish he could depend and rely on me to solve his problems for him, just once."

"I wouldn't have been able to liberate Aurelis without him, I'm forced to admit." Hardin mumbled, his cheeks flustering in embarrassment over the fact that he and his older brother couldn't deal with Aurelis' problems on their own. "There's much I owe him, and I wish I could do the same and more for him, but the fight past those doors is something he wants to deal with himself, and we have to respect that. The only thing we can do is simply have faith. All he can do is fight his best."

* * *

><p>"All you can do is cower in fear." Morzas cackled at those before him. He reared his head back and breathed in, then let loose a blue wave of energy. <em>Energy<em>, not flame. His breath scorched the carpet of the throne room, revealing the marble floor beneath the fabric. It failed to catch any of the Alteans, but Morzas lost none of his blissful joy. "Tremble! Tremble! Against my breath, your armor is _nothing_."

Norne fired an arrow at the Manakete, the arrow sailed to Morzas' head, but it all but bounced off of the tough scales. She took a cautious step back as Morzas' head turned to her.

"Such mundane weapons. Were you really foolish enough to think that _that_ would pierce into my flesh?" He snorted derisively at Norne, then turned away, regarding the archer as a mere gnat he could dispose of at anytime.

A Javelin flew through the air courtesy of Abel. Morzas' eyes narrowed in annoyance as the tip of the weapon bit into his powerful leg muscles. Lowering his head down, he grabbed the Javelin in his jaws and tore it out of his skin. Clenching his teeth, he snapped the weapon in half.

Before he could as much as grin at Abel's shocked expression, the air around him blurred. The Mage Dragon instinctively felt the shift in the energy coursing through the air, and watched unimpressed as the blades of wind solidified. As they started to move and converge on him, he simply smiled.

The blades cut through him, but didn't as much as leave a scratch on his flesh. He turned to Merric. "You dare challenge me with _magic_?" He laughed haughtily, "I am a _Mage Dragon_, thousands of years spent studying magic would give you only a fraction of my power and understanding! Witness, foolish human mage, _real_ power!"

He pivoted his entire body toward Merric and readied himself. He unleashed the blue, magical energy from his mouth. Merric rolled to the side, just barely dodging the blue ball of energy as it impacted the wall and exploded, blowing a huge hole into the metal wall. The hairs on Merric's body stood on end, almost as if they were drinking in the residue of the energy that Morzas commanded. Merric admitted, it would take generations of study before he could conjure a spell with power like _that_. As he looked at Morzas, another realization dawned on him, this one much more frightening.

"Magic won't work on him at all…" Merric noted with horror, "There… is there anything I can do?"

"Gnats. Tremble before me, the representative of Dolhr." Morzas waded through his enemies, easily shrugging off attacks from Cain and Abel, he walked forward, believing that he could not be injured by their attacks. Then he cringed ever so slightly as Marth's Rapier sank into his side. His massive head swerved to the side as Marth took his Rapier out and backed off.

"Wretched spawn!" Morzas cried as blood trickled from the small puncture in his side. "I would have ignored you for a little longer, fool." He swiped his talons but failed to catch Marth. Draug charged forward in his prince's defense and threw his weight against the talons.

Morzas' swipe was stopped cold against Draug's armor, and the man grabbed the draconic paw. His arms wrapped around one of the claws of Morzas' foot, he utilized his strength and didn't let the foot fall back to the ground, he held tight even as Morzas tried to wrest himself free.

"Let go of me, you human filth!" He raised his talon up, picking Draug up off the ground, but the man held on with a single-minded tenacity. Angered, Morzas brought his foot down, slamming Draug onto the ground. "I wonder how much pressure armor forged by human hands can take…" He pushed down with Draug under his foot, placing more and more weight upon Draug, the marble floor beneath starting to crack from the force being administered. Draug groaned in the pain, and Morzas began to gleefully cackle.

Then he cried out. An arrow from Gordin pierced through the soft scales of his neck, half of the arrow went into his neck before its momentum stopped. He turned to the whelp and hissed, then looked down, cautiously observing the blood coming out of his neck, and his eyes caught Marth running at him again.

He backed away to try and put some distance between himself and the prince, getting off of Draug in the process, but Marth's Rapier still sunk into his chest, right below his neck.

Morzas cried out in pain, feeling the Rapier tip scratching at some important organ inside of him. He bellowed as the Rapier came back out and Marth backed away before Morzas could make a retaliatory strike.

Cain threw a Javelin at Morzas, the Manakete's breath turned the weapon into ash as it flew through the air. Morzas gritted his sharp teeth. "No one, save the Emperor, could remove _me_ from this throne!" His eyes flittered around the room, and he spotted the female human readying an arrow.

"Never again." Morzas stated, taking a breath in as he saw that the human was aiming for his neck. He unleashed a stream of energy at Norne. The girl saw it coming and tried to run, but…

She tripped. She fell clumsily onto the ground.

"_Norne_!" Gordin yelled, addressing his friend for the first time since they had been in Gra. Everyone in the room was looking at Norne in horror, but Gordin was the only one to act. Gordin saw Norne facing certain death against a wave of the Manakete's breath. Without even needing to think, he started to move at full speed. He moved to Norne as she was rising to her knees, she wouldn't have been able to get away in time, and he forcefully shoved her out of the way.

"Gord-" Norne rolled onto the ground, stopping a few meters away from where she had been a second ago. For the first instant she only felt shock at being pushed by him, but her entire being was overwhelmed with horror as she realized that Gordin, not her, was now in the path of Morzas' breath.

After ascertaining that Norne was safe, Gordin turned to Morzas the second before he was caught in the wave of magical breath.

Norne could hear Gordin screaming, or maybe it was her own screaming. She could see Gordin's body become wracked with wicked burns as he was engulfed in Morzas' attack. The horror coursing through her body was all that kept her from standing and daring to charge into the blue energy to try to get Gordin out.

After several horrifying seconds, the energy dispersed, and Gordin fall onto the floor. Without any hesitation, Norne rushed to his side. She fell to her knees beside him, she lifted him up slightly, cradling him.

_Please… please no. _She held Gordin close, dreading the possibility that his life had been snuffed out, her fears lessened as she saw Gordin's chest still heaving as he weakly breathed. Her arms were around him protectively, and she stopped paying attention to the battle against Morzas, focusing entirely on Gordin.

"Gordin, Gordin, please, hang on…" she placed her hand in Gordin's open palm, and felt his fingers curl around her hand. His life wasn't gone yet, and still Norne was starting to break down in tears. She didn't… she refused to think about Gordin dying.

"Sorry to interrupt such a touching scene." Morzas' arrogant voice resounded through the room. "Fear not, when he leaves this world, you will join him in due time. Your fate will be a prelude to what awaits all others who rally to you." He swerved his head away from the two, now harmless to him. "Now, where was I-" his eyes widened as Cain and Marth were at his feet. Cain's lance stabbed into the softer scales of his front right ankle, and Marth's Rapier into his front left.

Morzas sagged down as it was, for just a moment, too painful to put any weight on his front legs. Defiantly, he pushed himself forward, his pride overpowering the pain in his front legs, and stood up tall once more. "Nothing… you do… can dethrone _me_!" He panted, wounded quite severely, but refusing to accept defeat at the hands of humans.

The air blurred once more, Merric's Excalibur appeared again. For a moment, Morzas was lightly amused by the mage's persistence and stupidity, but then the blades of wind converged on his injured ankles. He cried out in pain as the previously harmless blades assailed a now deeply sensitive part of his body.

He buckled, his body collapsing on the ground. He tried to rise, only for Marth's Rapier to plunge into the base of his neck, the prince ran along, ripping the blade across the entire length of Morzas' neck, from the base up to where it connected to his head. He sputtered and gasped, blood leaking out from his neck, he did not try to rise.

"W…why?" Morzas asked, coughing as he spoke slowly, "You have to tell me, why do you believe, you can defeat… Dolhr?" He took in a desperate breath as his enemies approached his head. "This continent, it belongs to us. All the economy, the people, the resources… we control it all! Why do you believe you can do _anything_? We control it all… Dolhr controls it all… _Emperor Medeus controls it all_!

It was not a question that deserved any particular thought to the answer. The answer came to Marth as naturally as breath into his body. "I believe I will win because my blood tells me I can win." Marth said with authority, swearing by the blood of Anri flowing in his veins. "I am the descendent of Anri, and I _will _defeat Medeus."

Morzas made a strange coughing laugh. "You… you're nothing but a mad dreamer… lowly spawn… of Anri…"

With a shake of his head, Marth turned away from the rasping Manakete. He could not stay and gloat. He turned to the two archers, if Gordin was to live and not die on the day that saw Altea take its name back and return to the proper path, he had to act now.

* * *

><p>The sounds of battle had been heard on the other side of the doors. Most of the soldiers felt nothing but dread and worry. Many privately believed that they should be in there, and their presence would make all the difference. Marth would have to understand that any interference was for the overall sake of the League, and it was no attempt to undermine his authority. Then the doors began to open, and the more impetuous soldiers of the League rushed to the opening doors. The prince walked into their sight, fatigued, but seemingly not hurt.<p>

Caeda saw him and started to move to see to every little injury and scrape he might have had, but then stopped herself. She wanted to immediately wrap her arms around him, but she saw that Marth's muscles and eyes had not relaxed. He was safe right now, but things weren't over yet. She could see that, and refrained from distracting him right now.

He looked at the gathered soldiers, and spoke. "This is 'New Dolhr' no longer."

There was a small pause as everyone understood what the words meant. Victory was attained, and the battle was over. Everyone wore a deep sense of relief and victory on their face, any stress, anxiety, and maybe even indignation melting away, they looked ready to begin patting each other on the back in celebration. One anonymous soldier began to throw his fist in the air, but Marth spoke again before anyone could cheer.

"One of us was injured badly." He spoke the sobering words that cut any joy or praise short. "I want Lena, Maria, and Wrys in here immediately."

* * *

><p>"Will he be okay?" Norne asked. Lena looked at the girl, reading the Altean's pleading expression, so desperately wanting to be answered in the affirmative. Lena answered the question honestly.<p>

"I don't know." She said as she readied her Staff, as Maria and Wrys had already done. "I have never… seen wounds like this before. I cannot make judgments until I see how he responds to healing. Please leave us, we-"

"N-no…" Norne objected. For a brief moment, confusion creased Lena's serene face, but she patiently waited for Norne to say something further. "Please, Sister Lena, I… I want to stay by him during this. I-"

Lena was too polite to sigh, and simply nodded. As long as Norne did not get in the way of the duties of her, Maria, and Wrys, she wouldn't mind. "You can stay, but please don't interfere."

Norne nodded. She wouldn't dare do something that would make Gordin heal any slower. She felt ashamed, a part of the reason as to why she went into the throne room was to try and protect Gordin in the last stage of the battle for Altea. To her, Gordin's protection took greater precedence then liberating Altea. Now she looked and saw that the fact that she had clumsily tripped could have very well resulted in Gordin's death.

Across the room, Marth spoke with the other royalty in the army. Caeda looked at the Manakete's body, and her heart might have stopped. It was the _same_ Manakete from her dream… the one that would kill Marth. It was… she couldn't stop trembling as her thoughts slowly formed, it was fortunate that Marth had chosen to go in with the Alteans, and not fight the Manakete by himself. She turned back to Marth, resisting the urge to embrace the precious one who seemed to always narrowly evade death and always be oblivious to that fact. If only he understood the danger… she could have at least forced him to accept her accompaniment. She could only thank the gods above her that Marth had somehow evaded death… only thanks to the presence of his Altean knights, she suspected.

"I wasn't sure what to expect, but… I hoped I could find my family today." Marth admitted, his head bowed down. Stretching a weak arm out, he revealed a skull in his shaking hand. "Th…this, it's all that's left, of my… my mother. Liza."

Caeda reeled like she had been struck, looking at the eroded, slightly cracked skull Marth held in his hand. The Manakete had more then simply killed Marth's mother, the Manakete had kept the skull around as if it was some kind of trophy to be proud of. Caeda stretched her arm out and took the skull from Marth, he did not protest as she took it from his hand.

Minerva gaped at the skull now in Caeda's arms, then turned back to Marth. "I… I'm sorry, Marth, truly. If only we had been quicker, we might have…" she trailed off, worrying that speaking too much would press the wrong buttons.

"She probably died a long time ago." Marth said, starting to tremble. "T…that Manakete, Morzas, _boasted_ about how she… she screamed when she… died."

A quietness fell upon the royalty. Caeda, still holding the skull, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Marth, as she had been wanting to do for some time now. She hoped, she desperately hoped that the closeness made Marth feel at ease, but she doubted her affection alone would do anything today. Her grip tightened, releasing her empathy for Marth, and what he was going through. She started to shed tears for his sake, and desperately wished that she could shoulder all the grief for him.

Nyna had heard stories about what the Manaketes were like, but, the sights throughout Altea, the inhumanities committed, and this Morzas keeping Liza's skull as a trophy… No story she heard could have prepared her for what she saw today. Archanea had gotten off easy, she was forced to admit.

"I'll hear you… scream… too…" a voice resonated through the air. Marth's eyes widened, Caeda released him and Marth snapped around. Morzas had been motionless for a time, but he, not yet dead, suddenly started to move again. Feebly, his large head began to pick up off the marble ground, he scanned around, seeing the entire Archanean League was now in the throne room. "Kill you… all, League. This shall be 'New Dolhr'… for a thousand… generations." He tried to stand up, slowly, his massive body began to lift as the soldiers of the Archanean League whirled around and readied themselves for combat against the fatigued Manakete who had cruelly ruled Altea with an arrogant, unflinching hand. "You'll join your mother, spawn. Your resistance, it… it ends… today… it doesn't matter… h-how much you… struggle."

_That will be all, Morzas. _A chilling voice spoke from… nowhere, and everywhere. Morzas' eyes widened in recognition as a blinding light flashed from above the throne room, Morzas' head swerved. He saw… he saw the Hand of Medeus… not standing, but floating in the air above the throne of the castle.

"X-X-Xemcel…" a sharp fear was in Morzas' words. "Fear not, my… ungh, peer, they shall be ash in seconds. They will-"

"Morzas." Xemcel said calmly, coldly. "Begone."

Morzas' eyes widened as he saw the deep meaning in Xemcel's one word to him. He looked back to the front, and fell back onto the ground, breathing his last in the miserable realization that he was of no further use to the Emperor.

"What-" Marth began as he saw Morzas crumble down for the last time, and the new Manakete hovering near the throne.

"Who is…" Hardin took a step forward, unable to recognize the cloaked figure.

Minerva blinked in recognition at the cloaked figure. "Xemcel." She breathed, Marth and Hardin both put half an eye on Minerva, she turned to both of them. "The Hand of Medeus, Medeus' second-in-command."

"So the spawn's life… remains his own?" Xemcel asked, looking down at the prince. "He grows ever stronger. Very well."

"The right hand…" Minerva whistled for her Wyvern, which charged to her side, she mounted and flew toward Xemcel, Hauteclere in hand, ready to kill one of their greatest enemies in one swift axe swing. Hardin called for his horse and followed Minerva, they both charged across the throne room, heading for the throne where Xemcel floated. The Hand of Medeus stood motionless, his eyes still on Marth, not even acknowledging Minerva and Hardin's approach. Minerva and Hardin were upon the steps that led up to the throne and…

A wave of flame fell down, forming a wall between Xemcel and those attempting to assail him. Hardin and Minerva stopped their two-man charge just a second before the white-hot flames would have engulfed them and reduced them to ash and charcoal.

The fires rose higher as it to make a burning shield, but then died quickly, and two Manaketes appeared beside the throne, their large forms making the throne room feel small and enclosed. The Manaketes glared menacingly at the League before assuming human forms. Xemcel gently floated down until his feet rested on marble ground, and he stepped forward past Khozen and Bulzark.

"Isn't that…" Ogma began as he looked at Khozen. He could recall the blaze from this Manakete, a blaze that nearly claimed his life. The Fire Dragon turned to him and sneered at the look of shocked disbelief on the mercenary's face.

"Next time, you and that swordsman should strike to _kill_, not incapacitate." Khozen enjoyed the look on Ogma's face, his eyes tore from Ogma and searched through the room to find Navarre. The Swordsman beheld the scar on Khozen's neck, seemingly discomforted that his strike to Khozen upon the Archanean fields had not succeeded in killing the creature. Khozen might have continued to mock them, but Xemcel motioned for silence from his attendant.

"Spawn of Anri." Xemcel addressed, without any displays of power, Marth realized that this Manakete made Morzas seem like nothing. Xemcel held an undeniable air of power around him, even as he acted as the servant to an even greater power. Marth wondered what would have happened, had it been this Xemcel, and not Morzas, who waited in the throne room.

"Here you stand, lowly spawn, in your home, which you have pried from Dolhr's hands. You may take your precious land of 'Altea' back, but understand that your time is short. Your victories are fleeting, and your efforts to defeat Dolhr are for naught. Know that your continued success is only because Dolhr chooses not to crush you like the insects you are."

"Oh, really?" A voice Marth quickly recognized spoke up in challenge to Xemcel. Marth turned to see Abel walking up to the Hand of Medeus, speaking cockily. "'For naught' seems to be more of a description of any efforts to stop _us_."

"The League marches ever closer to death's door." Xemcel spoke implacably. "What can you do, but knock? You will knock willingly, with your chest swelling in anticipation. You do not yet realize the depths of our power. If you did, you would not dare to raise sword and shield against Dolhr."

"And just what kind of power do you wield?" Caeda asked, stepping in front of Marth in a protective manner. She would not risk him fighting again today. "What can _you_ do?"

"Some of you are undoubtedly aware of what we did to Jiol of Gra." Marth stumbled at Xemcel's words. The memory of Jiol petrified as a stone statue surfaced in Marth's mind. He suddenly realized that this Manakete, the Hand of Medeus, was the perpetrator of that act. "That is but a sample of what I am capable of. As you are now, you cannot challenge me."

"We'll challenge you until we can put an end to this conflict." Minerva proclaimed from the saddle of her Wyvern as it flapped its wings to stay afloat, she looked ready to try and attack the three Manaketes in their human forms. "We'll keep at it until you, the instigators, are gone from this world."

"It is not we who created this destructive conflict." He turned to the woman who had been in Dolhr Keep many moons ago. "All Dolhr has done is strive to bring _order_ to a continent that had descended into chaos at the hands of human rulers. The ones who create destruction… it is _you_, humans. Your lust for a continent free from us is what sends all life into a spiral of misery. Misery is the price that all things that rail against the natural order must pay. The path to peace… it is a short and simple one, but it must be paved with the bones of the destructors. _You_."

"We are not the ones who lusted to conquer. In ancient times we fought because we wanted freedom. Today, we're fighting against your murderous crusade because we want to keep that freedom."

Xemcel turned to Nyna, the speaker. "Never has Dolhr or the Emperor lusted to _conquer_, holy princess." It should have sounded respectful, but Xemcel's tone made it seem as if Nyna's position and title was something to be ashamed of. "Purification is a painful process, but we are returning the continent to the way it once was and should always be. We are returning to the days that the Manaketes reigned supreme, and when we do, the continent will have a new destiny, one greater then you can imagine. This is neither sacrifice or oppression, it is simply nature taking its proper path. The humans were born to serve, that is all in life that you can aspire to be, servants to those that are above and beyond you."

"We are not your servants or your playthings!" Hardin yelled at Xemcel, he did not notice his grip tightening on the reins of his steed. "We have been free from your rule since the days of Anri, and free we will remain. We will _never _serve you."

"All serve, foolish prince of men. All serve the Manaketes of Dolhr, more so, they serve the Emperor, who gives meaning to all. Now, you too shall serve. Knowingly or not."

"We're striking at your Empire." Marth said, deep anger in his voice. His fists clenched in anger at the simple idea of his actions invariably aiding the Manaketes of Dolhr in any manner. "We are doing _nothing_ that aids you. We are breaking your control of the world."

Xemcel smiled at Marth's words. "The ways to serve us are vast, spawn of Anri, and our Emperor's infinite knowledge can craft even the most dangerous of foes into a useful asset. Do not believe yourself capable of outwitting the Emperor and spiraling out of his control. Know that your survival on this day is merit only because I have been disallowed to harm you on this day. I could end you at any time." His hand clenched, then crackled with electricity not born from a tome. Minerva cringed, having endured Xemcel's torture personally, she wondered if the League, weathered from fighting Grust and Dolhr today, _could_ defeat him and his two allies if he attacked.

"You, Archanean League, simply continue as you are, as you were. Continuing facing Dolhr and the Dolhr Alliance. Strike down more of the meaningless horde of humans we throw at you, they mean nothing to us. If death is more soothing to your souls, you may come to Dolhr. We will be waiting. It matters little what you choose to do." Xemcel started to walk back with a smirk on his face, "Khozen, Bulzark, we depart."

Khozen raised his chin as he looked at the League soldiers throughout the throne room. "We shall meet again, humans." The three teleported out of the throne room, leaving the League within the throne room of Altea.

"The Hand of Medeus…" Marth muttered, anger growing in him, trying to rip out of his mouth in a battle cry. "We'll be fighting him before long." He was loathe to admit it, but if Xemcel and the other Manaketes had attacked, he wasn't sure if the League would be the ones to triumph. The core elite of Dolhr… dwarfed anything he had fought before in this war. He knew he needed more strength, and Falchion, to face Dolhr. He needed to get those things… but, for today…

"Search the castle." Marth commanded the League, "Tell me… everything about it. Tell me what Dolhr did to it. And… stay on guard, some agents of Dolhr might still be in the castle somewhere."

A great majority of the League walked slowly out of the throne room, some shaken by Xemcel's appearance and words. With a conflicted expression, Marth moved past Morzas' unmoving corpse and went up to the throne of Altea. He looked at the golden chair, once belonging to his father. As a small child, he liked to enter the throne room and sit in it himself, fantasizing about the day when he would be king. As he looked at it, it was only now that he realized that the throne would be his only when he became fatherless, and not before.

"It's yours now, isn't it?" Nyna asked from beside him. The throne of Altea, that throne had been used from Anri all the way to Cornelius. Now, it fell to Marth. It was his to rule from, it would be a familiar chair for Marth starting now.

To Nyna's shock, Marth shook his head. "Until Dolhr and the Dolhr Alliance are both defeated, I have no right to sit on the throne." The words sounded more like a weak excuse then a reason. He turned to Nyna, a mixture of everything that happened today left a strangely pathetic look on his face. "Until I can say that my father has been avenged, and I've fulfilled the duty of my bloodline, I cannot sit in that chair."

"…perhaps sitting in it would offer a moral boost to the Alteans." Nyna offered, her thoughts drifting to the Queen's Throne in the Archanean Palace, which was now rightfully hers. "You may not like it, but… the symbolism of it will mean something to the League, especially the Alteans in it."

Marth shook his head, "No. It's not what my father would do, and I know it. He would not pleasure himself with luxurious symbolism when he still had duties to perform. I won't arrogantly do what I know he would not."

Nyna crossed her arms and looked down, almost like she was brooding. Marth's reasoning was fair, but that wasn't the entirety of his reasoning, she knew. Marth wanted to fulfill the duty left by his father before he took the throne and kingly duties, yes, but on some level, Nyna realized, Marth didn't feel he was worthy. He doubted he would be the king his father was, and he doubted he could fit his father's shoes when the time came. He felt that sitting in the throne was like a declaration that he was Cornelius' equal.

"Sire." Malledus approached just as Nyna was opening her mouth to say something comforting. "Sire, forgive me for any interruption, but… do you have a moment for me?"

Marth turned to his advisor and tactician. "I don't have… anything to do, right now, Malledus."

"The storm clouds are breaking, sire. The people of Altea are aware of the defeat of Dolhr, and they want to see their saviors."

"People from the… entire land?" Marth asked. He was no stranger to large crowds, especially when life in Altea had been peaceful. Yet, being the center of attention for an entire nation, even his own, was an overwhelming concept.

Malledus' eyes shifted cautiously. "There… seems to be no one coming from the direction of the old supply castle, Castle Helena. I would wish to investigate the cause of that, but, for now, your people are gathered in front of your castle."

Marth nodded. "They want to see their saviors…"

"Maybe you don't have to be among them." Nyna suggested, sensing the trepidation Marth was holding in himself. He wanted to focus on his own, personal problems, most foremost being his grief over his mother. "You've gone through enough today, maybe, just until you can look at them and be just as happy as them and smile honestly-"

Marth was tempted by the idea, but declined after a moment of thought. "No, Nyna. If their prince came back to liberate them, it would be an insult for him to not at least appear before them then they call for him." He took a breath in, it was clear that he'd have rather gone somewhere quiet to think to himself then go and meet his people, but his duties demanded that he go. "My duties, and my title as prince, come before anything else, including my feelings. My duties take precedence over who I am as a person, and I am a prince before anything else. They want to see their saviors… everyone who isn't searching the castle will go out with me. Malledus…"

"I'll send word to the soldiers immediately."

* * *

><p>Marth took a deep, calming breath to try and prepare himself. Caeda's hand grabbed his shoulder, her expression of worry for him seemed to soothe him far more then any deep breath would. He looked over those with him, every Altean, save Gordin, who was injured, and Norne, who refused to leave Gordin's side, was with him. The rest were a mixture of the various groups that comprised the League. Hardin was here with Roshea, as was Nyna. Palla and Catria were both here, though Minerva seemed to dislike the notion of seeing a mob cheer for her and opted to aid in searching the castle. There were more, nearly half the League was present for this.<p>

Marth opened the castle gates, and beheld the front of his home and castle. It was wet and almost swamp-like, but such a sight was not unknown to him. He remembered it raining hard in Altea before, and the wet look of the land was actually nostalgic to him. What was new was the massive throng of Alteans waiting beneath him, numberings in the thousands… maybe even hundreds of thousands. At the sight of their prince, the people broke into cheer.

More then just the prince, their cheers were for all the members of the League present, but none received their cheers quite like Marth.

'Star and Savior' was the most recurring chant they used to praise their prince. Marth suspected that their praise should be more begrudging, considering that he had fled the nation, but perhaps they were more cheering for the end of Morzas' reign. Whatever the case, he walked forward, waving and smiling at the people, which seemed to make them only cheer even louder.

Palla felt a little overwhelmed. In Macedon, it was uncommon for others besides those she was familiar with to look on her agreeably. Now, she was a partial recipient to the cheers from this massive crowd ahead of her. She felt nearly embarrassed, but still smiled, she was fighting the good fight, and the army she was with was making a difference against Dolhr.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, and she noticed one Altean that wasn't cheering. The man had his arms crossed and almost seemed to be seething. Palla was surprised at first, here was a man that was upset when he should have been possessed by wild celebration. She focused on the man's face, and suddenly recognized him. It was the same Altean she had encountered when scouting the nation with Wolf, the one who believed that fighting Dolhr was a fool's errand, and that Marth had abandoned his nation in cowardice. Even now, he seemed to think little of the prince, and just looked at Marth scornfully, and at times, he looked at her. Palla's eyes narrowed in clear disgust.

"What are you looking at, Palla?" Only now did she realize how fixated her eyes were, and turned to Roshea, who was tilting his head in confusion. The Aurelian seemed a little flustered at the cheers, and Palla smiled at his endearing red cheeks, but then she frowned.

"When I scouted Altea with Wolf, we met a man who said that liberation from Dolhr was a delusion, and said that anyone who tried to fight Dolhr was simply begging to be killed. I called him out on that… and it looks like he's holding a grudge." She pointed a finger into the crowd, Roshea followed the finger and spotted the man she was talking about.

The man looked to be close to Roshea's age, but he must have had a very different set of values. Roshea thought the situation over, and smiled. "Oh, no, let's not be happy because the murderous usurper is gone and peace and stable life has come back. Let's pout and rage because the girl who pointed out how wrong you were ended up being proven right."

Palla blinked at the comment, and struggled to not give a warm laugh. It was a good comment, a bit of light-heartedness, which she deeply appreciated, on what had otherwise been a depressing and somber day.

Catria could tell that though Marth's face wore a smile, his… face on the inside, one might say, wore no such expression. He still wore a heavy burden, and he hadn't come to terms with his mother's death yet. Catria wished she could be a source of comfort for him…

She watched Marth throughout the long hour spent in front of the crowd, every so often, she could tell that he was blinking back tears. If only she could shoulder some of that pain for him, but she was just a bodyguard.

* * *

><p>Slowly, the crowd trickled away, including the man Roshea felt a crippling wish to jeer at. The League soldiers who had come out turned around and went back into the castle. Just as they entered the hall, Sedgar approached them.<p>

"Prince Marth." The Aurelian bowed respectfully.

"You have found something?" Marth asked, most of the League dispersed to see to some other duty, and only a handful stayed with Marth.

Sedgar was quiet, and Marth noticed that the Aurelian looked a little paler then usual. "I… Wolf and I, went into the Master Bedroom, where your parents used to sleep. The Manakete…"

Marth's stomach grew uncomfortable at Sedgar's pause and notable discomfort, the Aurelian had seen atrocity in Aurelis, so… what had seemingly rattled him? Sedgar remained silent for several seconds, then reluctantly began to form words. "He's turned it into a dungeon, and, and… you… should just see it. I can't put those sights into words."

Marth felt himself grow sick, afraid to see what seemed to have unnerved Sedgar, but inclined his head toward the soldier. "Thank you, Sedgar, continue your search elsewhere."

* * *

><p>The doors to his parent's bedroom. The door looked no different then it used to, large, regal red doors with ornate gold lining across it. It looked formal and powerful, but welcoming at the same time. It was similar to Cornelius himself, Altea's king had been commanding and had an air of authority around him, but he was still approachable. Marth tried to steel himself for this, but it seemed to simply unnerve him.<p>

The other royalty in the League decided to enter with him, and so, Hardin, Caeda, Minerva, and Nyna were also here. Catria was here as well, insisting that she could be an 'off-duty bodyguard'.

Marth stepped forward, placing a hand on the doorknob, he hesitated for a moment, but then partially brushed his tension aside and forced himself to open the door.

He wished he hadn't.

When he walked into the room, the first thing he noticed was how dimly lit the room was. He turned to the side and thought that the walls looked… funny. At first it seemed to be a strange paint design, perhaps it was some Dolhrian design. When he looked closer, he saw what it really was. Flesh, thick strands of human flesh draped on the walls. Bloody and rotting, the strands were giving off the most putrid stench.

In an attempt to look away from the flesh, he sent his eyes skyward. It was a mistake. He saw that Morzas had had dozens of spikes built into the ceiling, and corpses were impaled on them. Most of them looked to be drained of blood, Marth looked down to see that the floor was red, but here and there the original blue carpet could be seen. He was walking atop dried Altean blood that had dripped out of these… suspended corpses. On top of the spikes, long strands of flesh hung from the ceiling, dangling down and needing to be brushed aside when you walked.

In some parts of the ceiling, there were no spikes or strands of flesh, but there were noose's hanging down. Marth couldn't find one that didn't have a corpse hanging on it. Normally, when the noose was used for execution it was tied around a criminal's neck and then the criminal was dropped a short distance to break his neck with the sudden stop. It was unpleasant, but supposedly it was relatively quick. Marth could tell that these people, who had done no wrong, had been hung up and had suffocated with the tight rope around their necks.

Pikes were around the room, each with an impaled head on them. Every head was frozen in the same expression of mixed agony and fear.

Corpses were all around the room, bunched arbitrarily in corners only so that Morzas and his servants could continue to walk throughout the room without obstruction. Some of the corpses had metal pipes and blades sticking into them, many had large parts of their bodies seemingly removed. It was like Morzas had experimented on how dismembered a person could become before they died. Marth felt beyond sick in his stomach at these sights.

Parts of bodies were strewn around. It seemed that, at times, Morzas opted to simply hack some people to pieces and didn't bother to clean them up. Painful, but compared to some of these other sights, it seemed to be one of the more merciful methods the Manakete had employed. Marth looked around, it was impossible to tell exactly how every victim had died, some looked to have been torn into small, impossible to identify parts.

Nyna had a weak stomach, and looked ready to vomit at the sight of these hundreds of corpses. There had been death in the Archanean cells, yes, but nothing like this. _Nothing_ of this cruelty and scope. As she looked at the corpses, a thought occurred to her, but she did not dare speak it, especially in front of Marth. She wondered if Queen Liza's body was here, somewhere.

The door creaked open behind them, a youthful voice spoke up. "Might be something in here."

Hardin turned to the familiar voice. One of his men was innocently wandering in while trying to search the castle, and he knew that this one was not meant to see these sights. "Roshea, get out! There are some things you're not meant to see!"

"You're in here, Coyot-" The door was already open, and Roshea cut himself off and stared wide-eyed at the sights around him. His voice had sounded formal but relaxed a second ago, but he took in a ragged breath at the sights in the room. Slowly, his eyes registered everything that Marth, Hardin, and the princesses had already seen. Hardin clenched his fists and shut his eyes, chiding himself for not thinking to outright forbide Roshea from coming in here earlier. Roshea had seen it all, and nothing could make him just forget about these sights.

Something near a corpse caught Roshea's eye, and he walked over to it. Crouching down, he picked up a small, soft object. Looking over it, it looked like a children's toy, a small female doll. Looking back down, he realized it had been right by the hand of a very… small, headless corpse.

"Roshea, you… you should leave." Hardin said softly. Roshea's head bowed down, tightly holding the small toy that some young child must have been holding onto when he, or she, was dragged into the castle. He didn't nod, but he turned to the doors and slowly walking out of the room.

Marth shook his head, then turned around to continue to examine the room, but Catria got in front of him.

"You should leave too, prince Marth." She said, standing firmly in front of him. "You've seen enough for today, you don't need to be in here anymore."

A part of him was tempted to do just that, but the passionate side of him disagreed. "I need to be in here and see everything, Catria. I won't accept just leaving, I need to see exactly what's been happening to-"

"You've seen too much for one day." Catria interrupted, forgetting or ignoring the fact that she shouldn't speak this way to a member of a royal family. "I want you to leave for your own sake, but if you won't leave by yourself, I'll force you out of the room." Marth was taken aback by the semi-threat. Catria's expression made it clear that she wasn't bluffing. "Considering all that you've seen today, together with the fight with Grust, Dolhr, and the Manakete, I _know_ you've overexerted yourself. I'd be able to overpower you right now, and you know it."

Catria glanced to the side, the other royalty seemed shocked by her words, but they all nodded in agreement. Marth needn't to stop seeing these sights, at least for the rest of today.

For a moment, Marth looked ready to aggressively protest, invoking his authority as commander of the Archanean League, but, he didn't seem to be able to bring himself to rage right now, especially at an ally and friend. He sighed bitterly, Catria grabbed him to lead him out of the room before anything else could happen.

Caeda grew slightly agitated as Catria put her arm around Marth's. She quickly shook her head, the atrocities that Altea went through took greater precedence then any jealousy.

"I doubt this is the Manaketes at their worse." Hardin coolly said, looking grimly at the sights around him. He wished Roshea had never caught a glimpse of these sights, he didn't need to see them. Nor did Marth, it was the last thing the Altean prince needed to see right now, after everything else he had seen in Altea.

Minerva's eyes darted to the door, and it was clear that she wanted to leave, they all did, but no one seemed to want to suggest it. She simply crossed her arms and seemed to slightly rock herself. Her thoughts were on the fact that Michalis was in alliance with people who performed acts like this. She wanted to believe that Michalis was oblivious, but she doubted he was. He was too inquisitive for this to slip past him, he… he couldn't possible condone it, it wasn't like him to turn a blind eye to something like this. Michalis would never do something like this, no matter what words Dolhr might whisper to him, yet… She remembered him once saying that it wasn't Macedon's duty to leap to Altea's defense when the madness started, maybe he reasoned that it wasn't Macedon's duty to leap to Altea's aid when they people were mistreated.

"This room once belonged to Marth's parents." Hardin noted. Try as he might, he couldn't see this particular room looking pleasant in any context. It seemed impossible for this room to be anything but a death chamber. All he saw was the bloody splatters and the mistreated corpses. He sighed, feeling an obligation to watch out for Marth for the sake of Cornelius and Liza. He turned to the three princesses, saying the words that they all wanted to hear. "Let's leave, there are things to do besides gawk in horror."

* * *

><p>"Gordin…"<p>

Lena, Maria, and Wrys had done all they could, and the burn damage Gordin took from Morzas' breath was completely gone. Yet he hadn't woken up yet. The Staffs could handle external damages, like the burns, but if the inflicted trauma caused his body to just fail on its own, there was nothing they could do.

Norne stayed by Gordin. Even if prince Marth himself came and told her to do something else, she wouldn't leave Gordin's side. So here she was, carefully and cautiously watching Gordin's heaving chest to determine how well he was breathing. Sometimes his breathing seemed to slow, and something inside of her died, but his breath went back to regular pace soon enough.

She thought back to when they first met, on the ship that would spirit Marth to safety in Talys. She smugly assumed that she might have been the better archer, and then Gordin tried to cover for her for an argument _she_ started when Jagen scolded them. In Talys, he taught her how to make her own arrows, and was with her every time she trained. When the war started, he tried to reassure her when she grew uncomfortable with the killing, was patient with her when the other soldiers might have just kicked her from the army… and, and…

Her feelings for him had, at some point, grown deeper then friendship. She was… drawn to him. She realized it in Khadein not long ago…

As all the thoughts came and went in her mind, something snapped in her. She reached trembling hands out and gently laid them both on Gordin's chest.

"Gordin. Gordin, listen to me. I…" the rational part of her hesitated and told her to not speak another word, but the emotional side forced her to keep talking. "I… I love you and I need you here with me. I don't want it all to end for us just as we take Altea back. Please, please don't die." Her eyes welled up with tears, they fell and wetted the fabric of Gordin's clothes. As Gordin threatened to leave the world, Norne spoke words that she would have been too scared to speak otherwise. "Please, Gordin, please live. I… I'll hold you in my arms, and I won't let go until you understand how I feel. I'll stand by you and be everything you could ever need me to be. Just… just live, _please_!"

No reaction came, and she leaned forward, placing one hand on his cheek. Lowering her head, she kissed him. She tried to put all of her feelings into the one gesture of affection.

With her eyes closed, she failed to notice… that Gordin's eyes were slowly opening.

A small, strange sound came from Gordin, and Norne pulled back in shock, moving back to an upright sitting position, her cheeks turning a rosy red as Gordin's head weakly turned to her. Nervously, she leaned in again, putting her arms under Gordin's back and scooping him up.

"Gordin, I… please, listen to me, I just want to say, I want you to know that-"

"N-Norne…" Gordin said slowly, as if talking to painful. "Stay with me." He said, raising a trembling, still hurting arm up and grabbed her by the back of her head. "Stay with me."

On some level, in some spiritual way, he heard her confession of feeling, and he returned them. His hand gently pulled her in, and they shared a kiss.

Not for an instant did Norne ever think she would find love, of all things, in this war, but nothing could change how she now felt about the boy she held in her arms, who probably wasn't even able to stand on his own right now. She held him close in a tight embrace, and only after their kiss must have lasted a little over a minute did she finally pull back.

Gordin seemed to return the embrace, but in his state, he seemed to more hang onto Norne then anything else. Words seemed to hold no meaning as this precise moment. Relief at his survival swept through Norne. It was like water come to cleanse her of all the unpleasant feelings. She was… happy, and so was he. She looked over the state he was in, and vowed to protect him until he was ready to fight again, and even when he marched once more, her protective eyes would always be on him.

Across the throne room, Jeorge and Athena watched the two. They had both been trying to see this happen. In both of their eyes, the two archers had been made for each other.

"It's about time." Jeorge said quietly, being careful to speak low enough so that the two didn't hear them.

Athena smirked, "Vell, ve think they can go by themselves from here." With a shared nod, the two left the throne room. It seemed that at least two members of the League had gotten an undeniable happy ending to this somber day.

* * *

><p>"What's wrong, Roshea?" Linde asked, her friend had sat down, seemingly sulking for quite some time now. She had been busy talking to Merric, happy for his survival against the Mage Dragon. Her heart had nearly stopped as he explained about a Manakete that was effectively immune to magic She had fretted over Merric's safety well after the fight was over, holding him close to her despite his lack of injuries. Now, she turned her attention to Roshea, scooting over to the troubled boy and placed her hand on Roshea's shoulder. Roshea barely responded to the friendly, comforting gesture, his eyes were fixed on his hands in his lap, they were folded together, and seemed to be holding… something, in them.<p>

Linde held in the sigh she wanted to give, any outward sign of frustration wasn't going to help her here.

Merric raised his eyebrow, wondering what Roshea had to brood about. He sat down next to Linde, looking across the bench to Roshea. "Hey, what's the matter? We just won back Altea. That's something to celebrate. Just like taking back Aurelis was something to celebrate." Roshea didn't even respond, he simply stared off, it was impossible to tell if he was looking at something specifically or if his eyes looked only at empty space.

Wolf stood in the room, standing across from the three, not speaking. He was… aware, of what the master bedroom of the castle had been turned into, he had found it with Sedgar, and he had been told that Roshea had stumbled upon those sights. Consoling was not his field of expertise, and Roshea would have to confront these dark feelings on his own. Roshea's eldest brother felt bothered by being unable to help him, but he would, at the very least, watch him during this moment of deep vexation. He contemplated forcing Linde and Merric to both leave, but until Roshea implied in some manner that the two were annoying him, he would tolerate their presence. And, he did not feel inclined to tell the two about the sights, if Roshea wanted it to be brought up, he would bring it up himself.

"Roshea, please tell me what's wrong. If it's anything I can at least _try_ to help you with…" Linde spoke softly, nearly pleading. She didn't want to see any of her friends troubled like this. Roshea's head only slightly turned to her direction. The haunted look in his eyes seemed to make it clear that she wouldn't like to know what disturbed him, but if she thought she could help her friend, then…

The door to the room opened. Linde turned her head to see Palla walk in. The Macedonian seemed to be generally content at the moment, serious but just slightly optimistic, if her stride was a good way to judge her current mood. She noticed Wolf and tried to walk a little more properly, hoping to do something that might make the critical Wolf look upon her favorably. She grew nervous, remembering the awkwardness that gripped her when she stared at Wolf earlier, and then she spotted Roshea.

"Roshea?" The Whitewing tilted her head in confusion and approached the Aurelian, sitting herself down next to him. Right now, he was a far cry from the youth who made a nice, if snide, comment about the grudge-holding Altean. He was normally enthusiastic, but something was very wrong with him right now. "Did something happen?" She placed a hand on Roshea's lap.

For several seconds, Roshea said nothing, his head sinking down again. He sighed, at Palla and Linde and Merric's gentle prodding, he slowly reached a decision to answer their questions.

"I… went into what used to be the king and queen's bedchamber." Roshea closed his eyes, all the pain and suffering flashing under his eyelids, the images already permanently embedded in his mind, and no one could do anything about that. "That Manakete… turned it into a death chamber. There was so many bodies, and they had been killed in so many ways, and…" he separated his two hands to reveal a small doll. The long hair of the doll was all that revealed that it was supposed to be female. There was something dry and red along the tiny doll's chest. Palla's eyes widened and recognized it as dry blood.

"I… found this in the room." Roshea began to speak, his voice starting to break. "I thought Aurelis had it bad. What Dolhr did to Altea, it… it's too… much…"

Linde took a slow, horrified breath in, then grabbed the doll from Roshea's hand, holding it in her lap. If the thing could talk, the tale it would tell would be a disturbing one. She already knew that Roshea had found it near the corpse of a child. Turning to Roshea, she didn't know what to say, nor did she have any idea as to how to help Roshea confront these feelings of his.

Palla's mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but then it slowly closed. She placed a sympathetic hand on Roshea's cheek for a moment and then began to stand up. "I'll go check the room, I'll be back after I see what you're talk-"

"No." Roshea said weakly, pathetically. He stretched a hand out and grabbing Palla by her hand. "You… you don't need to see it Palla. Please, don't force yourself to see it. Just… just stay here."

Palla was touched at Roshea's concern for her peace of mind, but more of her overflowed with pity and sympathy for the boy. She sat back down, placing a hand on Roshea's shoulder. "Whatever you saw, I'm sorry you had to see it." Her hand, she hoped it would seem comforting to him, but doubted it would soothe him, fell on his shoulder. "I wish I would have been the one to see it, and not you."

"Roshea, I don't know exactly what you saw, but I'm sure, you shouldn't have seen it. I'm sorry…" Linde whispered. Her eyes closed, she had seen plenty of uncalled for brutality, and even killings, in the slave market she had found herself in, but that was committed by people. What was committed by Manaketes must have made the slave masters seem like gentle souls. No matter how horrible it was, she'd have taken all the horror in Roshea and take it into herself for his sake.

Palla pulled Roshea to her, placing his head gently onto her breastplate. Linde and Merric both seemed to take a slight, wordless offense to Palla's attempt to comfort their close friend. Wolf took notice at how Roshea didn't even try to protest, and instead just closed his eyes, letting some of his woes out with a miserable sigh. He watched as Palla seemed to caress his youngest brother, almost as if she was some sort of loving older sister to Roshea.

The door opened once more, Roshea immediately pulled back from Palla. As sick to his stomach as he felt, he didn't want too many people see him not protesting to comfort like that. Roshea was happy that he reacted fast enough as Vyland walked in. Yet the Aurelian looked at the scene, and his lips curled in disgust.

"Why are you sitting so close to this Macedonian _filth_, Little Roshea?" He demanded, looking scornfully at Palla, who was the sole recipient of all of his anger.

"I… I was just sitting here, Vyland." Roshea said, shrinking away in slight fear at Vyland's tone.

"Then she needs to leave. I won't let scum like this whisper into your ear." He advanced a step, intending on saving his younger brother from whatever corrupting, honeyed words the Macedonian might try to speak. Palla started to recoil in fear as Vyland advanced at her.

Roshea bolted up and got between Palla and Vyland, stretching his arms out to act as a human shield. "Don't hurt her, Vyland."

Vyland stopped his advance, and blinked in confusion. "Roshea, get out of the way. Scum need to be put in their place. Especially scum like that."

"No." Roshea shook his head, refusing. "Palla… Palla is my friend."

Palla gulped in a large breath and stared tensely at the scene unfolding before her, one that was apparently required to happen by virtue of her nationality. Seeing Roshea having to stand up to his family for her sake made her stomach twist in shame, she opened her mouth, but no words came.

"She's my friend, just like how Merric and Linde are my friends." Palla glanced at the two mages, a little shocked that Roshea placed her in his personal social circle. She turned back to Roshea and Vyland, she gaped for a moment before mentally kicking herself.

"I am your brother, Little Roshea." Vyland rumbled, shaken that Roshea had struck up a friendship with a Macedonian.

"And because you're my brother, I want you to make the right decision." Roshea answered the words as calmly as he could. "You've been able to look at the actual person with everyone else, why not with Palla as well?"

Vyland's fists clenched and unclenched in a cycle of mixed disgust and shock. "We can not forget what Macedon has done to Aurelis. If everyone else forgets, I will remember."

"I haven't forgotten, and they haven't forgotten." Roshea spoke quickly before Vyland could continue his point. "I… I can close my eyes and still see Aurelian houses burning down, the occupants roasting. I haven't forgotten, but…"

The words stung Palla, but she refused to tear herself away from them. Though she was an unwilling participant, she had carried some torches herself. She looked at Roshea, noticing, for the first time, one of her friends was actually a person who had plenty of reason to hate and despise her, in the same manner in which Vyland hated her.

Roshea's arm fell limply to his side, and his head bowed down. He spoke slowly, as he finished one word he didn't know what his next would be. "They… Coyote gave princess Minerva a chance to redeem herself. We, Coyote's soldiers, should be able to do the same for her soldiers. Vyland…" for just a fraction of a second, Roshea's facial expression looked almost accusingly at his brother, but immediately softened. "You've been very aggressive at Palla and Catria, and they've yet to truly do anything wrong within our ranks. Please, be fair to them. For… my sake."

Vyland stared dumbly at Roshea, gaping at the sight of Roshea pleading for Palla's sake, then a hand grabbed Vyland's shoulder.

Palla's eyes widened as Wolf's hand crunched down on Vyland's shoulder in a reprimanding fashion. "I can say nothing about Catria, Vyland, but Palla is not unpleasant as a person. If you cannot bring yourself to like her, you should have little trouble tolerating her."

Vyland looked at Wolf, then back at Palla. The Whitewing was looking at Wolf. She might have been relieved, and probably should have been relieved, but for some reason, her heart sank at the fact that Wolf only spoke well of her as a person, and seemed to withhold any comment about her as a soldier.

"Hmm." Vyland grunted, relaxing his muscles as a sense of calmness beat back his anger. "Very well, if both of you seem intent on speaking in her defense, then I guess she might be okay." He twisted his lips slightly, seemingly wanting to say something more, but decided against it. He still bore a grudge against all things Macedonian, but was willing to drop it for today. Turning, he moved to a door, looking over his shoulder at Roshea, the youngest of the four seemed relieved and… _proud_, that Vyland choose against violence. Feeling a little awkward, and with his mind swirling with thoughts about Roshea's collection of friends, Vyland hastened to leave the room.

"I'm… sorry about that." Roshea said, turned around to Palla.

Palla was speechless, but smiled at how Roshea, even in the grip of horror, still moved to protect a… friend. She nodded a heartfelt thanks. Roshea seemed to be in slightly higher spirits, and declined to mention his previous horror. Instead, he looked around, embarrassed at Palla, Linde, and Merric looking at him with awe.

Linde hid the doll she was holding, then looked at Roshea affectionately. She had a fine friend, certainly. She was honestly proud of him, and happy that he wasn't brooding anymore. Hopefully, he had temporarily forgotten those sights.

Wolf looked at the situation, and saw plainly well that Roshea had not forgotten what he has seen not even an hour ago, but the horror was, for now, submerged under elation. Roshea did not smile, but offered a content sigh, then started for one of the doors. Wolf followed Roshea out of the room.

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><p>"My friends and family are the most important things to me, but I'm still bothered by… those sights." Roshea said in a hall, not as haunted as he had been earlier, but the images would not disappear with such merciful speed. "We have to keep fighting… to stop things like that from ever happening again. Nothing should have to go through what Altea did." He allowed himself a bitter smirk at the awkward situation. They were going to kill to stop people from killing. The strange situation that the army fighting for peace was in.<p>

Wolf said nothing in response to his youngest brother's statement. Roshea looked at his non talkative older brother, wondering if Wolf wanted to hear him continue or not. He could see Wolf's wordless approval, but he knew that Wolf would approve of things that he did when he would harshly criticize anyone else saying or doing the same thing. Roshea was ready to continue talking, but someone suddenly stalked past both of them.

_Navarre._ Roshea beheld the swordsman. A man who seemed to be the avatar of death… he wondered exactly how Navarre responded to Dolhr's activities in Altea. It was no great secret that Navarre had sown more then his fair share of death throughout his life, killing good and bad people without distinction. His skill with the blade was all that everyone knew about him.

"Navarre." Roshea addressed, Wolf stopped his movement and turned, honestly caught off-guard by who Roshea just spoke to. Navarre ceased all movement, and slowly turned his head to Roshea, with cold eyes boring into Roshea, he waited soundlessly for the Aurelian to speak.

"Are you anxious for this war to end?" He asked, curious as to what the man thought. Surely even a person as cold, unfeeling, and bloodthirsty as Navarre knew that it was better to live in peace. "There's so much killing, and hardship, and the things we have to see, and do. Even those who live for the thrill of combat must be sickened by all the death."

"I don't want it to ever end." Came Navarre's pragmatic answer, Roshea flinched in shock. Navarre would have walked away right there, but Roshea's reaction compelled him to say something further. "I am no different from any other soldier in the League. We live and breath for blood and battle. Without warfare, we have no reason to exist. We have no reason to want this war to end. No one who fights should long for peace. As long as this war continues, there is value to our skills. As long as we have something to fight…"

With that, Navarre walked off. Wolf laid his hand upon the shaken Roshea. Despite laying claim to a similar level of skill, Wolf did not agree with Navarre's outlook. There was nothing wrong or unusual about a soldier wanting peace, even if some soldiers wandered without purpose through the city alleys in times of peace and stability. Coyote, along with Sedgar, Roshea, and even the easily angered Vyland wanted a conclusion to this war that resulted in peace and integrity for the whole of the continent. They wanted peace… and Wolf understood the value of peace. Navarre's point of view was flawed, an eternal war aided no one but the most single-mindedly bloodthirsty. Nations could only be bettered after a war was over, and no sooner.

"It's time to rest for today, Roshea." Wolf said in an uncharacteristically soft voice. He decided that now was the time for his youngest brother to lay his head down for the day. By now, the sun must already be in the midst of its trip past the horizon, and the day had seemed longer then most.

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><p>"There is nothing more you need to do today as commander of the League." Minerva had found Marth simply stalking the halls of the castle, clearly agitated at how bittersweet victory had been today. He had been witness to the butchering and warping of his nation, and his own mother's skull being tossed at his feet. He still had no clue to the whereabouts of his sister, the fact that he hadn't completely broken down was worthy of admiration, but Minerva felt compelled to say something to the prince.<p>

"What are you suggesting?" Marth demanded, his words seemed calm, but they had a subtle rage to them. This, more then any other time, was a time where Marth would be ruled by his more volatile emotions.

He would learn that Minerva was going to have little patience for that. "You should get some rest, Marth. You have seen _enough_ for one day, Hardin and I can handle the military aspects until you are returned to us."

"If it's _my_ land that's been butchered, I will not simply lie down while other people examine the situation for me."

Minerva reached a hand out and grabbed Marth by his collar. "I want you to get some _rest_." The words were a fierce growl, Marth was genuinely intimidated. "It's for your sake Marth. Furthermore, let me assure you that I am not known for having a gentle touch, if you force me to manhandle you, it will _not _be pleasant."

Marth postured with defiance, Minerva was unimpressed and glared back, wordlessly saying that Marth wasn't entitled to argue. Weathered from the events of the day, Marth had little willpower or nerve left, faced with Minerva, something inside him seemed to, for just this moment, give up. Minerva's grip weakened, and she looked genuinely sympathetic to how Marth must have been feeling, and backed off. The hand that was holding Marth by his collar released, then wrapped around Marth and pulled him to her in a one-armed platonic hug.

"If it looks acceptably close to how you remember it, I would ask you to rest in your room." Marth did not protest, and Minerva led him to the hallway they had fought in that contained his room and his sister's room. She kept Marth from looking at the master bedroom that once belonged to his parents.

Brandishing Hauteclere, she opened the door to his room, scanning carefully for any sign that a Dolhrian might be biding his time in the room. There was nothing Dolhrian in the room… in fact, it looked like it had been untouched since the day Altea buckled from Gra's betrayal. At the very least, Minerva estimated that no one had been here for at least a year, judging by the dust. She brushed some dust off of his bed, and turned to Marth. She studied Marth, strong in the face of everything that had happened, but clearly in the verge of despair. She admitted that she would not have taken such sights as well as he had if all of this had happened to Macedon, and she had had Michalis' skull tossed at her feet.

He might feel somewhat mocked to see his room change so little when everything that mattered changed so much, but it would have to be one final thing for Marth to face today.

As Minerva left the room, with Marth hopefully taking the chance to lie down and rest for tomorrow, she ran into Hardin. "Hardin, we should investigate if there are any final strongholds of Dolhr or Grust left in the nation, for Marth's sake. I want to let him know that they've truly been thrown out of his nation entirely."

"Already done." Hardin answered like he had expected the question, and he probably did. Minerva waited, tensing at how the investigation had gone. "Castle Helena, an old supply castle on the outskirts of Altea remains firmly in Grustian hands. They're keeping a sturdy arm around the people living in that area as well. One corner of Altea yet remains under control of the Dolhr Alliance."

Minerva closed her eyes and took the information in, then nodded, ready to do Marth a favor by liberating the last of his nation for him. "We leave tomorrow."

"Hopefully with a commander less emotionally distraught."

Minerva paused, stumbling a bit at the words, wondering if she should be offended for Marth's sake. Then, after some thought, the corner of her lips curled into a mirthful smirk.

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><p><strong>The master bedroom scene was written while listening to the tune 'Scared' from the Twilight Princess sountrack, FYI.<strong>

**Please review.**


	30. Castle Helena

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>"What did you say?" Dactyl raged at the messenger before him. He had been in high spirits only seconds ago, sitting in the inner sanctum of Castle Helena and eating a tough, meaty meal picked out of the land of Altea. Now a messenger was before him, and it was impossible for Dactyl to retain his composure in the face of the news. News so urgent that the messenger had forced his way through the guards and demanded he be allowed to deliver.<p>

"Exactly as I said, sir." The messenger responded. No one liked being the bearer of bad news, but the messenger took a cold solace in the fact that he'd be dead soon, it didn't matter if it was by Dactyl's hands or another's. Though Dactyl would likely scramble to at least preserve his own life, what was going to happen to all of them was obvious. "Master Morzas was killed, and the… spawn, took back his castle. Scouts have confirmed that the Archanean League is already marching toward Castle Helena."

Dactyl swore and rose from his chair, pacing through the room. Emotions came and went on his face, disbelief, fear, horror, shock. He wanted to say and believe that the messenger and the scouts were all wrong, that Morzas likely beheld Marth's broken body right now. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, denial wouldn't keep him alive, action would. He turned to the messenger.

"All troops that are patrolling the nearby villages are to withdraw to the castle immediately. The castle will be scavenged and the best weapons given to the troops. We will fortify ourselves and wait for their approach." He was saying the words just as the thoughts occurred to him. He needed more time to create a better, more effective plan. He needed every possible asset if he was to hold onto his life. For now, turtling up in Castle Helena was all his frantic mind could conceive. His mind raced, contemplating and comprehending every possible variable that could be shifted to his advantage.

"Dismissed." Dactyl ordered when he noticed that the messenger was just standing there. "I need what precious time I have to think. Relay what I have already said to the soldiers. Do as I say, and we might survive."

"Yes, sir." The messenger bowed. He obediently left, though he sincerely doubted that anything Lord Dactyl came up with would allow them to live. General Hollstadt could not stop them, and immediately after that battle, Morzas could not stop them, and the League had most likely had a restful night. Lord Dactyl had no chance at this.

"I need… something, anything to tip the scales in my favor." Dactyl paced back and forth, his fingers stroking his beard with anxiety. As he thought hard about whatever advantageous thing he could have, he failed to noticed that his hand was starting to jerk his head around by the beard.

After only a few seconds of thought, Dactyl's movement stopped and his bowed head bolted upright like some realization had hit him.

"Magic." He said, snapping his fingers. "Magic." He turned to the doors. "Guards, attend me. Now."

* * *

><p>Gordin was finding it exceptionally difficult to keep pace with the other soldiers of the League. Most of his body, his legs in particular, still ached with pain when he asked them to move. He kept walking alongside everyone, but he wasn't standing up strong and proud like everyone else was.<p>

Though he would be present as a League soldier, he was going to stay behind as the others went ahead. His body needed more time to completely recover from the Mage Dragon's breath, as Lena ruled after examining the now conscious boy. Still, despite his current weakness, his sacrifice for Norne's sake seemed to be the talk of the army. Seemingly everyone had heard about him saving Norne from Morzas, and it seemed that everyone wanted to go up to him and give him a pat on the back, despite that currently being one of the more sensitive parts of his body. The shy boy blushed from the attention.

Norne was around, of course. She and Gordin had had their confessions yesterday, something they would not have had the courage to do if Gordin's body hadn't threatened to become lifeless on the ground. She walked faithfully beside him, her hand gently on his shoulder, her fingers not pressing hard enough to discomfort his damaged flesh. She was looking at Gordin with much more then just friendly concern, and was oblivious to the fact that several League soldiers were looking at her with a grin.

She was silently happy that Gordin wouldn't be participating in this battle. She worried about him all the time, but now the sense of concern and protectiveness had spiked. With the feelings admitted, and Gordin having entered her heart and shut the door behind him, she wanted them both to live past this war so they could finally spend time together in peace.

It would have been her wish for Gordin to not participate in any further battles, but she knew he would never accept that. He still felt compelled by his duties. If she made drama out of wanting him to _not_ take part in the fighting, it wouldn't stop him from going to fight. She'd just make him miserable about the fact that he would upset her by upholding his duties as a knight.

A shy, almost timid boy certainly hadn't been her idea of her very own prince charming in the past, but she didn't want to separate from Gordin. There was… something about Gordin, something she always wanted to hold close to her. Without realizing it, she started to walk a little closer to Gordin.

As the rear of the army had many light-hearted thoughts centering on the two Altean archers, the front of the army was far more focused on the next task.

"Are you ready for this?" Minerva asked from the saddle of her Wyvern, her eyes were on Marth, much more composed after a long night's rest, but he still looked haunted and disturbed. "This isn't the core of Altea, Marth, it shouldn't be as integral or as important to you. If you wish Hardin and I to handle this fight for you, we will."

"I am fine." Marth said with surprising calmness. He turned to Minerva, "Even the outskirts of the nation is still Altea, my kingdom, and I must have a hand in its liberation. Anything less would be shirking my duties as prince. I will still lead the League, even now."

Minerva accepted that and slowly nodded, though she found herself being increasingly gripped by a desire to fight Marth's battles for him. "If that's how you see it Marth, I just worry about you. After the sights you saw all throughout yesterday… I wouldn't want to place too much on rattled shoulders."

Marth looked at Minerva with a look she couldn't read, but it _looked_ like a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Now you're starting to sound like Caeda or Nyna. I appreciate your concerns, but I can handle myself."

The Macedonian princess frowned at Marth's light-hearted annoyance, it seemed more like a friendly tease directed at her then anything else. She considered speaking further, saying or asking… something, to leave Marth in an awkward position and let her have some form of last word, but decided against it. She turned back to the front, seeing Castle Helena appear in the distance from behind the fog. Not a large, imposing structure, it looked more like a large bunker, and inside was a storage filled with countless weapons and supplies. Things that were rightfully Altean… and stolen by Dolhr and Grust.

"The last battle for Altea." Marth muttered. He steeled himself, even if this was likely to be a minor, uneventful battle against the last trace of the Dolhr Alliance in his land.

* * *

><p>"I trust that you have the maturity to not hold a grudge, mage." Dactyl said, carefully concealing his tension and nervousness. A red haired man in the robe of a mage stood before him, his hands still held in iron bands. His body was lightly bruised from when he had been arrested several days earlier. Dactyl stood with dignity across the room, nothing betraying the worries and concerns he held in his heart. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the whole situation, but understand this, a group that would not hesitate to gut you and leave you with your entrails hanging out is approaching us right now."<p>

The mage, Etzel, stood unimpressed with the statement. His two eyes, one behind a monocle, gazed coldly at Dactyl. "An enemy so strong that you'd seek to specifically ask me for aid? I can only assume that they faced and defeated the Manakete. You'd be a cow ready for the slaughterhouse against them."

It was only with an inhumane effort that Dactyl kept himself looking amused rather then outraged at Etzel's arrogant comment. "These foes are not so powerful, mage. I'd simply rather increase my strengths in this battle. Sometimes even the slightest of things can be advantageous. That is why you are here." Dactyl approached Etzel, being careful to make it seem like Etzel would have been a desirable asset, and not something that victory would wholly hinge upon. He suspected that the mage would try to spin things to his advantage if it seemed at though Dactyl _needed_ his aid. "Your freedom can be but a step away, mage. Simply aid us in routing this mindless mob who thinks they can defeat me. You may go free after that. We are allies in this. We share a common enemy. Aid my troops and we can all walk away happy."

Etzel's eyes didn't turn hopeful for a second, but rather narrowed as if Dactyl's proposition was a bad joke. "Never." Dactyl's heart briefly stopped at the word. "I'd rather die then aid a man who is like a toddler with authority."

"Rather die?" Dactyl shook his head, looking more like a parent dissatisfied with a wayward child, rather then a man held in the grip of horror, as he truly was. "Then that is your choice. You will bear the consequences of it." He motioned at a guard in the room. "This one is useless, strip him of all valuables and ready him for use as a meat shield."

The guard stepped forward, he looked over Etzel for a moment, then turned to Dactyl. "There's nothing to strip him of. We took the tome away from him already. The only thing valuable he has left is the ring." He reached a hand out and grabbed Etzel's bicep to hold it in place, then reached his other hand out to try and grab an unremarkable ring on Etzel's finger.

"_No_!" Etzel roared without warning. Caught off-guard, the soldier jumped back. Etzel seized the opportunity, swinging his arms, slamming the metal bindings around his wrists into the soldier's temple.

The soldier fell, Dactyl's eyes widened with shock at the reaction.

A second soldier stepped forward, Etzel tried to strike this one as well, but found himself knocked to the ground when the soldier dodged the attack and sent his fist into Etzel's chin.

Etzel fell, and could only watch as the second soldier grabbed his hand and took the ring off of his finger.

"No, no… not-" Etzel tried to stand up, but the first soldier, now risen, placed an armored boot on Etzel's chest. Frantically, he started to flail in an attempt to rise. "Ursula! Ursula's ring! Give… that… _back_!" He struggled, dislodging the boot on his chest and sprung up. Before anyone could stop him he shoulder-tackled the soldier who was holding the precious, invaluable ring. The ring was knocked from the soldier's grip and flew across the room.

Immediately, Etzel began to move for the ring, but Dactyl stepped in between the mage and his treasured, beautiful ring.

Etzel, with gritted teeth and clenched fists, looked ready to fight tooth and nail to get past Dactyl, then the two soldiers came behind him. One soldier's arms wrapped around Etzel, limiting all use of the mage's arms. Etzel immediately began to fight back, throwing his head back and slamming his head into the soldier's chin. The soldier's grip weakened slightly, but he didn't let go. The second soldier came to the front and punched Etzel hard in the face.

For a moment Etzel continued to struggle despite the fresh bruise to his forehead, viciously throwing himself around, but then his movement slowed as the pain coursing through his head took its toll. "Don't… touch… you have… no right… to touch…" Etzel's words grew weaker in tone as his vision seemed to darken. He tried to stretch his arm out, grasping futilely for his ring. He fell unconscious, his head dropping forward.

"Put that one in chains." Dactyl ordered, overruling his precious command to use the mage as a meat shield. The two soldiers obeyed, dragging Etzel away. Dactyl turned and knelt down, picking up the ring. He examined the situation in his head. A mage, one of unremarkable physical strength, had fought like a mad beast and given considerable trouble to two trained soldiers over the ring Dactyl now held in his hand.

"Quite a show over a ring…" Dactyl muttered. The ring was unremarkable, a simple gold band to fit around the finger. He wasn't even remotely curious about what it meant to the mage. Rather, the gears of his mind turned at the thought of how he might be able to use the ring to his benefit…

* * *

><p>"Ready?" Hardin asked as Castle Helena was only a single mile away. Unassuming and minor through it seemed to be, it was a part of Altea, and Grust still held strong within those walls. It was inexcusable to allow them, those who obsequiously followed a murderer like Morzas, to remain in any corner of Altea.<p>

"There's nothing to wait for." Marth responded, "Every second is another one Grust can use to ready a defense. They've probably already equipped themselves with the best weaponry and armor that was stored there." His hands clenched, Hardin could tell that Marth considered it unacceptable for those troops to have pilfered Altean arms for themselves.

"They won't have the skill to use them." Hardin said confidently, "We've seen enough of Grust troops to know what to expect from them. We have nothing to be worried about."

Marth hoped that was right. They had previously fought enemies that were much more fortified, but never this well supplied. Castle Helena never drew much attention in the past, despite being the greatest safe house of arms for the entire nation. Now, his enemies were holed up in the castle. He didn't know Helena like he did the royal castle, but he understood the basic structure of buildings like this. If, _if_ the equipment Grust had probably already pilfered didn't become a notable factor, this should be a fairly simple battle. Still, this was not the time to be taken by overconfidence.

As he thought, Marth reminded himself that waiting was a fool's game. He turned and looked over the Archanean League, there was no time for a speech, and he didn't care to make one for what would hopefully be a minor skirmish. Instead, he simply gave the order to attack.

* * *

><p>The first Grust soldiers who were standing guard outside the castle knew the League was coming, and were prepared. They wielded some of the finest silver weapons produced from Altean forges, more then capable of breaking through any iron or steel weapon brought against them. Their armor was compact and easy to move around in, and yet offered a truly superior level of protection. The craftsmen would have been proud… if it weren't for who was wielding and wearing the weapons and armor, and the cause the weapons were being wielded for.<p>

The soldiers saw the League's approach. Grust was undoubtedly the better supplied, and still the Grustians grew fearful. These troops were to try and soften the League, and had the numbers to do it, but…

Hollstadt could not defeat them, neither could Morzas. It would be an understatement to call it demoralizing. The League came upon their enemies with confidence, assured that they would be victorious, and Grust responded as well as it could. Their superior weaponry proved to be the great equalizer, a sword or lance forged of superior silver managed to force back a League soldier wielding a steel weapon. Their armor took the damage for them, barely even straining as the League's attacks connected. For a brief moment, one could dare to say that the Grust soldiers had the advantage.

Such a suggestion would prove to be faulty in due time. Linde chanted the words written in her Aura tome and channeled the holy power, the light of Aura fell upon the Grustians. Nearly a dozen Grustians were caught in the blast, the burning light went through the armor as if it wasn't there to bite at fragile flesh. Burnt corpses fell on the ground, corpses of Grustians that had been healthy and fit to fight just a second ago.

Marth was used to seeing magic turn the tides at this point, he and the League advanced almost like they had been expecting the interference. The Grustians, rattled by so many compatriots dying in an instant, fell back, fearfully backing away from the League.

"Onward!" Hardin yelled, raising his lance into the air and urging the soldiers of the League to capitalize on the Grustian's sudden lack of resolve. The League plowed through the Grustians, slaughtering those who stood in their way, trampling those they had felled. The great, gilded armor they had pilfered seemingly no longer offered any protection against the swarm of League troops. Only a few stragglers on the outskirts of the Grustian force were left alive, with their only logical course of action being to flee with their lives still their own, as the League charged into Helena Castle.

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><p>"Quite the episode we had a few minutes ago." Dactyl smirked, his fears lessening for a small moment as he felt a small kernel of hope building in his chest.<p>

Etzel stood, bruised and fatigued. The flames from the braziers illuminated the damage to his skin, but the physical wounds weren't the most notable injury to him. At the loss of his precious ring there was a small bit of brokenness in his eyes as he stood in chains. Yet he wasn't ready to give up fighting either.

"I am many things, mage. Two of those things is 'understanding' and 'merciful'. After some deliberation, I am considering giving you your tawdry ring back."

Dactyl extended a fist out and opened it, revealing Etzel's ring in the palm of his hand. If anything was going to get Etzel's attention at this moment, it was that. He looked at Dactyl, though his expression made it seem as if he had been on the receiving end of the gravest of insults. Had it not been for the chains around him, and the trio of soldiers holding him, he would have doubtlessly lunged at the Grustian General, fighting tooth and nail to take his ring back.

"But…" Dactyl said, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk, his hand clenched into a fist, hiding the ring from sight once more. He crossed his arms. "I am only 'considering'. I'm more focused on the battle that began moments ago. If you go out and fight the mob, I just might be more likely to give it back. I reward my soldiers richly for jobs well done, I'll have you know."

Etzel postured for a second, but then calmed his anger. Not for a second did he trust Dactyl. It was plainly obvious that the man hadn't been doing any 'considering' at all. It was a bribe, and an offer the Grust general did not plan on holding up his end of, but… it also represented Etzel's only hope to get Ursula's Ring back. Swallowing his pride, he spoke.

"And just how, exactly, am I to fight without my tome… _General_?" When he addressed Dactyl, his voice dripped with sarcasm, and the expectation of a broken promise.

Dactyl tensed for a moment, mistrust building in his chest. He believed that the mage was trying to pull something… but then relaxed. _Of course_. He told himself. A mage needed a tome to truly fight. Even one that could overpower two soldiers with his own physical strength.

"Ah, yes. You can have your tome back. I doubt I need to illustrate what will happen to you if you use it to strike down the Grust soldiers… your _allies_."

Etzel flinched at the repulsive notion that Dactyl and his soldiers were his allies. Inclining his head toward Dactyl, but refusing to bow, Etzel accepted the tome that a Grustian handed him. His familiar Elfire tome, and left the door.

_I won't help them._ Etzel told himself as he walked through the fortified and guarded halls of Helena. _I'm only… pretending._ _For now. _The soldiers instructed him to a particular position, he moved there and waited. He waited patiently, today would end with him taking his ring back, or it would see his stiffened corpse. Either way, he knew the Archanean League, the 'mob' as Dactyl referred to them, would win.

Every chest had been ripped open and the contents pilfered by Grustian hands. Now, every soldier stood in gleaming, Altean armor, crafted of Altea's finest resources. The only Grustians who wielded armaments of similar quality was Grust's famed Sable Order.

Etzel looked at the Grustians and scoffed. As they readied themselves with the finest armor to combat the League, it was clear to him that Grust was doomed. They had well-designed weapons and cutting edge defense, gained through theft, but they lacked true strength of arm.

Not that they were weak. Etzel was well aware that these soldiers were strong, Morzas would never have had them keep Altea in a stranglehold otherwise. Yet the events of yesterday had rattled any confidence they had. They yet remained, but many of them were no longer here to fight for Grust's honor, but instead were fighting for their simple survival.

The real question was what would happen to Etzel. He was standing in line with Grust troops, ready to face the Archanean League. They would easily mistake him to be a true enemy. He closed his eyes and silently shook off such thoughts. He wouldn't allow today to see him lose the ring. The… memento… more precious to him then anything else in this world. He could accept death… as long as he held the ring close when it happened.

Sounds of metal striking metal resonating through the halls, Etzel knew that however the battle would end for him, it would be ending soon, so shortly after beginning. Even with high-quality equipment, Grust had no will and spirit on this day, and their fate was already sealed.

* * *

><p>It was an easy battle, but it was progressing slowly. Hardin swept some sweat from his forehead and took in a calming breath before frustration at the slowness of the battle made him make a reckless decision.<p>

The Grustians were well armed and armored. The League had never truly fought enemies who seemed to be so prepared for a full assault. If the Grustians employed strategies beyond the most basic, they would have been a fearsome force. As it was now, they came at the League in unimaginative, repetitive waves. Had it not been for their superior equipment, Grust would have buckled long ago in this encounter.

Hardin reacted to developments calmly. Even as the armor of his enemies was durable enough to deflect a stab from his Silver Lance. His frustration at not getting the results he wanted was difficult to suppress. He thrust with his lance a little harder, this time piercing through an enemy soldier's resilient breastplate. Hardin tore the now bloody lance back, letting the corpse fall to the floor.

He turned, everywhere he looked he could see League soldiers with thinly veiled annoyance at the resilience of their enemies. At the same time, the army was slowly adapting, striking at points of the armor that were made thinner and just slightly weaker to allow ease of movement for the occupant. He could see archers focusing their aim on the joints of the armor, or Cavaliers performing long running charges that not even the Grustian's armor could hope to deflect.

Of course, the mages needed to make no such adaptations. Wind, holy light, and electricity got through the enemy's armor with no difficulty. Even now, a few Grustian corpses still twitched as electricity from Wendell's tome crackling through their bodies.

Marth made a point to check every room in the castle, and was always annoyed to find that the chests had already been opened and the contents stolen. A small touch on the shoulder from Jagen always brought him back to the battle going on. Still, he would not forget this theft.

They traveled deeper and deeper into Castle Helena. It was a long battle, but not a hard one. The League moved as if a wall into the deepest area of the castle.

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><p><em>All that weaponry and armor, and Dactyl's troops still amount to almost nothing. <em>Etzel allowed himself a bitter smirk. Though the approaching soldiers would see him and kill him as a Grustian without a second thought, they were fighting for the correct cause. Yet no matter how noble their cause was, he could not allow himself to die on their steel.

The ring was more precious to him then his life, sweeter to him then any amount of wealth or accolades. Getting it back was the only thing important to him right now. He opened his tome and made a cautious chant, feeling the heat of Elfire building in his hands. It would be his wish to avoid fighting the League, but neither did he wish to relinquish his life before getting the ring back.

They were approaching. Etzel's bitter smirk faded, and a focused, ready expression was on him. He would have simply ducked to the side and let the League pass, but he already knew that if he tried to abandon his post, a sword or lance would be stabbed into his back. So, he stayed.

"There's a mage." Merric whispered to himself, spotting Etzel in the distance as the fighting continued. Through the clash and sparks of clanging metal, he noticed a mage who seemed content to simply watch, but he was clearly standing shoulder to shoulder with the Grustians. The last time they had fought magic users was in Khadein. Those ones had some slight skill but were… unimpressive, aside from Gharnef. But this mage was different, he held himself differently, and looked different. He clearly wasn't loyal to Gharnef. He looked… calculating, like he was thinking about something, and what the man was thinking couldn't have possibly boded well for the League.

"Linde." Merric said, grabbing the girl by the shoulder just as she finished summoning Aura upon a group of enemies. "We need to deal with that… Grust mage, before he does anything."

Linde's eyes caught the mage in the back of the enemy troops. She nodded at Merric's words. Though surprised that the Grustians here had a mage in their ranks when there were no magic users in the Altean Castle, she knew that there could be trouble if he was left to his own devices over there. As the League continued to fight the Grust force, Merric and Linde took the initiative to move to cut down this mage.

Etzel noticed the movement of the mages easily. Even through the crowd of people running left and right to engage their enemies, the direction those two were moving was easy to spot. It was almost like they wanted to be seen by him. His eyes missed nothing.

He was well prepared to at least defend himself. Far above an intermediate, Etzel had good reason to be confident in his own abilities.

His slight confidence lessened as the air in front of him blurred, and the wind itself was fashioned into an army of blades.

_Excalibur._ Etzel recognized what he was seeing in an instant. One of the mages, the man, had the tome that could fashion the air itself into a lethal blade. For a second, Etzel only stared in awe, but the awe quickly went away, and he reacted calmly to this unexpected development.

He threw his arm in the air, and a wall of fire went up around him. None of the blades got through the shield of flames he created. After a few seconds, he impassively dropped the wall. Excalibur's attack had failed.

Etzel looked deeply unimpressed as he negated the attack of a tome that was almost legendary, he raised his hand to adjust his monocle in a slightly condescending fashion. He decided to try and scare them away. He stretched his arm out, his palm toward the two, and he unleashed a fireball toward the pair. The man tried to fashion the very air into a shield, but not even Excalibur could stand up to Etzel's prowess. Elfire tore right through Excalibur's defense… but rather then strike the mage and potentially turn his head to ash, it instead sailed right over his shoulder. It arced up into the air before it flew into the mess of League and Grust troops, impacting the ceiling and taking the shape of a fiery explosion upon the metal architecture.

The man seemed unnerved, standing and staring in disbelief. He would, such a vaunted tome had failed to pierce the defense of a genetic tome, and then failed to protect him from the attack of that same generic tome, and he had almost died. A part of Etzel was almost amused, had it not been for the fact that he had intentionally missed, the man would be dead now. He had a great tome, indeed, but, it was not arrogant to say that it would seem that he did not have Etzel's skill or experience. He considered simply standing there, waiting for a new development, waiting to see how to properly react to whatever they would do. Then his senses, deeply attuned to magic, noticed a shift in the air around him. He looked at the female mage and the peculiar, white tome she had, and noticed her chanting words of power.

Immediately, he knew that Elfire would not protect him. He dodged to the side as the holy light of Aura appeared, threatening to extinguish his life all at once. Elfire was not the tome that could shield him from magic like this.

Etzel had rolled into a small alcove on the side. He took a deep breath as he stood up, but declined to leave and continue fighting. He waited, his ears quietly listening for any sound that might imply that the two mages were approaching him. There was no sounds other then the sound of battle. He took the risk to examine the situation, poking his head out of the alcove to see the main battle. He saw that reliable and durable equipment meant nothing if the arm and body were insufficient. Grust was faltering, buckling, failing. That was painfully expected. Yet Dactyl had acted as if the result was actually in question.

The two mages had already turned around and refocused themselves on the Grustian soldiers. Did they assume he had been killed and made into ash by the girl's attack? No matter… if they presumed him dead it just made things easier for him.

_Excalibur and Aura. _Etzel took notice of the tomes his two enemies, that should have not been enemies, were using. _A curious pair._

The League was ripping through the Grustians, the halls of Helena laid splattered with blood and limp bodies that still wore such well-designed armor. It was a sickening sight, bearable only when one is reminded that these Grustians well deserved this. It may have seemed cruel, but they had been committing humanitarian atrocities ever since they came to Altea.

Etzel closed his eyes as the League left, heading in the direction that would lead them to Dactyl. He slowly counted, taking note of the pace the League was moving at, and timed how long it would take them to reach Dactyl. Eventually, after several minutes, he left the alcove he was in, slowly following a great distance behind the Archanean League.

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><p>"Your report, now." Dactyl demanded, beginning to sweat. The sounds of battle could be heard ever clearer in the inner sanctum of Helena, and the conflict was clearly coming closer to his doors. In his anxiety, he had requested a report on the progress of the battle. "How is the battle progressing, how much of the mob has been dismantled?"<p>

The scout looked around nervously, and seemed to be terrified. Dactyl did not regard it as a good sign and grew nervous himself. With a hand gone shaky with tension, he reached out and grabbed the scout by the shoulder and began shaking him. "Tell me your report! How… how is the battle proceeding?"

"We…" the scout began, then cleared his throat and spoke with marginal calmness. "We're being decimated. For all the supplies we have, we're being ripped apart."

Dactyl failed to retain his composure, both of his hands gripped the scout's shoulders, clamping down hard enough to make the scout yelp. Dactyl got up in his face and spoke through gritted teeth. "We should have the advantage! We have the weapons, the armor… we know the structure of Castle Helena better then any Altean. We…" he trailed off and his head bowed down as horror overpowered his anger. "T-the mage… what has he done? Has he engaged the enemy? What happened to him?"

"We… we don't know, sir. We can confirm that he engaged the enemy, but then he vanished."

Dactyl inhaled quickly, he turned to a stand near the throne of the castle lord, where he was keeping the mage's ring. He wouldn't simply abandon the ring… not when he so passionately fought Dactyl's soldiers to try and get it back. He had to still be somewhere in the castle. Yet he had just been reported to have seemingly vanished.

The magic that he thought could turn the tides was gone. Possibly dead, possibly hiding. Neither possibility boded well for Dactyl. He sent the scout off out of the room and then turned around and crossed his arms. He clenched his fists, his survival would now came to his own strength of arm.

He already wore Altean armor, and had a Silver Lance tied to his back. He… _looked_ formidable, certainly. How well it would help him would remain to be seen. He was certain that he was a better fighter then most of the mob, but they had the advantage of numbers. Dactyl began to breath hard without realizing it. At the sight of their commanding officer losing himself to his fears, the Grustian troops in the room began to give themselves to panic.

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><p>Marth waded over the last mound of Grust troops. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the now familiar stench of blood and death. Several League soldiers were already on the door leading to the inner sanctum. It had been seemingly locked and barricaded, but that was of little meaning. Marth came forward and simply authorized Merric to deal with it.<p>

The Wind Mage smirked and happily went about his assigned duty. He raised his hand and stretched it forward, closing his eyes and chanting from memory. He opened his eyes and felt the wind hastening to his command. His lips curled into a smirk and he sent the wind forward against the door.

The tall, gilded doors groaned as the wind pushed on them. They started to move, bending irregularly, before being ripped off of the hinges.

Merric sauntered a step back and turned to Marth with a self-satisfied, slightly egotistical smile. Marth nodded his approval to his friend, then stepped forward.

The League began to march into the inner sanctum of Castle Helena, oblivious to a mage behind them. Etzel watched them closely as they entered into the chamber of imposing size that was the inner sanctum.

"Ah…" Dactyl nearly panicked at what his senses told him. The scent of blood reached his nostrils, and he knew that his men had all fought and died. Below his breath, he grumbled at their incompetence, then returned his focus to the mob that his eyes saw. He tried, and only partially succeeded, in looking calm in the face of this… in his eyes it was a lynch mob.

Dactyl was an aged knight, but he still feared death, but against the mob his chances for survival were slim. He caught sight of the blue haired prince, and for a brief moment, he thought about what he would be given by Dolhr is he killed Marth. The thought quickly disappeared, he had barely any hope of survival, let alone reaching Marth and killing him. Even if he succeeded, he'd be killed immediately afterwards by the horde of enemies.

"Continuing to deny who rules this continent?" He accepted how slim his chances for survival were. After defeating Morzas, defeating him was just a trivial afterthought for the prince. He had done all he could to prepare himself for this battle, but it had amounted to almost nothing. As such, Dactyl pleasured himself with throwing final insults and threats at the Altean prince. "Your ill-planned crusade only marches to its doom, you know. Dolhr has already laid claim to the entire continent. You have some nerve to complain now."

"We've won several overwhelming victories." Hardin countered, "And we've already done much to change the continent for the better."

"The meaning of all your victories will be undone. You can't possibly understand Dolhr's power, otherwise you wouldn't try to fight the Emperor. Actually…" Dactyl stroked his chin and thought for a moment as the mob stood at bay for now. "If you understood Dolhr's power, you'd be siding with _me_ right now. Perhaps some of you would be interested in an offer…?" He looked over the gathered soldiers, none of them moved, many were actually repulsed by the words.

"Pathetic. Just pathetic." Dactyl muttered, then inhaled deeply, knowing what would happen next. Thinking that anyone would defect to his cause had been a fool's dream, clearly. For just a second, he had thought that maybe the mob would turn on itself, and he might be able to escape in the chaos, that small chance disappeared almost immediately after it appeared.

He took a small comfort in the fact that they would all die, and soothed himself by imagining what tortures they would all endure before the Manaketes would offer them death's sweet release.

They surged. The mob, comprised of the people who deluded themselves into thinking that they could defeat Dolhr, came up against Dactyl and only a small number of his men. The outcome was obvious, and still the Grustians raised their weapons in one last act of spite.

It took barely a minute. It was impossible to determine who exactly had killed Dactyl, his body was wracked with dozens of wounds. The deepest being a slash across the chest courtesy of Navarre's Killing Edge.

Marth slowly inhaled, sheathing his Rapier. His eyes traced around the room, he slowly saw that the battle was over. The last shred of influence of the Dolhr Alliance in Altea was gone. The shadow of a smile was on his face, but it quickly disappeared. He looked at the League troops, everyone looked highly… fatigued, though it hadn't been an even remotely hard battle.

"Prince Marth." Marth's head jerked at the sound of his name. There were many League troops who he could not identify the voice of, but he knew that this voice was completely and utterly foreign. Slowly, he turned around, and saw a face he didn't know in the doorway of the sanctum.

The man immediately dropped a tome on the floor, then walked forward with his arms stretched forward. He was a mage, judging by his attire, and he was trying to say that he came in peace. He had relieved himself of his tome, his only weapon, and kept his hands where they could be plainly seen. The League troops parted to let him pass, but if he tried anything… he would die in milliseconds against the storm of battle ready soldiers.

Merric looked on in shock, then turned to Marth. "That's the Grustian Mage. He was fighting for them. I thought we killed-"

"I do not serve Grust." The man responded tactfully. Merric glowered at the other mage, clutching at Excalibur, but did nothing further, for now. The man looked at Marth. "You… have my thanks, prince Marth of Altea."

Marth tilted his head slightly. "Who are you… and what did I do for you?"

"My name is Etzel." He answered in a respectful tone. He had a refined, almost gentlemen-like air to him. "I do not serve Grust, but I admit to aiding them today." Etzel could hear some murmurs coming from the soldiers behind him, some were whispering that he was the enemy, others voiced confusion. He continued speaking. "They forced me to join them, holding a certain item hostage, they claimed that I would never get it back unless I aided them in destroying the League." He walked past Marth, and picked up an inconspicuous item. "It is fortunate that the soldiers that engaged me seemed to have presumed me dead. Otherwise, I may have been killed by this point in time, before I got my most precious belonging back."

Marth took notice of the ring Etzel has grabbed and slipped onto his finger. Believing that Etzel was not a dangerous individual, he stepped forward and examined the ring that was precious enough that one could blackmail him with. "That… must be very important to you."

Etzel nodded as he slipped it onto his finger. "It's all that I have to remember my wife, Ursula, by." He said, his lips curled into a soft smile, but Marth noticed a hint of sorrow. Etzel held the memory of Ursula close to him, but the fact that he would never see her again until his next life was not lost on him. All he had left of her was the old wedding ring he had gifted to her years ago. "I lost her when the madness began. We were in Altea, and while foreign to the land, she was executed as a 'sympathizer' to Altea only a few days after you fled the nation, prince Marth." He took air into his lungs, keeping a close eye on the ring, letting the light gleam off of it. It was… a pale shadow compared to the light of that the image of Ursula's face gave off in his mind. "I came to Altea to visit her grave. Unfortunately, it would seem that none can travel freely, even ones who claim to be unaffiliated with the conflict."

"The fall of Altea were the darkest days Altea has ever faced." Marth admitted, "You have my sympathy. I lost both of my parents."

For a moment, Etzel said nothing, but then sighed. "Will the ravenous beast that is war ever be satisfied? Will any of this generation live to see the continent at peace again?"

"They will." Marth said. Etzel raised an eyebrow at Marth's determined tone. "I have every intention to put an end to the destruction."

"It takes two to create destruction through war." Etzel spoke softly, Marth blinked at the implication in Etzel's words. "When one looks at the destruction left when a war is over… those who fought back are just as guilty as the ones who instigated."

Marth grew discomforted by the words, but held his ground. "Our… my, methods, may only seem to add to the violence right now, but we do it with the continent's best interests in mind. It might take two to create destruction, but sometimes peace requires there to be only one."

"That sounds like a tyrant's reasoning." Etzel said. He studied Marth closely, looking for… he wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was examining the prince, nonetheless. "Perhaps you mean well, but perhaps, should you win the war, and see that none can oppose you…" he trailed off, but his unspoken words were so thinly veiled and obvious that it was almost humorous.

"This is not a bid for power." Marth said, his voice rising, but it contained no anger. "I am trying to save the continent from Dolhr, and the Shadow Dragon. I don't desire to conquer or be a warmonger. When Dolhr is defeated, I shall simply return to Altea, I will not try to force my foot on any other nation."

Marth's eyes were steadfast, and there was no doubt that he believed his words. Etzel would have scoffed at that, many tyrants believed that they were doing the right thing, and that they were moral, upright individuals, yet he looked at Marth and saw something more then empty promises and the seed of corruption.

"From anyone else's lips, that would sound laughably naïve. And yet… you… not only believe what you're saying, you really mean it." A small battle raged in Etzel's mind, and he slowly reached a decision. "For anyone else, I would not do this… but, are you in need of an extra… spell-slinger?" For a quick moment, Marth stared in surprise at the offer, Etzel smiled. "I do not enjoy the taste for war, but I hunger to see conflicts ended. If you would have me…"

"Yes." Marth said, "I'm sure you'll be a great help. If you wish to join the League, you're welcome."

Etzel nodded. "To a better future, Altean prince."

* * *

><p>The League soldiers, with Marth's permission, began looting the remains of the Grust troops. Marth was indignant that some of Altea's finest armaments had become simple spoils of war, but he allowed his soldiers to equip themselves. Anyone who seemed to be overly enthused about a new weapon or piece of armor was met with a harsh glare from Marth, or sometimes Jagen and Malledus, and quickly sobered. Hardin and Nyna would also wordlessly chide those who seemed to make a game out of what they took from the corpses.<p>

After the League had been equipped, Marth was ready to move once more. He remembered speaking to Gotoh in Khadein, even as the White Sage was somewhere far, far away. He knew his next objective, to find the Lightsphere and Starsphere in the Fane of Raman. He hoped to begin marching today, and make some distance before the sun set, but… others would have different plans.

"We've done enough over the past two days." Nyna reasoned when Marth spoke of his wish to continue marching immediately. Marth stood in the inner sanctum with Nyna and the other royalty of the army, along with Marth's two bodyguards, Jagen and Catria. "There's a reason why all the soldiers seemed exhausted after such an easy battle. The fight both outside and inside the Altean castle yesterday was the most taxing thing any of them has ever gone through. Both physically and spiritually."

The comment about 'spiritually' reminded Marth of the actions Morzas had perpetrated. Though he was dead and gone from this world now, it would take a long time before the wounds Morzas had inflicted would be healed. And even after they were healed, the scars might be present for generations to come. Though the Alteans had been the most bothered, only the coldest soldiers of the army could stare at those sights unfeelingly.

"Even so, every second we waste in resting and waiting is one that the Dolhr Alliance can use to strengthen themselves. Some of them may have dismissed us in the past, but now that we've liberated Altea, they _have_ to take us seriously. They'll be coming at us full force very soon."

"Which means we'll be overwhelmed if we're not rested." Nyna countered, "We should allow the army to rest a few days. Enough so that they can fight with a clear conscience again." She placed her hand on Marth's shoulder. "I know _you_ haven't completely recovered, either."

Marth wasn't moved by the urge, and removed Nyna's hand from his shoulder. "We're rested enough. I shouldn't have us waiting when we can push ahead."

"But if we push ahead before we're ready, we risk much." Hardin said, "Marth, I can tell that what you've seen in Altea has agitated you. You want to push ahead and make Dolhr and its allies pay…" A sudden change in Marth's face, a shift to obvious anger and frustration, confirmed Hardin's words. "Yet you're trying to take things too fast. The League does need rest, considering how short a reprieve we had after yesterday's battle, and how most of that reprieve was spent in discomforting reflection on what Dolhr had done to Altea."

"But we-"

"It's just a few days, prince Marth." Catria spoke up, the Whitewing stood at attention by Marth's side. As Marth turned to her, she worried she had spoken out of line, and bowed her head. "This… isn't an attempt to undermine your authority, prince Marth. We're just saying-"

Marth looked at Catria, then back at Nyna, then his eyes met all the others in the room. He sighed. "Two days, no more."

"That sounds acceptable." Hardin agreed, "In two days, we head to our next target. Whatever and wherever that is."

"We're heading to the Fane of Raman, next." Marth said, his words drew several quizzical looks. "I… have a reason for us to go. I'll explain later. Its on the way to Grust."

"So we can expect some resistance from them." Minerva noted. "More fighting with the supposed militarily unmatchable nation."

"And since the Fane is so close to the border of Grust… we can expect to find Grust's elite." Caeda crossed her arms. "They'd be beyond anything any past Grustian force has been capable of."

"You mean… the…" Nyna bit her lip. She folded her hands behind her back and forced herself not to softly tremble. Marth noticed the change in Nyna's overall demeanor, and could only wonder what had suddenly disturbed her. "We'll meet the… we'll _fight_ the… Sable Order."

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	31. Reprieve

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>Like a shadowy veil, Morzas' misrule of Altea had been. One long veil stretching across a quailing nation. It had ushered in the rule of a genocidal, murderous despot, one that made Altea pay for the high crime of Medeus' defeat in antiquity. The wailing of the Altean people caught in Dolhr's grip had been long unanswered… until the prince of Altea made his way back to the nation.<p>

Now, the bodies of Grustians and Dolhrians alike were stiffened after the long battles to liberate Altea, and Morzas himself was gone from this world. Only one part of him remained as a grim trophy to celebrate the end of his rule of Altea.

His giant dragon head had been removed from the rest of his body and impaled on a massive pike. His head was put on display right outside Castle Altea. A somewhat gruesome, but rather appropriate way to display all that was left of the Mage Dragon. The rest of his body had been burnt publicly before a crowd of thousands, many of which had likely lost far too many precious things in their life to the dragon. As his flesh burnt and slowly turned to ash, giving off a repugnant smell, a cheer that was loud enough to dislodge the stars themselves had been ripped from the thousands of lips present. It was only a small gesture, one that didn't reflect a quarter of the hatred that Alteans held for him. Some Alteans collected little handfuls of ash as souvenirs before retreating back to their homes to celebrate this new freedom.

The Archanean League had chosen to linger in the area for sometime before it would begin to move once more. They did not partake in the celebrations of freedom that were erupting all throughout the nation. Traveling non-stop to face their enemies, most of the soldiers had muscles and bones that had long since given into exhaustion, and they surrendered to this chance to rest.

As the moon began to rise on the first day of rest, the leaders of the army began to speak in the Altean Castle.

"Why would we be going to the Fane of Raman?" Catria asked. She found herself to be one of the few people who was not royalty who was privy to these meetings between the army commanders. Jagen, Malledus, and Wendell were the only others. Wendell was here as a representative of Khadein, the _proper_ Khadein.

What she had asked was the question on everyone else's mind. Marth looked at those assembled and lightly closed his eyes, letting a moment of silence sink in. He recalled the reasons, and wondered how to best put it in words. He wondered if those assembled would call him mad if he spoke of his reasoning.

"When I was in Khadein, someone spoke to me in… private." Marth forced himself to say as those around him were clearly expecting an answer. A few faces expressed confusion, and Marth sighed. With those words spoken, he could do little but express the simple truth of what happened. "Gotoh the White Sage spoke to me with magic. He told me of where to go to find a way to undo the spell that protected Gharnef."

Wendell jerked like he had been struck. He stepped forward, one arm reaching halfway to Marth, looking ready to seize Marth by the shoulder and shake him violently. His expression almost made him look mad, like the simple mention of Gotoh had driven him insane. "The… the White Sage? None have heard of him since he escaped from Khadein when Gharnef took over. Where is he now? Did he tell you-"

"No." Marth shook his head. "I don't know where he is, only that he contacted me, to speak to me. He explained to me how to face Gharnef."

"How?" Wendell asked with a tone that conveyed disbelief. "What could possibly pierce through the shield that Imhullu creates?"

"He told me that there were two orbs in the Fane of Raman. The Lightsphere and the Starsphere, if we bring those to him, he can create a tome that negates Imhullu."

"The Lightsphere and Starsphere?" Wendell's head slightly bowed down. He had heard the words before… artifacts of incredible power… yet against Imhullu's power… how could they amount to anything? Imhullu was _invincible_.

No. If the White Sage said that their power would create the tome that could defeat Imhullu, then they did. Wendell trusted in Gotoh's timeless wisdom and endless insight. If _anyone_ could find a chink in Imhullu's armor…

"The Fane of Raman." Wendell repeated, then nodded. "I understand. It's all to defeat Gharnef. With the blessings of the White Sage, it will be our next destination."

"And we can expect Grust to be there to defend it." Catria said quietly, "It's so close to their borders… and I doubt Gharnef is oblivious to the existence of those spheres, either."

"We don't need to worry about that." Marth spoke assuredly, putting one hand on Catria's shoulder. "As long as we don't meet him before the White Sage crafts the tome for us, we have nothing to fear. We can handle the simple troops and mages."

"Of… of course, prince Marth." Catria stammered without confidence, her eyes falling skittishly on the hand on her shoulder, and she slowly began to blush. "And no matter what we face, I'll be your protector. You can always depend on me."

Caeda was standing nearby, but speaking nothing. A strong level of apprehension was building in her. She… did not like just how well Marth and Catria seemed to get along. She said nothing, even as her eyes bored into the back of Catria's head, but rather then act on any impulse, simply nodded along with everyone else at the League's next course of action. Hardin, Nyna, and Minerva had no protests, they _should_ move to find the means to face Gharnef. It was also to their benefit to see how they fared against Grust's elite…

Caeda noticed Nyna feeling her own apprehension, her dread clearly being over facing the Grustian elite. Caeda quirked an eyebrow for a second, but quickly told herself that Grust was probably what had dismantled Archanea's standing army before she had to flee to Aurelis. Facing Grust's elite was likely jogging unpleasant memories for Nyna.

"This will probably be the last time we rest for a long time." Jagen said, closing his eyes. "The next time we rest, the situation will have likely changed tremendously. We should avail ourselves to this chance… but, we shouldn't neglect our training either." His hands gripped at the armor that protected his hip… his body ached. Ever since they had been in Gra, he had been in pain, and he grew exhausted too easily, he wondered if he was sick. This did not bode well for him…

Shaking the thought off, he focused on prince Marth and the other leaders of the army. The pain wasn't showing up on his face, but the observant princes might have noticed that something was off. He hurriedly continued with his point. "Excuse me, while the training will be relaxed, the soldiers _must_ keep their edge."

Marth nodded, and the elderly Jagen left the room.

Without speaking a word, Marth turned away from his friends and moved to the wall of the castle.

Minerva watched as Marth, as if his friends weren't in the room with him, let his hand fall softly against the metal of the walls. Minerva felt a wave of pity for Marth. She didn't dare bring up the fact that he had likely come to Altea hoping to not just liberate his nation, but also to find his sister, Elice. Not even Minerva, who had been an unwilling member of the Dolhr Alliance for too long, knew where Elice was.

As she looked at Marth, she wondered… why she felt the urge to try and take his burdens onto her own shoulders. To her, simply following his orders wasn't enough to pay him back for what he had done for her. If he only allowed it, she would fight his battles for him.

Without realizing it, she started to walk toward Marth, then Hardin grabbed her shoulder.

"Leave him be for now." Hardin whispered so Marth wouldn't hear, "You know just as well as I what he's thinking about. There's nothing we can do or say that would reunite him with his only surviving kin today."

Minerva glowered at the Aurelian prince, but nodded. She was slightly embarrassed at how she might have walked right up to Marth had she not have been stopped. She took a long glance at Marth, wishing she could comfort him, but eventually left with the others.

"You weren't here, Elice." Marth muttered, his hand upon the wall slowly clenched. His head bowed down until it pushed into the wall. He could still recall his sister flatly lying to him the last time he and she were together, for his benefit. "What happened to you on that day… Are you even… still alive?"

* * *

><p>"I wonder what it's like… where I used to live." Norne thought out loud, her eyelids drifting down as if wanting her to take to sleep. The last few days had seen fighting more brutal and gory then anything she had ever experienced before. It was… disheartening, to say the least, and her body wanted to rest.<p>

Of course, something good had come from these past few, violent days. She considered where she had laid her head down to rest at. Gordin had made no objection when Norne laid her head in his lap. Considering his injuries, it should have been Norne offering her lap to Gordin, but the boy didn't seem particularly discomforted by this. A small bit of gnawing guilt was in Norne's chest, but she saw that Gordin was almost completely healed at this point.

When she recognized that, she knew that he would be out there fighting in the next battle, and the realization worried her more then she expected. It would be a… tragedy she would never recover from, if he died before the war ended.

"I bet it… looks the same." Gordin answered Norne's previous words, which she hadn't actually been looking for an answer to. He looked around the landscape surrounding the castle. He couldn't see the harbor they had used to escape Altea so long ago from where he sat. Instead, his eyes simply saw what was before him, a tortured and scarred land that had only just begun to recover.

At this time of year, the trees should have sported branches filled with healthy green leaves. Instead, the branches were naked as though it were Fall, and the trees were rotten and dead. Some still sported… the skin of Alteans, handing from the branches, and he grimaced at the sight. He hoped that the skins he could see didn't catch Norne's eye.

Norne's hand cupped his chin, and he looked down at the girl he had fallen for.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked, almost teasingly.

Gordin took in a breath. He wouldn't mention the skins he was seeing if he could avoid it. "Just… about Altea, in general." The words were entirely truthful, even if evasive. "It's only now that it can get on the road to recovery."

"I wouldn't be living to see any recovering in Altea without you." Norne said, Gordin looked down to her and seemed to blush slightly. Norne couldn't stop her own cheeks from turning red either. "The way you sacrificed yourself for me… you're really a-"

She paused. Gordin wondered if she was about to say 'hero' and prepared himself to try and look dignified.

"…sentimental idiot." She smiled, Gordin's eyes widened at the words. "Idiot, idiot, _idiot_. And because of that, I owe you my life, and it seems you now hold dominion over my heart."

Gordin laid a hand across Norne's forehead. "I think… we traded… hearts." He groped for words, knowing what he wanted to say but lacking the words he needed to convey it properly.

He was glad Tomas wasn't here. Likely, he was far away… and he allowed himself a small smirk. Tomas was attracted to Norne, but Norne had chosen otherwise. Gordin was certain that Norne wouldn't have ever been happy with… _that_ one, anyway.

"So, where in Altea did you live, Gordin?" Norne asked out of the blue. "When everything's said and done, I'd like to live there with you."

He knew he'd lose his composure if he looked her in the eye right there and then. He spoke with his eyes skyward. "I… as a knight of Altea, I lived in the soldier barracks in the Altean Castle."

"Oh." Norne reminded herself that few of the Altean knights really had a traditional 'home' outside of the castle.

Then it occurred to her. Despite fighting with the best of the knights, she wasn't, herself, a knight of Altea. She was a volunteer. When the war was over… she couldn't just go with Gordin…

She sat up, her head raising out of Gordin's lap.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh… um, nothing." Norne tried to placate Gordin's concerns. She was fearing separation from Gordin once the war was over. Her hand curled around Gordin's arm, she could feel him tingle a little at the touch. She leaned onto him, pushing her head onto his shoulder. As the moment of closeness between them continued, Norne's mind was racing. As Gordin seemed to just enjoy Norne's company, the only thing going through her head was the thought of some way to not be forced to endure long periods of painful separation when everything was over.

* * *

><p>"I haven't apologized to you yet, have I?" Merric stood upright, but inclined his head to the man he spoke to. Linde stood nearby, emulating Merric's pose. Merric kept his hands limp at his side. "I never would have guessed you to be an ally. I… am sorry for trying to strike at you."<p>

Etzel raised his eyes from a book he was reading, and turned to the two mages. Merric had his head bowed, and hadn't checked to see if Etzel was actually paying attention to him before he spoke.

"It is nothing to think of further, Merric." Etzel soothed, "In the eyes of many, the ring would have likely seemed too trite to bend to Grust for. Yet, it is more precious to me then anything else in this world. I would… I hate to admit it, but to keep this ring, I would partake in actions that would drive Ursula to tears."

Merric said nothing at first, but was slowly moved to speak at the sight of the gold ring. "I… can't say I've ever loved a girl like that. I'm sure that your wife was no ordinary woman, if you're still so loyal after her death."

Etzel smiled sweetly, then laughed. "Ah, Ursula was no woman of noble heritage, nor was she an awe-inspiring mage. She had simply been her wonderful self, and for that, I am thankful that for many years I held her close to me." He looked at the ring on his finger, "It's not a remarkable ring at first glance, is it? I bought it from a traveling merchant several months before I proposed. I… dragged my heels for some time, I admit. The day I finally proposed, I knew it would end in two ways, in glorious happiness, or in pure bitterness."

"And she accepted." Merric said, more observation then question.

"Yes, she did." Etzel responded, the memory playing over in his head. "Neither word or picture could capture how I felt when she did."

Merric just shrugged, suddenly looking disinterested. "I've known some women I've grown to care for, but, I don't think I could ever look at them like… that."

Linde, standing in the room, looked at Merric with an expression of slight annoyance and disappointment. Etzel caught the look and allowed himself a little smirk. "Maybe you'll find the one for you before too long."

"I… don't feel like talking about that." Merric said, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Um, excuse me, maybe there's… something, I can be doing right now." With an obvious hurriedness to his movement, Merric left the room before Etzel's comments made him feel any more awkward.

Etzel's lips curled into a smile at Merric's reluctance to speak on the subject. Shaking his head, he refocused himself on the book he was holding. Before he had read more then a few sentences, a new voice spoke.

"Etzel." Linde began, Etzel turned to her. "What's it like, being in love with someone else? How did your relationship develop with Ursula?"

He smiled and closed his book, seeing that he wouldn't be able to quietly read it at the moment. Linde looking at him expectantly, either simply curious, or looking to take mental notes to help her out later in life. "Many relationships develop differently. Ursula and I were… childhood friends. As the years went by, and we grew in both body and mind, the friendship became an innocent, mutual crush, then an infatuation, until blossoming into true love."

He leaned his head back. "Even now, I wonder, when I proposed, did my pleading face guilt her into accepting, or were her feelings just as passionate as mine?"

She gulped, trying hard to appear to be curious but fairly neutral on the subject. "I wonder if a man would ever be so passionate about me."

"Maybe, or maybe not. However, perhaps you already have one _you_ think of so passionately." Etzel spoke, he smiled as Linde skittishly looked to the side. "I noticed the way your face changed when Merric said he didn't know a girl who he looked at in 'that' way."

"W-" Linde took a step back, her face was turning red at the insinuation Etzel just made. "No, no, _no_. Merric is a… treasured friend, sure, but he can't be the guy I want to spend my life with." She chuckled, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. The look on her face, however, betrayed her.

She grew nervous as Etzel continued to wear a victorious smirk, and his eyes seemed increasingly knowing. After a few seconds, tense for her but relaxed for Etzel, he spoke. "So, if not Merric, perhaps that other boy who spends time with you? That Aurelian, perhaps?"

"R-Roshea?" her hands went to her chest as she began to breath hard. "J-just a friend. A loyal and valued friend, and one I like being around, but _just_ a friend."

"Oh, _really_?" Etzel's eyes scanned Linde searchingly. She looked away, and Etzel began to laugh.

"They claim that a woman's heart isn't meant to be understood by men, but some maidens can be read so easily." He walked past her, "Whether you know it or not, your feelings for one of them is deepening. Not that it necessarily has to be those two." He turned to her, "A girl with your appearance pretty much has her pick. You could be quite the… Ursula would say 'guy-fisher'."

Linde flustered again. She was certain Etzel _had_ to have been wrong there, Nyna was the attractive and beautiful one. It was Nyna who had her pick, naturally. She looked at Etzel, and felt the burning need to distance herself from Etzel, who seemed to know exactly how to fluster her. "I… I-I should probably be somewhere. Excuse me, Etzel."

Linde hastily began walking, then stopped at the wall.

"The door's on the other side of the room, Linde."

"I… knew that." Linde turned around and walked past Etzel, not looking him in the face and trying to hide her own. She left the room.

"They acknowledge how precious the other person is, but refuse to recognize the feelings as love until so, so much time has passed." He looked at his hand, more specifically at Ursula's Ring on his finger. "Not much has changed since our time, now has it, Ursula?"

* * *

><p>Palla wandered arbitrarily down the halls of the Altean Castle. No real destination in mind, she seemed content to pace by herself. She… could have tried to speak to her partner, Wolf, but decided against it. As much as she was coming to respect him, she knew he wasn't a sociable person, and there were few questions she could ask that she believed he would indulge.<p>

She had heard of Jagen's royalty-blessed order for some light training in the League. Tomorrow she would practice her lance thrusts, and maybe spar with other soldiers. A part of her wondered how well she could fight on foot, she doubted she would be sparring from the saddle of her Pegasus.

Maybe she should spar on the saddle of a horse. Eventually they'd march on Macedon. She needed some experience with fighting enemies that she couldn't gain a tactical advantage over just by taking to the air above them. Yes, some experience on fighting those who she had to fight head-on on a level field would be to her advantage.

Absentmindedly, she wandered into the troop barracks of the castle. Before the crisis began, Alteans had likely enjoyed living in these areas, probably roughhousing in a way that Palla wouldn't have approved of. She allowed herself a funny little smirk, the Altean barracks probably didn't feel quite as unfriendly as the Macedonian barracks had always felt.

As she wondered how the Altean knights conducted themselves, her spine tingled, like she sensed on some instinctual level that someone was watching her. Her entire body became hyperaware, ready to react to anything around her that moved. She contemplated chiding herself for acting paranoid, but didn't have the time to do that. She caught the glimmer of something metal, and immediately sprang into action.

A Javelin flew through the air, it stuck into the wall. Had Palla not have moved, it would have speared straight through her head.

"Who's there?" Palla demanded, rising to her feet and holding her Silver Lance. Off of her Pegasus, she was out of her element, but she wasn't helpless.

For a moment, silence was all that answered her, but then an aged, but familiar voice was heard. "You're faster then I remember, Whitewing."

"Who are you? And how do you know-" she immediately stopped speaking. The fact that an enemy of the League was inside the barracks finished registering on her mind, and a new fact occurred to her. The fact that she recognized the voice of her almost murderer.

"_Orridyon_. What are _you_ here for?" She turned to the direction the voice came from, and watched as King Michalis' right hand came into view. His armor as proud and shiny as always. He looked like he hadn't seen battle in quite some time, but he was just as formidable a knight as ever. The man was almost unchanged from the day she had last seen him. Ever Michalis' hound, serving Michalis just like Palla served Minerva. The difference was that Orridyon's lord had led him down the wrong path.

"I come on the King's orders. I will rely a message to princess Minerva and leave. I simply decided on whim to kill the eldest of the three traitor Whitewings."

"What is the message?" Palla asked, a small part of her honestly curious. "Tell me and I'll rely it for you. You can leave, and live until we came to Macedon to set the nation straight."

"Bold words. Unfortunately, they do nothing to aid you, but rather, simply provoke me." He held his lance firmly in one hand with an air of authority, firmly believing that this stand-off could only end in his victory. "The message is thus, princess Minerva is to cease with her foolish assistance to the spawn's crusade and return to Macedon, bringing princess Maria back with her. Understand that King Michalis is directly defying Dolhr's command to not try and get into contact with his sisters. He is gambling his throne in an attempt to reunite his family."

Palla blinked, taking it all in, then nodded. "Now leave, I'll make sure that princess Minerva knows."

"I only told you the message as a final favor, out of respect for the proud Macedonian soldier you once were. I'm going to kill you, Whitewing, here and now." He advanced a few steps, pointing his lance threateningly at Palla's chest. "I was always your better. I haven't forgotten that even when all three Whitewings came at me in a spar, it was always _I_ who stood victorious. Now, you stand by yourself, and you are off of your Pegasus, out of your element. You have no chance."

The words struck home, and Palla grew fearful of what would happen next. Then she steeled herself. "I am not helpless." She whispered.

"Against me, you might as well be." Without speaking another word, he dashed forward, Palla raised a defense, holding her lance in front of her. Orridyon reached his hand out and grabbed the lance, yanking it from her grip. Disoriented, Palla stumbled a step back and then felt the wooden handle of Orridyon's lance painfully jam into her gut.

She fell to the ground, and immediately looked up to Orridyon. In one swoop, he had effectively won. His lance, cockily held in his left hand, the one that was not trained to hold the weapon, pointed threateningly at her. "The princess has failed you, do you see that? The training she gave you has not helped you at all. All you can do is die, cursing the name of the one who mislead you to side against King Michalis The Great."

She closed her eyes, expecting the end. She could hear Orridyon's lance moving, but…

But…

_Something_ suddenly swiped through the air, right in front of Orridyon's face.

"What?" He stopped, looking down at the Whitewing at his feet. The clanging sound of his lance dropping on the floor resonated throughout the barracks. He looked down at his hand, seeing that the shock at whatever had passed near his head had apparently caused him to drop his weapon. Then, he started to hurt, deeply. He looked again at his hand. There _was_ no hand.

There was only a stump.

"My _hand_!" Orridyon reared back, roaring with pain at the realization that his left hand had been outright chopped off by some unseen assailant. Blood sprayed from the wound as he howled with the unexpected pain. His eyes scanned the room, looking for the one who committed the deed. Not far from him stood a man, a purple haired man whose bangs fell over one of his eyes.

"W… Wolf." Palla recognized her partner, who had just saved her life.

"_Aurelian_." Orridyon hissed, taking a step forward and grabbing his lance, which still had a disembodied hand clinging to it. "Had it not been for the spawn, your skull would have been crushed under Macedonian boots long ago." He backed away, slowly, pointing at Wolf with the lance of his preferred hand. "Can't you blithering plainsmen learn to just roll over and _die_?"

Wolf, rather then respond to the words directly, simply turned his head slightly to the sound of thumping coming from the direction of the door to the barracks. "League soldiers are coming. If you desire to live, take your chance to flee now. I'll let you live with the loss of your hand."

Orridyon's eyes narrowed and he glowered at the Aurelian. So far beneath him… and yet telling him that he would spare him. It smacked of arrogance. He could not simply accept a lower dog like… like an Aurelian, simply giving him a choice like this. Yet, as indignant as he felt, he knew that all he would meet was death if he stayed. He'd just have to trust Palla to rely the message.

"You were lucky on this day. We _will_ meet again." Orridyon growled before he. turned around and fled, taking his lance and disembodied hand with him.

The door was ripped open. "What was causing that noise?" Minerva demanded immediately. She saw Wolf sheathing his sword and Palla standing up with some blood near her. Her soldier looked rattled, but relatively uninjured. She stepped forward and spoke again. "_What_ happened?"

"Orridyon was here." Palla said calmly in the face of her princess' near hysteria. "Your brother's knight. He came… bearing a message for you from the King. He also tried to kill me, if Wolf hadn't been here…" she turned to her partner with a thankful expression. His eyes were not on her, but on the rest of the League.

"M-Michalis?" A young voice spoke up, Minerva turned as Maria entered. Her eyes brightened at the simple mention of her brother. "What was the message? What did he say?"

"Princess Maria…" Palla stopped talking and closed her eyes.

Maria stood indignantly. "What did he say? What was Michalis trying to say to Minerva?"

"Maria, please." Minerva motioned her younger sister to calm down. She looked around the room, a great majority of the League was now in the barracks, including Marth and Hardin. She did not want them to see the family drama of the Macedonian royal family. She turned back to her Whitewing and spoke more calmly. "Palla, what was the message?"

Palla nodded to her princess. "King Michalis wants you and princess Maria to return to Macedon and abandon the League. This message, apparently, disobeys Dolhr, he has apparently been ordered to not try and get into contact with either of his sisters. He's risking his throne to send a messenger. Even one that tried to kill me."

"He was asking for help." Maria suddenly said, drawing several surprised glances. "He… he wants our help. That's why he sent the messenger. He knows the situation has gotten out of hand, and he wants Minerva and me to help him set things right."

Minerva sighed at the naïve rationalization and at how Maria insisted on trying to justify or downplay Michalis' actions. She stole a glance at Marth that made it look like she was pleading for support.

"This wasn't a cry for help if Orridyon tried to kill Palla." Catria hissed. She looked at the blood on the floor, and enjoyed knowing that it was Orridyon's. "The only thing that King Michalis should get is death by-"

"The messenger didn't do what Michalis wanted him to!" Maria insisted, her young voice rising with each word. "He… he loves Minerva and me. He wouldn't casually kill one of Minerva's Whitewings."

"He's a monster, princess Maria. The only thing he deserves at this point is-"

"Catria." Marth suddenly interjected. Catria whirled, ready to protest, but found her will sapped at Marth's disapproving gaze. "Not in front of Minerva and Maria, at least."

The middle Whitewing wanted to press the point, but held her tongue from speaking another word the moment she saw that Marth did not approve. Crossing her arms, she backed away.

"When I go back to Macedon, it will be with the rest of the League with me." Minerva said, her hands clenching into tight fists.

"To save Michalis." Maria added, "Him and Macedon. That's what we've always been fighting for here, Minerva."

Minerva looked at her younger, naive sister. She did want to save Michalis, but her idea of 'saving' contrasted with Maria's idea. Maria didn't know it, but when they went to Macedon, the only thing that could possibly happen to Michalis was-

"Promise me, Minerva! When we go to Macedon, me, you, and Michalis will be a family again."

"I…" Minerva looked at her younger sister, and saw that Maria's face was hardening, ready to turn into a scowl, like she expected to be disappointed. Immediately, Minerva moved to placate her sister. "Y…yes, we'll find a way to save Michalis. When we head to Macedon. I… promise."

Maria smiled, "We'll be a family again. He'll be happy that we'll be back, and Macedon will go back to how it should be."

Minerva looked pained as Maria left in high spirits. Minerva knew that Maria would be disappointed in what would happen, but she couldn't bring herself to just flatly tell Maria what she already knew would happen.

Marth looked over the League soldiers present. "Leave. But stay on guard, someone else might be here."

Slowly, the soldiers shuffled out, until all that was left was Marth and Minerva.

"'Save' your brother." Marth mused, "You're more interested in punishing him."

"It's _correction_, not punishment, Marth." Minerva answered, though she looked uncertain. "I… won't want to hurt him, but he can't be allowed to sit in the throne any longer. Not after tarnishing Macedon's name with his alliance to Dolhr."

Marth studied Minerva's body language. She was posturing slightly, trying to aid Michalis while opposing him at the same time. Apparently seeking to defend his honor while attempting to end his rule.

She clearly wasn't looking forward to facing her brother, and wanted to push the date of the battle off for as long as possible. She couldn't let go of her fondness for her brother, even if she was disappointed in his decisions. Marth knew that if Elice had made such actions like Michalis had… he'd take it upon himself to stop her, but he wouldn't let anyone say anything foul about her. He hoped that things would turn out well for Minerva and Maria, and yet… the chances of a happy ending for the three Macedonian siblings was virtually zero.

She had essentially lied to Maria in order to pacify her for today. Marth might have done the same in her position, but he knew, and he knew that she knew, that the lie would only make things more difficult between Minerva and Maria when the lie was revealed.

Minerva bowed her head, looking depressed, she walked by Marth, stopping for a moment to squeeze his hand, then left.

* * *

><p>"Um, Wolf." Palla spoke after the excitement of the moment died down and it was just her and her partner standing in a hall in the castle. "I, um… thank you, for saving me. He would have killed me if you hadn't intervened at that moment."<p>

Wolf turned to her, not saying anything. The indifference he seemed to be looking at her with compelled her to speak further. "If I may ask, why did you go out of your way to save me? At no point in the past did it ever seem like you really concerned yourself with my well-being."

He turned from her and let silence set in. Palla sighed, resigning herself to not getting an answer. As she started to turn to leave, Wolf suddenly spoke. "I saved you for Roshea's sake." Confused and startled by the answer, Palla turned back to Wolf. Without looking at her to see her confusion, Wolf continued. "That incident in the Altean Castle, where he defended you from Vyland. I could plainly tell that you're important to him as a friend. He likes you and respects you." He closed his eyes, playing back the event in his head, noting how Roshea had wanted to defend Palla. "Maybe, he even admires and looks up to you."

Palla's mouth opened but no words came, she closed it before she began to gape. Wolf turned and looked at her, his face utterly impassive. Palla struggled to continue to look dignified, and somehow managed to continue looking composed. She didn't dare speak, her embarrassment would come to the forefront if she did.

"I feel obligated to watch out for the ones Roshea, along with Vyland and Sedgar, hold dear. In the past, the only people they've truly held dear was each other and Coyote. Yet, ever since the League formed, Roshea has begun to reach out to others." His thoughts drifted to the two mages that Roshea befriended, but didn't give the slightest clue as to who and what he was thinking about.

Palla nodded. She was surprised to think that she might have been a subject of admiration from Roshea, that young knight. She wasn't the source of anyone's admiration in Macedon. Yet she was more shocked at how Wolf was now looking out for her well-being.

"I…" she paused for a long moment, then quickly collected herself and spoke with dignity. "I see. I hope to do nothing to make it seem like Roshea has misplaced that respect, and you haven't misplaced your decision to look out for me."

Wolf looked at her searchingly, then nodded, not dissatisfied by what he heard. He turned and left. Palla took in a calming breath, and felt like a great responsibility had been put on her not yet broad enough shoulders. She made a small prayer to the gods above her that she would not do anything that would seem unbecoming in their eyes.

* * *

><p>"Why is everyone so intent on defending him?" Catria raged quietly, the only one with her was Marth. She respected Marth's wish to not speak hatefully about Michalis when Minerva and Maria were present, but they weren't here right now, and her lips released her words freely. "He's an embarrassment to Macedon's royal family. He tarnished Macedon's name by siding with Dolhr… he ruined any chance of Macedon being on good terms with Aurelis with that invasion…"<p>

"He is still family to Minerva and Maria." Marth calmly said. He thought of his own, and shook his head. "And I know that they still care for him."

"Even if they can't let go of the sibling bond, they have to understand that his honor isn't worth defending. He's sending Macedon to ruin and doing it just because he wanted power. He just… he just _swooped_ in for the throne when his father died, like the throne had always belonged to him."

"The eldest child will get the throne in that situation, what he did there wasn't unusual." Marth countered. He didn't want to argue with Catria, but he needed to consider everything. Catria's eyes widened, then slowly backed down, but retained her stance on the matter.

"That doesn't change what he's been doing with the power of the throne. Whether it's rightfully his or not, his use of the throne's power is making the continent decay."

"I don't deny that, and neither does Minerva." Marth said, "However, I can tell that Minerva thinks of him as a good person, even if one that has made bad decisions. She still loves her brother, even if she's disappointed in him. I can look at her and tell that she still believes that he wants the best for Macedon, she'd only say that he's going about it the wrong way. Even now, killing him is not her desire, it has _never_ been her desire."

Catria swallowed. When she spoke again, it lacked the sense of anger she had in her words earlier. "Princess Minerva still loves him as her brother." She thought it over, and knew that it was only because it was Minerva's own brother. Anyone else who performed actions like this Minerva would condemn to death as a radical. Catria mutely thought about what she would do if either of her sisters had done something like this, and exhaled slowly. She looked deeply into Marth's eyes, becoming almost lost in them. "What… do you think of him? What do you think he deserves?" Absentmindedly, she started to slowly walk up to Marth, only stopping when they were so close they could have kissed.

Marth was silent for a moment. He knew that his answer would have a profound effect on Catria's perspectives, and took a moment to gather his thoughts and give a satisfying answer. "I don't know what to think about King Michalis. I'm sure Hardin wants to see him lose his throne for personal reasons, but Minerva doesn't want to see him get hurt, but she also knows it can't be avoided. Sometimes good people are doing the wrong things, I'll have to see Macedon, and what the people think of him, before I can say what he deserves. I _will_ say that Minerva is right in that he shouldn't have the throne, not if he allies himself with the Shadow Dragon, the enemy of mankind."

The middle Whitewing nodded, her eyes starting to look down. "I… I'll keep that in mind, prince Marth. If you don't approve, I won't speak so hatefully about him again." She closed her eyes, Marth wondered if Catria was trying to change her perspectives on the matter simply to match his own. Catria opened her eyes again. "I won't let emotions overrule my orders. Even when we go to Macedon, I… won't fight with hate. I promise you… I'll, I'll even try to talk to him. See if he'll follow the correct path, and not the one he's on right now."

Marth believed that, and sent Catria off with a smile. He was oblivious to just how attached to him Catria had become.

* * *

><p>The water seemed clean, passing inconspicuously under a certain Grustian bridge. It was, one Grustian noted, a beautiful day on the Grustian border, one of those ideal days that should have been spent with good company, not border control. Yet despite the serenity, a certain tension gripped him as well. Even a Sable Knight such as himself had his anxieties when a vicious battle was in the foreseeable future.<p>

This was a day that seemed to be… perfect. A sky painted blue with a few lazy clouds over the grassy field. A breeze that was just right to lightly cool you, but not chill. Plenty of shade from the trees carpeting the soft blades of grass. It was as if the world thought all was right in it. It would not do to see this field be marred with blood and corpses, but seeing such things fall onto the healthy grass would be a sad eventuality.

"Master Morzas has fallen." Another Sable Knight, one with blonde hair, spoke. The first man shook off his thoughts about the pleasantness of the day and reminded himself that he was Sable Knight Sternlin, and nodded at the news. The death of Morzas meant that the land of New Dolhr was no longer the land of New Dolhr, but was Altea again. It also meant that the next logical destination for the League was Grust itself, it was the closest target, even if it was so well fortified. The blonde haired man continued to speak. "Our scouts inform us that the spawn will be marching here soon. It has been reasoned that he seeks to eliminate Grust as a factor in this conflict. You are to stop them from progressing into our nation."

"Understood, General Camus." Sternlin accepted the orders the leader of the Sable Order gave him. "I fight not for wealth or accolades. I'm fighting for Grust's honor. I will not be distracted by any reward I might sniff."

"As a Sable Knight should." Camus said, pleased with Sternlin's words. "King Ludwik has decreed that the League must be stopped now. They have destroyed enough Grust regiments and made Grust look inadequate enough in the Shadow Dragon's eyes to necessitate the Sable Order's intervention."

Sternlin nodded. His black war steed dutifully carried him into position. "You needn't fear the League reaching our borders. Their crusade will stop here when they come."

"I'll be counting on you." Camus pulled on the rein of his own steed, then rode off. Archanea's Regalia, Gradivus, fastened to his back. He would have led this battle himself, he would have faced the League himself here, if it hadn't been for the fact that Dolhr kept him on a tight leash. He could not lead the Order anywhere outside of Grust without Dolhr authorizing and supervising it.

So for now, he withdrew himself to the center of Grust, where Lorenz, his three men Belf, Robert, Leiden, and King Ludwik waited.

Camus' felt the pulse of uncertainty. As Grust's defeats at the hands of the League continued to grow, the stress had taken its toll on the king. Ludwik, already a sickly man, was bedridden now, and his grasp on life was growing more tenuous every day. Grust's future depended on Ludwik, and Ludwik's life depended upon the dismantling of the League.

He fought for his king's honor first and foremost. It did not matter if the League was filled with good people. It didn't matter who, specifically, might be in the League, if they challenged King Ludwik, they were the enemies of Grust who had to be killed.

As he thought that over, a small pain bit at his heart. There was… someone, he didn't want to hurt, physically or emotionally. He shoved the feeling down, smothering it and refusing to let it be heard or felt. He was a Sable Knight… more importantly, he was servant of the king, before anything else.

He felt reassured, but acknowledged that he was desperately trying to convince himself of the nobility of his reasoning. There was an unseen individual touching his still beating heart, one that he did not want to harm or see come to harm. Dissuading the pleading hand upon him, he began to move back to the Grustian Castle.

"It matters little the reason for the League's crusade. I will not allow my king to fall to their blades. For King Ludwik!"

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><p><strong>This chapter was written almost entirely for the Orridyon scene, which will be brought up when we head to Macedon before too terribly long.<strong>

**Please review.**


	32. Grust's Finest, The Sable Order

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>Nyna took in a deep breath as the bridge that led to the Fane of Raman began to come into view. It was a powerful view of Grustian architecture, and yet… the sight of something so clearly Grustian seemed to depress her. Grust was here, and it wasn't the under trained, weak and woefully unprepared regiments they had constantly fought in the past.<p>

Through the morning mist, she noticed the figures on the bridge, and clearly saw the proud black armor that denoted the Sable Order. Grust's finest regiment, and perhaps, the order that single-handedly gave Grust its title of the most powerful military nation on the continent.

Once upon a time, Altea and Archanea would have been full well capable of matching Grust, but no longer. Archanea and Altea now needed allies to have any semblance of a standing army, while Grust, having never been broken, was still formidable even standing alone.

And yet, Grust's strength wasn't what truly worried Nyna. She looked at the soldiers of the Sable Order and her memories of her custody at the hands of Archanea's enemies when the palace fell came back to her. An unpleasant nightmarish situation she had found herself in, and yet… something was tightly squeezing her heart. Something primal inside of her screamed that only sorrow would come to her if the League continued, that she would gain nothing and lose everything.

"Is something wrong, Nyna?" She flinched at the sound of her name, and turned slowly to Marth. The Altean prince was looking at her with a slight cock to his head. Nyna realized, with discomfort, that her anxiety must have been plainly obvious in her body language. Taking a second to compose herself, she spoke to Marth.

"Nothing… is wrong, Marth." She said. Despite her best efforts, the expression on Marth's face seemed to say that her own was betraying her. With a silent sigh of dread, she spoke again. "Who is our enemy today, Marth?"

Marth turned from Nyna and looked at the bridge. "Grust's Sable Order. Their greatest elite. They've become serious about wanting to stop us."

"The Sable Order…" Nyna folded her hands together, almost looking like she was praying. As the princess of the holy kingdom, she offered a prayer to the gods, _what_ she was praying for, she didn't know. "The most elite of Grustian warriors. Who… who is leading them, today?"

Marth shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Nyna paused, feeling like Marth's words were a carefully prepared knife stabbing into her heart. When she spoke again, it was with very carefully picked words. "I just… the Sable Order, is considered one of the most powerful military orders to have ever existed. Especially in its current form. Its general is widely considered to be the most able warrior and tactician of this generation. I was… wondering if he was here today."

Marth stroked his chin in thought. "You're talking about Camus The Sable. No, he's not here." He turned to look at the Sable Knights who held their positions on the bridge and on the other side of the bridge. It almost looked like their strategy would be to try and scare the League away… but Marth did not doubt that every soldier of the Order laid claim to a frightening level of skill. "I heard that Dolhr rarely allows him to command his own troops. He's acted outside of orders on a number of occasions and incurred the ire of the wrong people. I doubt we'd see him here."

All the tension and apprehension that was weighing down on Nyna's heart seemed to disappear in an instant. A smile of relief crept painlessly upon her face, and her entire body relaxed, almost to the point of sagging. One hand went over her chest, and she felt her heartbeat slowing to a more relaxed speed. "That… is well for us, Marth. I suspect that we might not be able to effectively fight him from this bridge."

Marth looked at Nyna, studying her closely. He noticed… _something_, wrong with her. She noticed his searching gaze and quickly turned away, walking away and being careful to not look back at him and reveal the eyes that couldn't give the expression she wanted them to give. Marth was curious as to what was happening to Nyna, but decided to not push it for now, and turned in preparation for battle.

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><p>Sternlin waited near the entrance to the Fane of Raman. Already, the Archanean League was readying itself on the other side of the bridge. One scout ran up to Sternlin, but knowing full well that it was simply a report that the League had come, Sternlin just waved the man away.<p>

It was clear that they weren't trying to be subtle, they were going to try and just smash through the Sable Order. If they thought that, then they were clearly underestimating the Order. He allowed himself a smirk, but it disappeared quickly. He could not and would not allow arrogance to dampen the Order's performance today.

Slowly, he turned his head to grass. A small sadness bit at him at the thought of these healthy blades becoming slippery with blood, and seemed somewhat soothed that the majority of the fighting would be confined to the bridge.

A chill crept through him, as if the elements themselves were trying to instill dread into him. He shook it off, and instead chose to believe unflinchingly in his eventual victory.

The Order was already in position. So long as everyone fought their hardest, he should have little to worry about. If all went well, he might need only watch the battle from a distance, the heads of the League soldiers brought to him.

Even so, he mentally prepped himself for combat. His eyes shut, and his mind was flooded with the thousands of different ways the enemy could have come at him. He managed a grin, he had an answer for every tactic the enemy might use, and welcomed his foes.

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><p>One single Pegasus Knight cut through the air, the rider seemed a little wasted, fatigued, like she had gone without adequate sleep or food for too many days in a row. She held a trusty, familiar lance in one hand, but her other hand was wrapped tightly around a sheath. Inside the sheath was a sword, but perhaps out of some respect for the weapon, she did not hold it by the ornate hilt, but instead by the richly designed sheath.<p>

The rider, Whitewing Est, held the sheath close to her. Despite her physical exhaustion, she smiled with a sense of accomplishment. She felt proud of her own daring as she held Mercurius, one of the three Regalia of Archanea in her hand. She was thankful that she hadn't been spotted when she took the weapon. Stealth, she found, was exhilarating. More so if you were sneaking past enemy soldiers who thought they were just too good to let anything slip past them.

She was thankful that the Grustians who guarded the treasury were run of the mill soldiers who had grown complacent by spending too much time in the safe, fortified nation. She was thankful that there had been no Sable Order knights nearby, she had seen enough of them to know that she likely would not have slipped past them undetected.

Ever since she had pilfered the weapon, that Grust stole in the first place, she had been trying to find the Archanean League that Minerva had joined. The League that she was certain her two sisters had also joined. She had been on their trail for a while, but they moved fast. Any army aided by the Commander, she reminded herself, _would_ move fast. Yet she was sure she was closing the distance, she wasn't stopping to fight enemies like they were, the only reason she hadn't found them already was because it took too much time to catch any trace of them.

Now she saw a bridge in front of her, and her heart wavered at the sight of the Sable Order. Then she looked to the side and felt uplifted by the sight of the League. More importantly, by the sight of a female riding a red Wyvern.

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><p>"Fighting Grust… again." Caeda murmured as her Pegasus currently trotted on the grass, ready to take flight. It's feathery wings twitching slightly, anxious to flap. As her hair draped over her shoulder, and her head hung forward, she looked completely miserable.<p>

Nyna was ready to back away and let the actual soldiers fight, but Caeda's words immediately caught her attention. She looked at her friend, seeing her seem to almost be despairing. Nyna's first thought was that the repetition of this war, to fight and kill, then rest and rejuvenate just to go fight and kill again, was getting to her. She immediately shook her head, knowing that there was only one thing that could have bothered Caeda like this.

"You've had a dream again, haven't you?" Nyna asked. Caeda turned to her, the pathetic face answered Nyna's question perfectly. Nyna simply waited for Caeda to elaborate.

"Just… a dragon unlike anything I've seen before, would kill Marth." She did not blink, she did not do anything that would make her eyes close and let the imagery return to her. "Huge… looking like it came from the ground itself… there were so many ways it could have killed Marth instantly. Its claws, its breath, its fangs… I… don't want to talk about what it actually _did_ to him." The unsettling image crept into Caeda's memory, scarring her mind with the gruesome sight.

Nyna reached up to lay a hand on Caeda's lap, her shoulder being too high to reach. "We'll prevent it when the day comes, but it won't happen today. Right now, all your efforts must be focused on the Sable Order. They are not foes you can divide your attention against."

"I know that." Caeda took in a breath, "I just… you know his safety is the only important thing to me."

"I don't doubt that." Nyna said, looking over Caeda, privately feeling that Caeda was selfish to prioritize Marth over everything else that was happening, but saying nothing on that subject. "You should just focus on the battle."

* * *

><p>"We faced Gra's elites." Hardin reminded himself as the League began to march down the bridge. Yet the simple sight of the Order made it clear that in the Dolhr Alliance, Gra was a nation of almost sickening weakness. The Sable Order, in contrast to Gra's troops, simply waited patiently, somehow it seemed almost taunting to Hardin.<p>

He looked at Marth, and noticed his friend's slight hesitation. The Sable Order… one look at them and one could see that they were very different from anyone else they had fought before. Calm, composed, orderly. They did not respond to the scent of the rewards or accolades they might receive should they best the League.

The fact that they fought for the sake of their land and lord, and were not moved by thoughts of personal gain, would make them dangerous, zealous foes. Yet… Hardin looked at them, and he could almost sense something in the air…

Honor. The Sable Order didn't forsake it. Hardin understood that just by looking at them. Sable Knights were not unpleasant individuals, and they held unflinchingly to a code of honor. Hardin could see it so plainly, and yet fight and kill them the League would and must. It was a sad necessity.

Hardin looked at Marth again, and knew that the same thoughts were running through his head. Stretching a hand forward, Marth closed his eyes to steel himself, and promptly gave the order to attack.

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><p>Abel moved forward with the others, fearlessly galloping forward with the other League soldiers who rode horses and met the Sable Knights. The enemies were simply holding their positions and… waiting for the League.<p>

The long months of facing Grustian troops gave him what he believed to be a good idea of what to expect. He came upon the first wave of Sable defenders positioned on the bridge. With belief that this would be simple, he swung his sword…

And almost had his head cleanly sliced off.

The Sable Knight opposite him had swung his sword faster then Abel could have possibly anticipated. Abel's life was spared only thanks to Cain, who stabbed his lance into the enemy knight's left shoulder. The Sable knight stopped his attack mid-swing, only inches from Abel's unprotected neck, backing away in a grimace, clutching at the lance. In the split second of reprieve, Abel stabbed his sword straight through his enemy's breastplate.

The enemy knight died, falling from his horse without a sound. Not allowing himself a moment to wrap his mind around just how close to death he had come, Abel moved to find his next enemy, this one he would fight more cautiously.

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><p>Marth waded through the unfolding madness of this battle, surprised by the level of resistance they were facing. While any other enemy would be cut down in mass, the Sable Order was experiencing few casualties.<p>

He saw the flash of Navarre's Killing Edge, and watched a Sable Knight, now without a head, topple from his horse, tumble over the side of the bridge and fall into the previously undisturbed running water. The Swordmaster was heading to his next target before the body had even begun to lean toward the rails.

A Sable Knight came up and managed to sink his sword into Astram's arm. With a grunt, the Archanean drove his own sword into his enemy's breastplate, sending the Sable Knight to his death. Grimacing only briefly at his wound, Astram readied himself for his next enemy.

Elsewhere, Horace fended off three Sable Knights single-handedly. Even the finest Archanean armor seemed soft and easily penetrated against the enemy. Horace's armor was covered in dozens of cracks, and he might have lost the exchange if arrows from Jeorge and the Parthia did not come to his aid.

The flames of Etzel's Elfire rained across the bridge. Most Sable Knights were able to dodge the fiery barrage, but a few, here and there, were picked off by the magic. They died the moment the fire impacted them, well before they landed on the ground.

Everywhere Marth looked, he found himself marveling at not only the skill of the League soldiers, but at the resolve at the Sable Order. The Order's knights were completely dedicated to their cause, and they were here to achieve victory or lay down their lives for that cause. It was somehow disheartening to put them down… when Marth was sure that they, unlike many they had fought before, were likely good and honorable people.

It was like fighting Dolhrians. No, that was inaccurate. The Sable Order, was even _better_ trained then Dolhrian troops. The League was fighting tooth and nail, and only had a _very_ slight advantage. And this couldn't have been the greatest of the Sable knights, the fact that Camus wasn't here meant that the best of the best were likely absent. It did not bode well, but he pushed the feeling down. All that mattered right now was victory. With Hardin at his side, they began to push further across the bridge, slowly but surely gaining ground for themselves.

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><p>"They think that, steadily, they are winning." Sternlin muttered, stroking his chin. He smirked, "They shall not pass if Camus The Sable decrees that they must not. Sable Knights! Show them your flexibility, press your attack!"<p>

The Sable Order, which had previously been content to try and hold the line and slowly lose precious ground, suddenly turned aggressive. They came upon the League with all the savagery of wild animals, combined with the subtle terror of well-conceived tactics. No Sable Knight attacked independently, they charged in coordinated waves and teams.

Marth grunted in frustration at this new challenge, but he didn't have the time to develop an effective counter-strategy, and the League just fell back, and back, until it had nearly lost all the ground it had gained.

Then a shout went out, and the battle briefly stopped as several hands on both sides pointed in the air at a single approaching Pegasus. It wore the trappings of a Macedonian knight's steed, the League and the Sable Order stared, wondering how this might effect the battle, and…

"_Est_!" Palla yelled the second she saw the rider. There could be no mistaking her youngest sister. She was so stunned by the sight of her sister that she briefly forgot entirely about the battle.

The somewhat disconcerting break in the battle continued as Est began to swoop down. The girl was relieved to have found the Commander and her sisters, and-

"Attack!" Sternlin commanded. At once the Sable knights obeyed, suddenly pressing their attack on the League, much of which was still focused on the swooping Pegasus Knight. It was only due to the quick reflexes of Marth and Hardin, and the order to ready a defense and wait for an opening, that no casualties were suffered.

"Commander." Est came up next to Minerva, all thoughts of a happy reunion were absent from her mind, and she focused herself only on her duties as a knight of her princess. The sword she stole she would bring up later. "What should I do? Where do I go?"

Minerva spent a precious second in thought, then swung Hauteclere, slaying a Sable Knight who had gotten too close to her. She hid her obvious relief at seeing Est, and tried to answer her question without doing anything to jeopardize Marth's strategy.

"The Sable Order are not fools. Go and fight to the best of your ability. Do _not_ underestimate them. We will talk when this is all over."

Est nodded, the sheath still in her hand. She looked over the League, memorizing the faces of the allies. She noticed, and raised an eyebrow, at the fact that Minerva, Palla, and Catria were all fighting so far away from each other.

Then she did a double-take at one certain knight, the very Altean she had met in the Lefcandith Valley. Abel was his name, he wasn't even looking at her, he was focused on the battle. On random impulse, Est decided to fight relatively close to him rather then near one of her sisters. She flew off in his direction, which must have seemed like an arbitrary direction to Minerva.

Abel was focused on the battle, and didn't notice Est's approach as the Whitewing readied her lance for combat and swooped in. He didn't notice her until her lance stabbed into an enemy that was so intent on trying to attack him from the side that he failed to notice the untested Whitewing at all.

Abel turned to his unexpected rescuer as Est turned to him. She smiled smugly, and he remembered the girl immediately.

"I have your back, Abel." She said with an almost purr-like tone.

"Of… course." He looked straight Est's face, which still had that innocent quality he remembered. Her face had such a… charming and disarming structure to it. He felt a pulse of strange emotion. Irritated by the unexpected feeling, Abel separated himself from any emotions he had and pushed the unexpected fluster down, throwing himself entirely to the battle at hand.

Est had killed one Sable Knight, but her performance left something to be desired against the ones who knew she was there. Abel saw her display of skill, it reminded him of just how inept her battling style had been in Lefcandith. It felt so long ago, and his mind was flooded with the dozens of things Est was doing wrong. Her skill with the lance was so unrefined and underwhelming, saying that she was 'bad' was an extremely pleasant and forgiving way to put it.

Pragmatically speaking, she was a liability with a level of skill like that. Abel leapt to the aid of the one who thought had his back, even if she couldn't take care of her own front. Cold logic dictated that letting her die might have been for the best, but that wasn't the sort of person that Abel was. His sword pierced fatally through one Sable knight that was attacking her.

"You _don't_ have my back." Abel said, the words were heard over the sound of battle despite being spoken with a conversational tone. "You _don't_ have a clue."

Est flushed with embarrassment and indignation at the words, and turned away from him and to her next enemy. She charged at him with Abel right behind her.

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><p>"They fight with much enthusiasm." Sternlin commented with a complementary tone, seeing things shift in the League's favor once more. The Sable Order was buckling, though slowly, against the League. "Very well, but even we, who aren't even the true elites of the Order, are full well capable of pulling victory from the jaws of defeat. Onward, Sable Knights! Show them the true power of Grust!"<p>

The Sable Order surged, with the intention of ending the League all at once. Marth came forward, his Rapier sinking through the protective breastplates of his enemies. Now it was the Order that was falling back, losing ground even as they gave the League one of the hardest battles it had yet faced.

Sternlin gritted his teeth as the Order's knights crumbled on this day, the corpses piled up by the rails of the bridge as the League reached the land that led deep into Grust territory.

"Archanean League!" Sternlin roared, lance in hand, he and what few men that were standing by him rushed. "By the honor of the Sable Order, I swear, you shall not pass into Grust. Not today, not _ever_!" On his horse, he led a charge, straight into the mass of League troops.

For nearly anyone else, that would have been certain death. Yet Sternlin knew full well what he was doing. He entered into the mob, searching for the one man who was the League's anchor, spine, heart, and head all in one. Prince Marth.

His men did well, swinging swords and thrusting lances in coordinated manners meant to strike enemies and make other enemies back off simultaneously. They succeeded in wounding several League soldiers, but across several minutes they were surrounded and killed with a merciful swiftness. Now all that remained of the enemy was Sternlin, who remained untouched.

Sternlin charged with no regard for his own life. His blood and soul charged for the sake of General Camus above all other things, and he went straight for the Altean prince. He ignored all other things, moving too fast for the League soldiers to intercept, and batting the impetuous out of the way with the handle of his lance.

Then Navarre leapt at him, the Killing Edge slicing deeply into and through Sternlin's hip. He roared in pain, but his horse continued to faithfully carry him forward, safely away from the Swordmaster. Sternlin's soul screamed for him to break the League by shattering its Commander, and no amount of pain or free-flowing blood would stop him from doing that.

He swung his lance, making several League soldiers back away, but kept his eyes eternally on his target. The distance was closing and he could so clearly see the man.

"Altean prince!" Sternlin screamed as his hip bled with pure pain, begging him to stop moving, but he ignored it. Marth stood ready for him, but Sternlin was prepared for anything the prince might have done. Bringing his lance forward, he thrust at Marth, intent on ending his life in one mercifully quick instant. Marth attempted to dodge, but succeeded only in making the potentially fatal stab into his chest become a far less lethal stab into his shoulder.

That was as far as it went. Sternlin wished to pull the lance out with messy and bloody effect and stab the prince again, hopefully with fatal result. He was denied the chance to do that. Before he could go any further, Jagen grabbed his shoulder and hoisted him from his saddle. Upon the ground, Sternlin would have defended himself, but his lance wasn't in his hand. He quickly glanced at prince Marth as Hardin slowly took the lance out and let Maria and Lena tend to him.

Sternlin tried to rise, refusing to surrender despite the bleakness of his current situation, disarmed and surrounded and prone on the ground. His attempt to continue fighting was met with the sharpest of pains as Minerva's axe plunged into his gut. He yelled in pain, loud enough to make several League soldiers cringe slightly. The axe sank into his flesh, tearing through muscle and slicing delicate organs, maybe going so deep as to strike bone, before being violently ripped out.

"Not… bad." Sternlin groaned out as blood flowed freely from his torn open gut. He recognized the simple reality, that he had lost. "Fighting our hardest… offering no quarter, and asking for none, and the Order still lost on this day. But… ah-" he grimaced as he could feel his sticky blood seeping out from the wound Hauteclere inflicted. Blood pouring out from the deep wound that the Killing Edge had torn in his hip. He never thought that his own blood would be upon the grass.

His eyes clenched shut, and his hands gripping the dirt and soil beneath him. He spoke with pride and certainty. "Camus… General Camus, shall be your end. Nothing you do… can change that. When you face him… you'll wish you had died by… _these_ hands."

He raised a hand up in the air, then clenched it, for all the pain he was in, he managed a smirk. "Honor to General… Camus. Glory… to Grust. Land of… my birth." The hand fell back to the ground, the palm open, but lifeless. His eyelids drifted down, and he took to his sleep.

The effects of the Heal staffs was apparent. Marth walked forward, the wound he had suffered was already once again healthy flesh. The damage to the cloth that should have covered that one small section of his shoulder was all that remained.

He nodded his thanks to Jagen for keeping the enemy from making a second blow, and Minerva for killing the enemy. Then he turned his attention to the reason they were here at all.

"The Fane." It was a majestic building, a holy building, one that had clearly been built very carefully in a time long past, but something seemed… wrong. It was an ancient building, that much was clear, one could look at it and see the obvious age. Yet it looked like people had gone in and out quite recently.

Thieves, perhaps, but Marth doubted that. Something told him… something more dark had sullied the halls of the holy building.

"Malledus." Marth summoned his tactician and advisor as a sick feeling of worry was rising in his gut.

"Yes, sire." Malledus came up. Marth could see the weariness in the man's face. This war was getting him, and he would likely lose more then he would gain in the end. Yet Malledus still faithfully remained. "What do you wish of me?"

"What do you know about the Fane of Raman? All I know is that the Lightsphere and Starsphere will be found in there."

Malledus nodded at the request and closed his eyes. His brain processed all the information he had read in scrolls across his years, collecting and listing all relevant and meaningful information. He opened his eyes again and spoke. "The Fane of Raman is a relic left behind by the Divine Dragons, the same ones who were led by Naga, the crafter of Falchion."

Marth took that in, and understood what he owed to the ones who built the Fane. He would have to show respect while inside. Patiently, he waited for Malledus to continue. Yet out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Manakete of the League, Bantu, begin to fidget slightly at the mention of the Divine Dragons. His thoughts undoubtedly on the one Divine Dragon left in this world…

"The Fane of Raman has attracted little attention since Medeus was sealed away long ago. The Shadow Dragon displayed no interest in it when he returned. Yet, not long ago, around the time Medeus returned, it is said that a 'Goddess' came to inhabit the Fane. Anyone who enters is destroyed with a divine breath."

Marth turned his back to Malledus and looked again at the Fane, trying to imagine a 'Goddess' residing in those halls, and a chill went down his spine. Would a deity stop him from dispersing Imhullu?

"Maybe we should find another way to dispel Imhullu." Nyna suddenly suggested, walking up to Marth and grabbing his wrist. "If a Goddess has made the Fane her dwelling… we have no right to enter at all."

"We wouldn't…" Marth took a step away from her, then looked up at the building. "But where would such stories have come from if all who enter are destroyed?"

Nyna twisted her lips and took in a deep breath. She understood that, even in the face of the news of this Goddess, Marth was still going to venture forward. Reckless, in her eyes, but that trait of Marth had served the League well throughout the war. She still moved to moderate him, somewhat. "If that is your course of action… perhaps we should at least limit the soldiers who enter with you."

"Whether the Goddess is truly in there or not, I have no intention of desecrating and tearing down a holy building." Marth said, "Especially one built by those who gave Falchion to Anri. Only so many will go in with me. In a few hours. If something's waiting for us in there, we can't let fatigue after the last battle result in our end." He looked back to the bridge, the corpses of Sable Knights was all across it. It would not take long before the stench of death would make it nearly impossible to cross. As he looked at it, he found the remains of these Sable Knights a more sobering sight then the remains of other enemies.

He knew the soldiers were likely exhausted, the Sable Order had proved a greater challenge then he, or anyone else in the League, would have expected. It wasn't time to enter the Fane just yet.

* * *

><p>"Um… p-prince Marth." Est approached the leader of the army as the soldiers all collectively took a breath and wondered how they had prevailed on this day. Marth turned to the youngest of the Whitewings and gave her his attention.<p>

"Est, is it?" Marth asked, Est seemed to almost panic when Marth addressed her by name, then hurriedly nodded. Catria stood beside Marth, and looked almost amused at Est's fluster.

"At first, I had hoped to join you and the League alongside my sisters. But…" she smiled smugly, and flashed a victorious look to Catria. "I heard that Grust had stolen Mercurius, one of the Regalia of Archanea. I _had_ to get it back."

"_What_?" Catria suddenly yelled. She didn't notice the fact that she became the attention of several League soldiers with the one word. Her next words were whispered. "Est, you told me and Palla that you were getting something 'personal'."

She shrugged. "I had to say something that would make you let me go." She smiled as Catria's mouth started to hang open. Est turned back to Marth, her smile dropping and she wore the face of a respectful and dutiful knight. She offered him the decorated sheath. "This is Mercurius, one of the most powerful weapons in the continent. I'm certain one of the soldiers can use it well. Maybe even you, sire."

Marth took the sword from Est. For a second, Est seemed reluctant to let ago, and stared longingly at the sheath, as if she wished to wield it herself. Unfortunately, she trained with lances, not swords.

"I shall decide what to do with this." Marth nodded to her, "Well done, Est. Now, leave me."

Est bowed and left, feeling completely victorious, almost drinking in the indignation Catria was exuding and the small words of praise from Marth. With this done, she decided to have the reunion she couldn't have had in the middle of the battle.

* * *

><p>"I'm very glad to see you, Est." Minerva spoke, smiling at her last soldier. She took a step forward, and Est wondered if she was about to be embraced, but Minerva simply dropped her hand onto Est's shoulder. "I'll admit to growing worried for you when it took so long for you to come… and Marth tells me that your arrival was delayed due to you taking Mercurius from Grust."<p>

"Yes, exactly." Est smiled, inclining her head toward Minerva respectfully. "I felt a real rush sneaking into the treasury like that. No one saw me, coming or going, Commander."

Minerva seemed almost taken aback, then looked at Est hard. "Est, there's something you should be aware of." Est wondered if she had misspoke at the sight at Minerva's suddenly stony expression, and waited for Minerva to speak again. She couldn't tell what she had done or said, but Minerva's face and voice had turned serious.

"You just called me 'Commander'." Minerva observed.

"As… as usual, Commander." Est answered, suddenly without confidence.

Minerva briefly closed her eyes, then looked at Est with an understanding face. "Est, for as long as you are part of the Archanean League, when you say 'Commander' you are speaking about Marth. He is the absolute head of the League, and he outranks me. If his orders and mine contradict, you will go with what _he_ says. Even if it means abandoning me to my potential death."

"I…" Est stared at Minerva, and how she seemed so calm as she plainly said that Marth's word was final in all matters, even if it might result in her own death. "B-but, my first loyalty is-"

"To me, I know. But you must understand who leads the League, and Marth has never done anything unbecoming as Commander." Minerva nodded, as if to further affirm her words. "You can put your trust in him. He will guide us through this war and back to Macedon. Every other soldier who swears loyalty to another first and foremost, the Archaneans, the Aurelians, are required to answer to him first as well."

Est mulled it over, understanding who led the League, and who she would receive her orders from, and nodded. If Marth had Minerva's respect… "Of… course, princess Minerva. Prince Marth is Commander, and until this war is over, I will serve him."

Minerva accepted the words, and was happy to see Est take it so well. "Go to your sisters, they'll explain their status in the army. Barring some possible exceptions, you won't be fighting alongside them as you usually do."

With a bow, Est turned and walked away. She didn't mention that she was actually happy that she wouldn't be fighting alongside her overprotective sisters. She wanted to fight in her own way, by herself. Even so, she _did_ want to see her sisters again, at least for a short while.

* * *

><p>"Ah, Est!" Palla immediately embraced her youngest sister when Est came to her. Est felt the air whoosh out of her as Palla's arms closed around her, and had to keep herself from laughing at Palla's reaction. "I am so very glad you're safe."<p>

"Of course I'm safe." Est said, squirming slightly while locked in Palla's arms. "I'm a full-fledged Whitewing… but I hear I won't be under your care on the battlefield for once."

Palla didn't notice the sense of satisfaction in Est's words. "You're right, the Whitewings seem to be spreading out across this army." She released Est, and slowly explained everything about her and Catria's positions in the army. Catria was one of Marth's own bodyguards, and Palla was the partner of Wolf, the same Aurelian who, apparently, bested and nearly killed both Palla and Catria single-handedly in Lefcandith. Palla spoke as if she was deeply… fond, of her almost-killer and now partner.

"Now, there's someone I'd like you to meet. A good friend I made in this army." Palla smiled, Est raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless followed her eldest sister.

* * *

><p>"Roshea, this is my youngest sister." Palla had the youngest of the Aurelians and the youngest of the Whitewings face to face with each other. "Est, Roshea has proven to be a good friend, and was able to look past what… <em>we<em> did to Aurelis. I… do hope you two can get along."

Palla stepped back and watched as Est and Roshea looked at each other without speaking a word. Roshea crossed his arms and Est seemed to narrow her eyes as a quietness settled in. Palla felt like she had been kicked in the gut. Est and Roshea stood, almost as if they were studying some kind of wild animal. Holding themselves in a position that made it seem as though they were ready to lunge or ready a defense at any second, they examined everything about the other.

Finally, after what was several gut-wrenching seconds for Palla, Est and Roshea both looked at the eldest Whitewing, and smiled. They turned back to each other and relaxed themselves, apparently pleased with what they were seeing. Palla found herself pouting at a pair of mischievous grins, realizing that they had made a game out of acting initially hostile, just to mess with her.

"Another Whitewing." Roshea said, taking a step forward, finding he was just barely taller then Est. "How much training do you have?"

"The others take lessons from me." Est answered with an arrogant, challenging tone. Palla blinked at Est's fib. "You want lessons to?"

Roshea looked unimpressed, and stood in a slightly dignified but not arrogant manner. "I'll take lessons from someone who knows how to fight." He shrugged, "I saw you trying to attack Sable Knights. I'll be honest, the only thing you seem to know how to do is simply hold the lance, not actually thrust with it."

_Right, he saw through that easily enough._ Est took a step back, suddenly feeling threatened. Looking at Roshea, she could tell that he definitely had more experience in fighting by himself. "That's only because Palla and Catria still act like I can't fight by myself and shelter me all the time. I might not have had trouble today if I could actually be able to test and improve myself."

Roshea smirked. "Maybe you should take lessons from Wolf." Palla pictured the sight of Wolf training her sister, and shuddered. "You'll either become an expert, or break in a few minutes."

"I can handle my own training." Est spoke indignantly, but took a step back from Roshea's words. "Or do you want me to knock you down, every spar?"

"It would be interesting to honestly lose a spar to someone so green." Roshea responded, "But seriously, you should find someone to train with. Training so you can fight better by yourself. My brothers always helped me learn how to fight specifically so I could fend for myself. I probably would have died before Aurelis was liberated if they hadn't."

Est turned down and stared at the floor as Roshea looked at her. Suddenly she felt Roshea's hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, but, you do need to get better, _fast_, if the skill of the Sable Order today is any indication of what is to come. I'll help you, but you need someone who can work with you consistently, even on the battlefield."

"A partner." Est said, understanding what Roshea was saying, and relaxing herself. "Not a caretaker or protector, a _partner_."

Palla felt sick in her stomach at the words Roshea and Est were using. She, and Catria, were actually being held accountable by Est for Est's inability to fight with the best of the best. She had always sheltered Est because she felt she wasn't ready to fight by herself, and…

"I need to find someone." Est quietly said, "Then when I'm better at this, I'll floor you without even trying, Roshea."

Roshea smirked. "That'll be the day, Est. That'll be the day." He walked off, oblivious to Est silently declaring him to be something to match and surpass. A rival her own exact age.

Est managed a grin, but it left quickly and she walked away. She needed to find a partner, or perhaps _tutor_ would have been more accurate. One who was patient, and generally free to spend time helping her. She needed to get up to speed quickly, before their enemies advanced too much themselves. But who would spend that much time with her? She barely knew anyone here, and-

"Abel." She snapped her fingers. The only person besides her sisters, who refused to give her the necessary training, she could possibly go to.

* * *

><p>"Est, was it?" Abel asked, standing with authority across from her. "Do you… need something?"<p>

Est tilted her head in a cute manner and nodded. "There's something I want some help with. You're the only person I could think of."

She took a step forward, Abel felt a growing trepidation in his chest at her approach. "And… what is it, that you want help with?"

"Training." Est said as if it was readily apparent. "I'm… just not as skilled as some other people in the army. I'm looking for some help in correcting that. So…" she took another step forward, the normally stoic and calm face of Abel's grew tense, and his eyes traced to the side.

"I want you to train me. My sisters just baby me in training. I need someone who will actually help me grow better."

"…and you come to me." Abel muttered, looking slightly irritated, but also marginally honored that he was the one Est singled out for this.

Est smiled, "Of course." She looked at how Abel wouldn't look her right in the eye, and sensed that she somehow had the advantage between the two of them. She folded her arms behind her back and came closer to him, getting her face in his. "So, what do you say? Will you train me? I'll actually _really_ have your back in the future."

Abel looked at her, and wasn't sure how to answer the question. Then she batted an eye at him, and that was the end of the matter. He sighed. "Yes, I'll help you get up to speed."

"You won't regret this." Est said with a smile. Abel looked at her walk by him, caressing his cheek with one finger. "When do we start? I can go right now. I'm not exhausted at all. Come on!"

Abel sighed, then looked hard to her. He looked over Est all at once, _This one will be more trouble then she's worth._ "An hour from now, Est. I need a moment to catch my breath after a battle like that. You'll give me a general overview of your skill after an hour has come and gone. The sooner you show me your idea of a lance thrust, the sooner I can tell you what you're doing wrong."

Est gaped at the last few words, and Abel managed a smile. Proving herself to Abel would be another goal, just like matching Roshea. And she intended to meet all of her goals.

* * *

><p>Marth held the sheath of Mercurius in his hand. He held it firmly, then grabbed the hilt of the blade with his other hand, and slowly unsheathed the weapon. He marveled at the design of the weapon as it reflected the bright rays of the sun. Richly ornate and refined looking, but still very powerful. It looked almost as if the weapon was a ornamental blade to be used only in ceremonies and never in battle. Yet in his hands, he sensed the power of the noble, holy, and surprisingly heavy weapon.<p>

Looking at it, a slight frown crossed his face. The more he looked at it, the more self-indulgent the weapon's design became in his eyes. No weapon needed so many jewels imbedded into the hilt, and the blade itself almost looked like a cut of diamond. He found himself hoping that he wasn't the one who he would chose to wield it. Besides, he wished to wield Falchion, the blade of his family, and a sword of undoubtedly superior quality.

With a sigh, he sheathed the blade. Many potential wielders of the sword came to mind. Navarre, Ogma, Astram, Abel, even himself. He had to make a decision… he had no wish for the Regalia to become coveted items among the troops. At the same time, giving the Mercurius to anyone would be like a declaration from Marth that that person was the best swordsman in the army. Fortunately, few had been concerned about the Parthia going to Jeorge, hopefully it would be the same with the Mercurius.

Looking at the Fane of Raman, a part of his mind quipped lightheartedly about the possibility of the Divine Dragons coming from the sky to tell him who to give the weapon to.

After a few seconds of nothing happening, he shook his head of the wishful thinking. Looking at the sheath, he decided to assign the weapon to another when the excursion into the Fane was over. For now, the weapon would simply be stored.

* * *

><p>"Est!" Maria spoke when she saw the Whitewing. Est smiled at the princess and came up to the younger girl. It was no great secret that there was a bond of friendship between the youngest Whitewing and the youngest Macedon royal.<p>

"I missed you, princess." Est said with a grin, patting the red head of the girl only two years her younger. "I've been worried ever since I heard your brother put you into that prison." She added somewhat somberly.

"He did it for Macedon." Maria responded, just a slight hint of frustration was in her voice. "I was happy to do it for him, but I'm happy to be out of there as well." Maria's smile dropped a little. "Catria keeps insulting Michalis, but Minerva and I are here just for the sake of saving Michalis from his circumstances. We'll save him from Dolhr, and he and Minerva and me can be a family again."

Est wasn't oblivious to what Catria thought of Michalis, Catria had ranted enough about Michalis in the past, but Est still gave half a smile at Maria and her wishes. "I hope that's how things go. King Michalis… even now I can't call him a bad person."

"Because he isn't." Maria insisted. "He's _trying_ to do the right thing, he's just gotten stuck thanks to Dolhr. When we go to Macedon, we'll put the nation back on the right path, with Michalis still on the throne. We… we don't have to dethrone him. We _won't_ dethrone him."

Est laid a hand on Maria's shoulder. "No, I don't think we'll need to. I'm sure he's listen to reason. Especially from you."

Maria beamed, certain that Michalis would listen to reason. When had he ever failed to do so before?

So happy and sure was she in the belief that Michalis would listen and turn against Dolhr, she failed to notice that Est wore a face of concern. She failed to notice that while Est wanted Maria to be right, she didn't have Maria's unshakable confidence that thinks would end so well. Yet, such things would be faced when the time came, and so sooner then that.

Est placed one hand on Maria's cheek in an affectionate, friendly gesture, happy to be reunited with her friend, then sighed and backed away. "I'm sorry, princess, but I _am_ a soldier. I need to speak to the other soldiers." Or rather, a specific one, she smiled to herself she was going to go to Abel and wait for the hour to pass and then show him her skills. "We'll talk again some other time."

She was certain that she'd need training for what was to come. On some primal level, she knew, returning to Macedon would test her like never before.

* * *

><p><strong>I feel that Caeda's dreams have gotten well past the point of redundancy and monotony. So I just had her envision Medeus in this chapter, and will not really have her have another one for the length of the whole 'war'.<strong>

**Despite the Whitewings being all spread out, you will see the Triangle Attack in this story before too terribly long. Promise you that.**

**Please review.**


	33. Heir of Divinity

**Discliamer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>The interior of the Fane of Raman was almost completely silent. It was almost sealed off from all outside noises, not as much as an eerie wind blew through the holy halls. The only sounds came from rats and other small animals who had made nests in the corners and alcoves of what had once been a structure of the Divine Dragons. The very structure where they had kept their most precious items. Not the least of which were two spheres of great power.<p>

The Guardians stood, not speaking a word, not moving a muscle. For endless time, they stood. Seconds became minutes, then hours, days, years, centuries, and they never moved. Under their armor, they looked almost like statues. Suits of armor that moved by the will of some unseen hand. No one could have known that flesh and blood humans were under the metal. Humans whose bodies had forgotten how to age, humans who swore fealty to the Divine Dragons long ago, and were sworn to defend the last Divine Dragon. No matter what state that Divine Dragon was in.

The magical energy free-flowing naturally through the Fane suddenly shifted. None of the Guardians took particular notice. It had occurred so commonly that it did not strike them as out of the ordinary, and as long as they sensed no threat, it was beneath them.

Gharnef appeared in the Fane, almost fading into existence from the shadows. He carried no weapon, nothing that would incite the Guardians against him. He only carried Imhullu, which remained ever on his person.

His feet moved almost of their own accord, he was familiar with the throne of the Fane. A part of him wondered exactly who had once sat on this throne, but he quickly chased the thought away. The only thing that mattered was the one who sat on the throne now.

He could privately admit to having grown concerned when Xemcel had asked to see his little pet project around the time Marth appeared in Aurelis. Nothing had come of it, Dolhr had simply been made aware of this little asset of his. Just as, his face wrinkled in irritation, Dolhr had become aware of his assassins. Too many… secrets of his, were being revealed. But if all went well in the final moments, and this war was clearly in its late stages, it should not matter.

With a quirky smile that many would have regarded as unsettling, he looked upon the being who sat on the throne. A child, a girl, who looked to be barely ten years of age. In truth, she was much older then that, but her age meant nothing to Gharnef. All that mattered was the nearly indomitable power that resided in that young seeming body.

"Tiki…" Gharnef spoke the name of the one Divine Dragon that yet existed in the world. He smiled in a manner that seemed fatherly, but so terribly wrong at the same time.

The girl's eyes seemed to be completely blank, but there were signs of color returning to them. Gharnef raised a hand and pointed one finger at Tiki's forehead. With the nail barely an inch from Tiki, strands of light escaped Gharnef's hands and entered into Tiki's eyes. Slowly but steadily, Tiki's eyes began to return to a completely blank state.

A small prickle of annoyance scratched at Gharnef's raw, deformed skin. The nature of the Divine Dragons was such that they could fight off brainwashing if left alone long enough. Reapplying the spell was necessary, even if it required Gharnef to briefly pull himself from his other manipulations.

His loyal servant, Eremiya… he disliked trusting her with overseeing any of his plans. Not that she was inept, though he had come to believe that he had overestimated her and her assassins, she simply did not have the words to manipulate those besides her puppets, nor the scope of the long term that he did.

She could not direct the Archanean League to the end he desired. Even at this final stage…

"Tiki…" he repeated as all these thoughts circled in his head. The girl's head raised slightly, she looked into Gharnef's soulless eyes with her own blank ones. "Tiki, defilers have come to the Fane of Raman. Despoilers, thieves, _heathens_. They seek… that which is rightfully yours, the treasure and items nestled in the Fane. Further, they seek… your head."

At the mention of danger, Tiki's hands gripped at a round, white stone in her lap. The Divinestone, the only Divinestone left in the world. And, Gharnef took specific note of this, the only thing besides Falchion that could do true, meaningful harm to Medeus.

"These trespassers, these… assassins and murders, their presence will not be tolerated. Princess of the long departed Divine Dragon clan, fulfill your duty as Guardian, kill them. Breath upon them your holy breath, let not one live."

She continued to stare, like a lonely monster pining desperately to have a soul. She nodded, slowly, at Gharnef's words.

"Remember, Tiki. Dolhr would slaughter you without mercy. It is only _I_ that has allowed you to live, it is only _I_ who keeps you safe."

"B-Ban-" Sounds tumbled unexpectedly from her mouth. Irritated, Gharnef crushed her feeble thoughts, pushing them down to where she couldn't reach them. It would resurface in time, but for now the thought of her once guardian was again gone from her mind.

"Bantu has… abandoned you." Gharnef continued, speaking the Manakete's name with disgust. His tone of voice made him sound like a good parent keeping his child from a cruel warden, but Gharnef was nothing so benevolent. "I am all that protects you from Dolhr, from the enemies of your father. You will do my bidding, for only by doing that can you hold on to your life."

With a deep chuckle that echoed throughout the normally soundless Fane, Gharnef faded away. His prized pet once again under his control.

* * *

><p>Marth was ready, but his heart slammed with anxiety. Something about setting foot into a structure of the Divine Dragons left him, a member of the royal family of Altea, direct heir to the throne, feel unworthy.<p>

Only a few soldiers would be entering with him. Those he felt he could trust, and who would conduct themselves with respect for the honored clan of Naga.

Obviously, Minerva and Hardin and Caeda would follow him. Alongside them was Marth's most trusted soldier Jagen. Hardin selected Wolf, and Minerva selected Palla. Marth went on to have Merric, Bantu, and Lena come as well. Only ten of the army would enter the holy building.

"I would urge more numbers." Minerva grumbled for Marth's ears alone. Her Wyvern emulated her grumble, and growled softly. Minerva immediately shot the lizard a glance, reminding it that Marth was _never _to be growled at. "I'll bow to your judgment on this, Marth, but… I'd rather more troops be present. There could be some manner of trap in there…"

"I understand, Minerva, but I can't desecrate a holy building with the entire army. Especially if the builders were the ones who gave Falchion to Anri."

The woman's face twisted, not agreeing with Marth in the slightest, but trying to respect the decision. Respecting the ancient owners of the Fane was not something she seemed inclined to do. Respecting ancient traditions wasn't something she seemed likely to do. She would have just broken down the Fane until she found the Lightsphere and Starsphere. Her blunt methods almost gave Marth a sense of mirth as he readied himself to enter the holy Fane.

With an irritated shake of her head, Minerva walked to her Wyvern and got onto the saddle. The creature raised its head, ready to obey its master. It would not do anything to damage the Fane without Minerva allowing it to, and Minerva knew she wouldn't do anything of the sort without Marth's permission. She could only sigh at what she considered to be the unnecessarily long way to do this.

Marth looked at the soldiers that he would bring with him. The fact that he demanded that respect be shown while inside the Fane was something that they understood without him saying anything. They would not as much as pick up a pebble from the ground unless they believed that it would not offend the dead. Satisfied, Marth simply pointed to the foreboding entrance to the Fane. Without a further word spoken, they entered. With any luck, the spheres would be found, and the entire point of going to the Fane at all would be accomplished.

* * *

><p>Catria had her arms crossed, tapping the fingers of her left hand against the bicep of her right arm. She felt something lurch inside of her as Marth disappeared inside the Fane, and she <em>knew<em> that she should have been one of the selected.

She probably wasn't the only soldier who felt the need to be in there with the leaders of the army. A look around made that aptly clear. Several soldiers stood anxiously, most were likely in the process of mentally composing an argument over why they should have been in there. She placed a finger on the center of her breastplate, and found that her desires to be with them felt almost personal, unlike everyone else, who had merely dutiful desires to be in the Fane with the leaders of this army. An emotional hand gripped her heart, and, no matter how much she didn't like the nauseous, dizzying feeling, the hand wouldn't let go.

"Why can't I…" she mumbled, the rest of the sentence devolved into incoherent sounds. She wanted to be in there instead of Palla. She wanted her lance serving for the singular purpose of aiding…

She blinked. Marth's name surfaced in her mind… well before Minerva's did. Her head bowed down suddenly as an unexpected desire to be the prince's protector dominated her mind. She wanted to protect him, and maybe, not just as a soldier.

"Prince… Marth…" she spoke so slowly that it didn't sound like a connected sentence. The next words tumbled out against her will. "I… I'd be a better Pegasus Knight for you _now_ then… then princess Caeda could ever be."

A hand went over her mouth before any other word could dare try and escape. Shock at the words coursed through her… and yet she knew the words were completely true. She took a deep breath in and clenched her eyes shut.

* * *

><p>"Charge again." Abel ordered. Est stood across from him, with few lulls in battle in the foreseeable future, this was the best time to try and train the girl.<p>

She came at him. With a sigh, he held up his lance at her sad excuse for a charge. The weak attack easily repelled, rather then move forward and end the spar, he let her try to attack again. Attack after attack came, and he barely had to move the lance to block every thrust or swing.

He suspected that Est was trying to break his lance with repetition. A valid strategy, but she had too much of an interval between her attacks. She couldn't try to break his weapon if she gave him a chance to get his bearings between every attack.

The next time she came at him, he stepped to the left. Unable to stop her momentum, Est sailed past him, and then felt Abel's wooden lance tap lightly on the back of her head.

"Poke. You're dead." Abel said with a smirk. Est turned to him with an indignant expression. "You've got a lot to learn, Est. You need to strike faster and harder, you can't give the enemy lulls between your attacks like that." He looked her over, then approached her, "First off, the way you're holding the lance has to go." He grabbed her wrists, moving them along the long handle of the lance. Once into position, Abel made sure Est's hands went around the lance properly.

"Now, try to thrust with that." Abel ordered. Est obeyed, not targeting him, but simply thrusting at the air. The thrusts were clumsy at first, but they quickly improved as she familiarized herself with the new grip. Abel took notice of it, it would take much more time then that for her to become a master, but for now, it was certainly a good start.

"Come at me again with that grip." Abel said. Est took a few more practice thrusts, then turned to him. She charged, Abel stood ready, she came at him slightly faster, but she wasn't yet striking any harder. Abel's brows drew together, and he knew that letting her practice attacks in a controlled environment wasn't enough. With one movement of his lance, he forced her back.

"I'm going to be coming at you now, Est." Abel said, the girl drew a step back, looking almost frightened. "I won't go all out, but I want you to prepare a defense."

Est relaxed, and nodded to show that she was ready. She braced herself and waited for Abel to come. His approach was swift, and she readied her defense.

She blocked the first blow, and skidded back from an attack of only moderate strength. She took in a breath and looked at him, happy that he wasn't treating her with baby gloves. Trying to wear a gritty warrior expression, she waited for him to come again.

* * *

><p>The inside of the Fane of Raman was deathly silent. The torches on the walls were unnaturally mute, there was no crackling sound. All that Marth heard was the sound of his footsteps, his and his allies.<p>

His eyes traced the walls, looking for anything unnatural, anything that could be a threat. He also looked for anything that he might say was the Starsphere and Lightsphere. The plan was to simply find those spheres and leave, hopefully without any incidents or complications.

Wolf's eyes, undoubtedly the sharpest among those present, analyzed everything around him. There was nothing nearby that seemed to be threatening, but he sensed a presence in the Fane. Not malicious, but not friendly. But all he saw before him was some erected suits of armor.

He saw Marth and Hardin lead the others down the path through the armored suits, and something inside Wolf stirred.

"Wait." Wolf said, everyone paused. Hardin looked back to his right hand with a quirked eyebrow, and Palla cocked her head at her partner. Wolf's eyes narrows on the suits of armor that seemed to be standing at attention. "Something is not right."

A silence crept in as they all gripped at their weapons. Wolf's intuition and deep understanding of what he saw was trusted by all present. They waited for something to happen. Marth slowly unsheathed his Rapier…

The armored suits stirred.

Almost in reaction to the sight of Marth's weapon, the armored suits moved. With long forgotten flesh and muscle underneath, they lifted their swords, and the ancient knights approached the shocked League.

Immediately, Wolf reacted. One arrow swished through the air and jammed into the breastplate of one knight. The knight stopped momentarily as the arrow went through the ancient armor and pierced into the flesh underneath. Blood pumped out, but the knight simply began moving again.

"What are… _who_ are they-" Marth began to ask, backing away and pointing his weapon at the knights. He didn't want to kill before he knew what they were.

"Human servants." Bantu answered the prince's half asked question, an odd hint of strong emotion in his voice. "Those who swore fealty to the Divine Dragons, but, what are _they_ doing here?" He immediately backed away, shocked that any of these servants still existed in the world. They should have disappeared along with the majority of the Divine Clan. Then his eyes were filled with a strange… hope. Wherever these servants were, a Divine Dragon was not far away. Because of that, then maybe…

"I don't know what's going on, but if they're stopping us from getting the Lightsphere and Starsphere-" Hardin took his lance out. "We must accomplish our mission here. Even if it means killing them."

"They're trying to keep trespassers out." Bantu noted, "I do not believe they understand who we are or what we're trying to do. Despite the sad necessity, we must…" Bantu clutched at his Firestone and felt the energy surge into him. He assumed his true form. The Guardians were unmoved, and charged at him, but were only turned to ash by his breath. It pained him to strike down the servants of the Divine Dragons, but that sense of pain would be meaningless, if today ended with him finding the precious one.

Marth shook his head at the necessity of battle, but prepped himself for this all the same. For the sake of the continent, and especially Altea, these Guardians would have to be put down.

* * *

><p>Deep in the Fane, Tiki sat on the throne. The sounds of battle, of clashing metal, shouts, death cries, and the… nostalgic roar of a dragon, filled the air. The girl, unable to feel much in the way of emotions, was not yet numb to fear.<p>

She began to tremble, clutching at her Divinestone. She begin to shiver with fright, even as her eyes remained blank and emotionless.

"B…Ban…Ban…" She spoke weakly, recalling the name of someone. Someone she knew…

The sounds yet remained far away, but already the fear made the holy energy in her Divinestone start to slowly seep into her. She breathed raggedly, and cried out for some kind of protection, but her one protector, the Dark Pontifex, wasn't anywhere nearby.

* * *

><p>Jagen's Silver Lance stabbed easily into one of the Guardians. The ancient armor had become degraded, it offered little protection to the occupant. Jagen pulled his lance back out, the force of the pull dragged the Guardian to the floor. The Altean didn't bother to make the killing blow, more Guardians that required his attention were coming, and the fallen Guardian was trampled to death by his comrades.<p>

Wolf's arrows sunk easily into the neck of a Guardian. The enemy fell, a safe distance from the Aurelian. Palla killed a nearby enemy as Wolf was already focusing on his next target. The Guardians had to climb over the corpses of those who fell by Wolf's arrows, it was practically creating a small wall that the enemy had to either climb around or go around. It made it easier for Wolf to keep his enemies at bay.

Minerva swooped in to nearly bisect a Guardian in two with a swing of Hauteclere before rising up once more. She looked at the numbers of their foes and felt that she had been proven correct that more of the League should have been present. She looked at their enemies with frustration, then swooped down again. Her Wyvern clamped its jaws on the arm of one knight, and ripped the arm clean off with one motion.

The knight didn't scream or even cringe. He didn't clutch at his wound, but simply tried to attack, ignoring the blood pouring out of him. As he approaching Minerva, he was suddenly killed by Caeda, the Wing Spear thrust through the back of his chest.

Minerva wasn't exactly impressed with the attack, but nodded at Caeda as if she had actually needed the aid. They both left in opposite directions to find their next respective targets.

Guardians were cut down here and there by the wind. Excalibur streaked through the air, slashing the Guardians to pieces. Merric moved his hands carefully, controlling the wind blades precisely. The blades sank into the Guardians with grim accuracy, but never touched the members of the League.

Marth fought not far from Hardin. The two friends and leaders complimented each other well in all battles and all situations. Marth's Rapier slashed and stabbed through Guardians that seemed to be nearly twice his size. Hardin, meanwhile, led his horse to the enemy, his lance killing his enemies easily. Even so, he breathed hard. There had been so little time between this battle and the last. He felt as though he might collapse, but he remained conscious and continued to fight.

Lena served well. The Guardians were not weak or foolish, and she had much to do. Everyone, even Bantu, was taking grave wounds from their zealous foes. The energy of the Heal staff flowed through each and every one of them, mending cracked bones and healing torn flesh. They continued to fight only thanks to Lena's aid.

Marth stopped to stare dishearteningly at what they were doing. The building that had been left as a storehouse for the Divine Dragon's artifacts was slowly being coated in blood. Those who swore fealty to the Divine Dragons in an age long past finally breathed their last, and their final thoughts could have only been on their desire to serve the Divine Dragons. And their failing to protect this place.

The fact that he had to concentrate on the battle was all that kept Marth from giving into an odd form of grief and pity. He focused on the knights in front of him, and stabbed through the eroding armor. No matter who was before him, he _needed_ to find those spheres.

After nearly a half an hour of blades, metal blades and Merric's blades of wind, slashing through the air, it seemed like all resistance to the League had quieted.

Before anyone's shoulders sagged down in relief, Marth signaled for caution. They all took a breath before continuing to move, being careful of everything around them. The Fane was now riddled with corpses, and blood seeped out onto the holy pavement. Marth felt sick at the sight, knowing the violation this was, but nonetheless continued on. They all followed him and had their own take on this battle, but only Lena seemed to perfectly share Marth's perceptions.

They traveled deeper into the Fane, encountering nothing of note, save the flame of the torches illuminating text inscribed on the walls. Ancient text that likely had a deep meaning, but they could not understand it.

Paying it no mind, they traveled deeper into the Fane. As they traveled further, Marth began to feel anxious as he saw nothing that struck him as being the two spheres he was looking for. If they could not find the spheres, they had little chance of defeating Gharnef. As the idea of having nothing to strike through Imhullu dawned on him, a real fear registered in his heart, and some small part of him began to panic.

Finally, they reached the last room. Marth's heart rose with hope as he saw two stands in the room. On each one was a sphere, one colored golden, the other colored silver, and Marth hoped, beyond hope, that they were the spheres he sought. Even if they weren't, they had to have been objects of great power, considering how delicately they had been enshrined on the two stands. It looked like this room was crafted for the sole purpose of housing these two items. All of the metal work and statues in the room seemed to point to the two spheres, it was clear that the spheres were of tremendous value.

Marth held himself back from a smile and looked at the throne in the room. There was someone here, he held his sword carefully and led the League toward the individual. They stayed across the room, and came to a position where they could look straight at her.

"A child?" Marth was stunned to see a young girl here, in the Fane. A young girl… he wondered where she came from. Her manner of dress was distinctly different from any traditional garb he had ever seen before. How could she have gotten this deep into the Fane by herself? He doubted that this girl could have single-handedly snuck past the Guardians, and even if she did, they'd probably just find her in short order.

Marth approached cautiously. Even against this, he couldn't let his guard down, even the innocent face can deceive and plot, he knew.

Bantu's eyes widened in recognition at the girl, and he opened his mouth to speak. He was overwhelmed by emotions at this sight. He was so overwhelmed that he could not speak, but could only stare dumbly at his… his charge. His responsibility, the last of the Divine Dragons. He blinked back tears of joy, he had _found_ her.

Tiki's head was bowed down, but she suddenly looked up. She saw Marth's Rapier, and fear registered in her blank eyes.

"N-no…" she quailed as Marth approached, trying to scoot back on the throne. She shook uncontrollably, her hands curling around a white stone. "Stop, s-stop, please… come no… closer…"

Marth hesitated at the pleading tone of voice. He turned back to those he brought in with him. Hardin signaled for Marth to continue on. Some part of him still felt unsure, he looked at Bantu, and noticed that the Manakete seemed to be in shock, but strangely content at the same time.

"A-away…" the girl continued to speak, begging Marth to leave.

Feeling somehow guilty, Marth nonetheless continued his approach. The girl recoiled… but then her eyes suddenly narrowed.

"Get… _away_!" She screamed, Marth jumped back from the sudden change in tone. The girl clutched at her stone more tightly, and grunted as the energy inside it begin to pulse into her. She disappeared into a single bright light, bright enough to force everyone, even Bantu, to shield their eyes with both their eyelids and their hands. It was brighter then any light any of them had seen before.

* * *

><p>The League outside the Fane continued doing as they did. Most resting, but some training. Most prominent was Est, who was trying to learn a great deal in a short amount of time. She now had a few bruises across her, but she was proud of them, they were trophies of progress to her. And she wanted more…<p>

Then the ground itself trembled. Est lost her balance as the earth shifted beneath her. Abel caught the girl as she fell while his eyes traced around. For a moment, Est wasn't interested in the shaking earth, but in the arms that had gone around her hips. Abel quickly let go once her feet were firm on the ground again, but she found herself grow skittish as Abel stood next to her.

Suddenly every League soldier stood at attention, scanning around fervently, trying to figure out what happened, or what the ramifications of the shake of the ground would be.

A roar came, piercing through the air, so clearly audible despite seeming to come from far away. If there was any ambiguity as to where the tremor had come from, there was none regarding the question of where the primal cry originated. Everyone's eyes turned to the Fane.

The roar was so distinct. It was like a lion's, or a Wyvern's…

…or a dragonkin's.

"Coyote! Wolf!" Roshea was the first to react, and not just stare at the Fane in disbelief. He knew that it wasn't Bantu's roar that he heard. He felt sick in terror at the thought of Coyote and Wolf fighting a Manakete with only so many allies. His feet were moving well before the shot of panicked concern fully registered on him, but he was suddenly stopped as two arms wrapped around him.

"Don't, Roshea." Linde said, holding him protectively from behind. She shook her head, then held him tighter as Roshea began to fidget.

"Linde! Coyote and Wolf… and _Merric_, could be fighting something that they can't take on by themselves. I need to-" as he spoke with a very clear anger in his voice, Linde's embrace became tighter.

Merric was also precious to Linde, Roshea had hoped that the mention of him would make Lind let go. Linde closed her eyes and sank her chin onto Roshea's shoulder. "Have faith in them… Roshea. We have to… respect Marth's orders, and believe in them." She wanted Merric to be safe, but she also didn't want Roshea to risk his life like this. If she could keep Roshea from trying to charge to his death, she would. She tried to hold him in place, though she knew full well that he could overpower her easily if he really wanted to.

Roshea gritted his teeth and looked down at the two arms around his waist. He was ready to pull them apart and continue for the Fane, and then he felt Linde trembling, and understood that she didn't want to just stay out here either. The realization crashed over him, and his sudden frustration with her ebbed. He stared at the entrance to the Fane, unable to cease the churning in his gut. He stood there, allowing Linde to continue to hold onto him. His hands clenched into fists, and he wanted to go…

Linde prayed for Merric's safety, that the next time she saw him, he wouldn't be ash. A few tears escaped her clenched shut eyes and fell on Roshea's shoulder. Roshea did not move.

Nyna did something she had almost never done before. She began to bite her nails, fearful for the sake of those who went in, if only for the sake of the continent. If either Marth or Hardin died, they may never see a continent free from Dolhr. And if any of the others fell, especially Caeda or Minerva, the impact of the death would send devastating ripples through the army. Such deaths might destabilize the League, and make even fervent supporters of the cause question their chances in this war.

* * *

><p>After the light dimmed down back to the usual dark lighting of the Fane, there was no girl sitting on the throne any longer. Now there was only a giant white dragon. Marth stared in awe, unable to believe that the little girl had been a Manakete, and one unlike anything he had encountered before.<p>

This dragon stood on its hind legs, towering over the others present. Two brilliant white wings sprouted from its back. They were nothing like the pathetic things that Bantu sported in his true form, this creature might have very well been capable of taking flight. Its fangs and claws were lethally sharp, even the mighty Wyvern Minerva rode would die in one slash or stab from those teeth and talons.

"B…back! Back!" The creature snorted. Despite its imposing size, it seemed almost… scared, of Marth. It could likely kill all present with ease, and it was still frightened of those around her.

"_Tiki_!" Bantu cried, words finally coming to him again. All present turned their eyes to him, but he focused only on the white dragon. He walked forward, taking a great risk in not assuming his true form. "Tiki, it's me. It's… Ban-Ban."

Marth did a double-take at the dragon at the sound of the dragon's name. Tiki. The last of the Divine Dragons, who Bantu had always spoken so fondly of. Marth beheld this dragon in a new light. Tiki… the very daughter of the dragon who had gifted Anri with the holy blade, Falchion. His mouth hung open at the sight. It was no surprise that this dragon looked so different from other Manaketes, it was a Divine Dragon.

"Ban-B-" Tiki looked at Bantu, the eyes of the dragon clenched shut, as if it was in pain, but then she shook her head, as if clearing herself of a haze, and roared. "Ban-Ban abandoned me!"

Bantu recoiled in disbelief at the words. He… no, he never abandoned her or betrayed her. They had gotten separated. He knew Tiki was an emotionally sensitive girl, but he couldn't understand how she could come to a connection like that. Ever since he had lost contact with her, his every action had been made trying to find her. He knew her, he knew that she should have been overjoyed to see him again… so why was she so angry?

She drew breath into her mouth, and Bantu felt his skin prickle in fear. Little could stand against the power of the Divine Dragon, especially one like Tiki. Bantu made a cry to dodge, Marth took up the call, and the strange white continuous flame from Tiki claimed no one.

Rather then just leave a burn mark on the wall, Tiki's breath burnt straight through the ancient stone, opening a path to the room behind them. The flame did not stop at that, and continued through the Fane. It might end up reaching the entrance, so unstoppable it seemed to be. Marth stared in disbelief at the hole Tiki had burned through the stone. Bantu's flames would have taken _hours _to go through that wall…

Minerva readied Hauteclere, her Wyvern growled, its face giving the facsimile of a smile, it was ready to do this. So, so ready. Bantu's eyes widened in horror.

"Stop!" He cried at Minerva, "Let me speak to her! I've come all this way just to find her."

Minerva shot an indignant glare at Bantu, wordlessly declaring that killing the Manakete was a necessary evil, but Bantu didn't back down. Without even waiting for anything from Minerva, he turned back to Tiki.

Marth looked at the two Manaketes, unable to comprehend what was going on between them. Yet he seemed to understand, without knowing how, that Bantu would succeed at what he was trying to do. Whatever it _was_ he was trying to do. He raised a hand, commanding that all of the soldiers back away and let Bantu… speak to the Divine Dragon.

"Tiki, listen to me." Bantu implored with a weak voice. The white dragon above him growled softly, but he didn't back down. Bantu had his head bowed down. "I never betrayed you. Ever since we separated, I have been looking for you. How long have I looked for you, I sought only to find you and protect you from this world. I never thought to abandon you for my own selfish gain. I seek only your safety and happiness, as your guardian, that is my greatest desire."

He raised his head up, looking straight at Tiki's eyes. They were blank, devoid of color. They looked more like useless orbs embedded into the sockets where proper eyes should have been.

And then Bantu realized exactly what had happened to Tiki.

"You… poor thing." Bantu spoke with disgust. He was on the verge of being sick in his sorrow at the sight of what had happened to Tiki. Through his horror at the knowledge of what had been done to Tiki, he realized that only one person could have possibly done this to her.

"Gharnef has tricked you. He has warped your memories and made you subservient to him and only him." He bowed his head in deepest understanding. Tiki looked down at Bantu in what might have been confusion. "What has he told you? That he is your protector? Gharnef cares _nothing_ for you! He robbed you of free will so he could attain what _he_ desires. The day you stop being useful to him is the day he disposes of you. I, _we_… are people who will truly care for you. Now…" he raised a hand to her and looked her straight in the eye. "Awaken, child. Awaken to a better life."

Tiki stared in confusion, then suddenly roared in… fear or pain, one or the other, or maybe both, it was impossible to tell. Her entire dragon form began to glow, then slowly shrink. Marth saw Tiki once again take on the form of a little girl. It was hard to belief that a dragon of that kind of strength was really so… so young.

Her eyes opened. They were no longer the blank spheres from earlier, but colorful eyes that innocently looked at Bantu.

"Ban-Ban?" She asked weakly, seemingly unsure if it was really him in front of her. Bantu placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, it's me, Tiki."

Tiki blinked, looking more sleepy then anything else. She turned her head, looking all around the area. She didn't realize that the scorching hole in the wall had been made by her. "Where am I?"

Bantu didn't answer. Not immediately, at least. "Tiki, how do you feel? Are you hurt?"

She thought for a second, but shook her head. "No, not hurt. I just feel… scared. I feel like I've been in the middle of a… nightmare." A hand went up and grabbed at her forehead, as if something was scratching painfully on the inside.

Bantu bowed his head, his expression regretful. "I am truly sorry for what you had to go through. I won't leave your side again."

"Promise?" She asked, feeling uncertain. "I… I hate being alone."

Bantu smiled softly. "I swear I'll be there to protect you from now on. No one will hurt you."

Tiki smiled at her guardian. Yet the hand that held her Divinestone continued to shake. Bantu begun to turn his body. "Come, Tiki. There are people you should meet. The ones who helped me find you."

* * *

><p>As Merric, as the single mage within the Fane, took his leave to examine the two spheres in the room, and determine the power contained in them, Bantu introduced Tiki to Marth.<p>

Marth felt overwhelmed at who he was in the presence of. The very daughter of Naga. He only half-registered Bantu telling Tiki all about him. Tiki looked up at Marth with a smile, her heart lifting at the tale of heroics she was hearing. The very princess of the Divine Dragons looked at Marth admiringly, like he was someone to try and emulate.

Finally, as Bantu began to finish up the tale, Marth finally found words starting to come up his throat, ready to be spoken.

"Tiki." Marth knelt down to be level with the Manakete princess. "Bantu told me all about you."

She smiled and stretched a hand out to lay on Marth's face. Marth grunted slightly at Tiki's grip, which was a fair bit stronger then he would of thought. Then again, she wasn't actually human. She started to caress his face as though he was a pet.

"I heard all about you, too." She said, as if Marth hadn't been standing right there as Bantu told her all about the Altean prince. "Will you take me with you?"

Marth's breath got stuck in his throat at the words. He looked at Tiki as she looked at him expectantly. He didn't want to put her in danger, or make Bantu more worried for her then he needed to be, but he didn't want to alienate her either. Slowly, he nodded at the question. "If… if it's what you want Tiki."

She nodded her head eagerly, taking a step forward. Marth thought he was about to be hugged, but Tiki instead grabbed the fabric on his shoulders and practically bounced up and down. "Yes, yes, it is what I want! Thank you, Mar-Mar!"

The prince blinked, he could hear Caeda, Minerva, and even Hardin starting to chuckle. He turned to look at the others. Lena was on the verge of laughter, while Palla had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep her grin hidden. Jagen offered a smirk and Wolf had his eyes lightly closed and simply shook his head. The Aurelian horseman wasn't as much as smirking, but even his heart was somewhat lightened by the commander of the League being given such a childish nickname.

The only one who didn't hear the nickname was Merric, who was examining the two spheres. Marth was thankful for that at least. He'd have never heard the end of it from his old friend.

Thoroughly irritated, he made a mental note to have a pleasant little chat with all of them later. In the meantime he turned back to Tiki, ignoring Bantu's own amusement, and focused on her.

"…'Mar-Mar'?"

Tiki stared at him with big innocent eyes. "Am I… not allowed to call you that?"

"I…" Marth found himself at a loss of words. This… certainly was not what he expected when he imagined Naga's daughter. He found himself groping for words. "I… well, um, if you want to call me…"

"Oh, thank you!" Tiki's face relaxed. She smiled at Marth, Marth closed his eyes lightly. Tiki's smile was more disarming then Caeda's would ever be.

"You're… welcome." Marth said hesitantly. He heard the others continue to snicker, he stood up with annoyance and turned around. They all sobered immediately at his indignant glare. "Can we ascertain that we found the Lightsphere and Starsphere?"

He turned to Merric, who was focusing on the orbs. Both on stands, he put his hand over them, not touching them, and he felt a prickle, no, a stab of energy, shooting into his body, and suddenly jerked back.

"Well, these things have a lot of power in them, anyway you look at it." He said, his hand now shaking. He approached one of them, the silver orb. As he cautiously but boldly laid his hand on it, he felt a rush of power. Energy coursed through him, stimulating and empowering every nerve and muscle and sense of his body. He suddenly longed to wield a weapon, a sword, an axe, anything, despite his lack of training with such things. As he rested his hand on the fist-sized orb, he felt as though he would never grow exhausted and fatigued again. He also felt as though this glorious effect would extend to anything he wielded.

With an effort, he pulled his hand off of the orb and took a deep breath. After feeling the rush, he now felt weak, undernourished, but he still turned to the other, golden sphere.

He had a better idea of what to expect this time. He laid his hand on it, and again, energy filled his body. Only, instead of feeling strength and seemingly inexhaustible spirit, it was like his entire body lightened. It was now like he walked on the air, he could go anywhere he desired, no obstacle, no rough terrain, could stand in his way. Sharp rock would be smooth marble beneath bare feet, lethal magma would be cool water, rushing rapids a calm brook.

Reluctantly, he lifted his hand from the sphere. Having tasted the strength of both spheres, he now felt doubly weak and powerless. Wendell would say that that was likely the reason the spheres were hidden in here at all, to prevent them from being coveted and fought over. He longed to hold both at the same time.

"These… are most definitely the Lightsphere and Starsphere." Merric said, breathing hard. "I… I've never felt a rush like that. It was… magnificent."

Marth felt almost intimidated by how Merric reacted to the spheres, but nodded. Power like that were the ingredients Gotoh needed. "We'll need them. We'll need to take them to the White Sage. Then we'll be able to take the fight to Gharnef. I mean, _really_ take the fight to him."

Their business in the Fane was over, and they gained an unexpected ally in the process, he looked at Tiki, who was now talking to Caeda. Now all that was left was to take the spheres and leave.

* * *

><p>"Prince Marth!" Catria was the first to notice them coming out of the Fane. The League turned expectantly toward the entrance of the Fane. Catria got there ahead of everyone else and bowed her head.<p>

"I was worried about-" her words stopped mid-sentence as she looked at Marth. He was covered in bruises and cuts, which he had none of when he entered the Fane. The wounds weren't damaging enough to require immediate attention by a Cleric, and yet… her jaw dropped at the sight of something she was sure she could have prevented. "F-forgive me, for not guarding you inside the Fane, prince Marth."

"Don't worry about this, Catria." Marth said, looking at the damage to his skin and his clothes. "I've lived through worse."

"You shouldn't be forced to go through these things at _all_." Catria responded, stepping forward and dusting off Marth's shoulders, thankful that she didn't find anything stained red. "That's why you need me to stay with you. When I'm hovering by you, you never have to worry about any injuries."

He blinked at her, then nodded. "You are a loyal and valued bodyguard. I probably do owe you my life on a few occasions."

Catria felt a rush of pride, her chest swelled with it, and she allowed herself a confident smirk. "That's why I should always be beside you. You'll always be safe in my hands."

Caeda felt a chill go down her spine at Catria's words. Her hand fell on Marth's shoulder in an almost possessive manner.

"For now, you should just rest." Catria said. "You've gone through enough for today."

He smiled. "Perhaps I have, but we also gained much today." He motioned at Merric, who stepped forward holding a bag. "We've found the Starsphere and Lightsphere. Now, the White Sage can craft Starlight for us. We just need to…" he blinked as the word stretched out. It only then registered on a meaningful level. they didn't _know_ where Gotoh was. All they knew was that the two Spheres were what Gotoh needed to craft Starlight.

"We just need to…" he groped for words, trying to improvise something, "…get to the White Sage." He managed to awkwardly say. "Once we do, we can finally bring an end to Gharnef once and for all."

"Beyond that…" Marth continued, "We made a new ally." He looked over his shoulder. Tiki was not far from him. "The only Divine Dragon left in the world. She… wishes to aid us."

Nyna approached, looking at the little Divine Dragon. She looked like a child, but Nyna had long since known that the way a Manakete looked in their human form rarely had any bearings on their true power. Especially if the dragon in question was of the Divine clan.

Even so, Nyna would hope that Marth would limit how much he put on this girl's shoulders. She just… looked so _young_ to Nyna. Nyna would have protested if the Manakete hadn't personally volunteered to help. Someone who seemed so young shouldn't, Nyna felt, have _anything_ to do with war.

"That is all that will be necessary for today." Nyna spoke up, chasing the thoughts of the Divine Dragon away for now. "After facing the Sable Order, and entering the Fane, we have done enough for one day. Right now, we should rest. For all of us, its been a long, difficult day." For her, it had been an emotionally vexing day, and she knew that emotional vexation would be in her future as well.

Marth nodded, "We'll start moving again tomorrow. Until then, everyone should feel entitled to some rest." He turned, looking to the path that led deeper into Grust. "I can only have a few general ideas of what's ahead of us. But whatever is ahead of us… we need to be prepared." He walked off… and the League began to scatter and set up camp. Nyna did not start to move away immediately, she just stared to the path deeper into Grust. The path to the Grustian castle.

* * *

><p>"You're safe, Merric." The first thing Linde did was embrace her fellow mage. Merric was feeling light-headed after his encounter with the two spheres, and suddenly found his face in Linde's shoulder.<p>

"Miss me, did you?" Merric asked, then fidgeted uncomfortably as Linde's arms grew tighter around him. He felt so weak at the moment after feeling the energy of the two spheres, he didn't seem to have much of a chance to break free.

Linde had grown scared beyond what words could convey when she heard the dragonkin's roar. If Merric had died, she would have never accepted Tiki among their ranks. No words could convey just how much she wanted to do what Roshea tried to do. Yet she was the one who dissuaded him. For every second Linde held Merric safe, she relaxed a little more, and was happy to have Merric here in her arms. She wanted this moment between them to continue…

Roshea stood right by the two mages. He felt… something in his heart sink, at the sight of Merric with Linde. He felt nauseous, but pushed the feeling down with a considerable force of will. The sight of the two embraced was somehow… painful, for him. He tried to take a calming breath in but felt no relief as the air entered into his lungs. He simply turned around, then found himself breathing hard. Something in his soul was screaming… and he couldn't bring himself to look at his two friends right now.

He had had Linde's arms wrapped around him some time ago, but didn't feel anything remarkable about it. Yet the sight of Merric in Linde's arms felt… Maybe he should ask Wolf about this feeling. He had never felt like this before. He knew what it was like to feel sick of course, but he was sure he wasn't actually ill… his brothers might understand this. All he knew was that the sight he was seeing… almost seemed to hurt him.

* * *

><p>"Divine Dragon, huh?" Maria took notice of the newest member of the army. She looked to be around her own age, but Minerva had already told Maria that she was far, far older then that. Tiki could very well be the oldest person in the army.<p>

"Yes, I'm Tiki." The Dragon princess answered with a cheerful tone. She wondered if the red-haired girl in front of her could be a new friend.

"I'm Maria, one of the princesses of Macedon." Maria replied. "I'm a Cleric in this army. I used to be a prisoner in Castle Diel, but Marth saved me."

"I'd still be all by myself, in the Fane, if Mar-Mar didn't come." Tiki said slowly. She found that she and Maria were in the same boat, held prisoner in lonely isolation, and then saved by Mar-Mar. She wondered if that meant they had some special connection to him.

"A real rescuer, and…" Maria paused, she smiled, and blushed, at the thought going through her head. "…a handsome one, too."

Tiki quirked an eyebrow. Maria didn't realize that Tiki didn't know what the word meant.

"Oh, you should see him on the battlefield." Maria practically swooned as she recounted tales of daring, her hands were on her reddening cheeks. Tiki was growing confused at Maria's behavior, but as she thought of Marth, she found her own face growing red.

The feeling was completely foreign to her, but as she listened to Maria talk, she felt the crippling desire to have her own stories to tell of Mar-Mar's heroics. Including stories where he saved her from people who would try to hurt her.

"Say, we're about the same age… I think." Maria changed the subject, looking at Tiki. Supposedly much, much older then she looked, but Maria couldn't look at Tiki as being any older then her own twelve year old self.

Taking a step forward, she grabbed Tiki by the hand. "Come on, lets find something to do together." Tiki perked up at the suggestion, and nodded.

* * *

><p>"Marth." Nyna approached the Altean prince as he had barely begun to recuperate. She would have liked nothing more at the moment then to allow him to rest, but she had to get her anxiety off her chest. "Where are we going next?"<p>

Marth regarded the expression on Nyna's face. Something was up. Something had definitely been up earlier today, when she had been relieved by Camus' absence in the battle. In any other situation, she'd be happy for the chance to see the League take down one of the more prominent soldiers of their enemies. "Grust has been crippled. Yet if we leave them alone, they'll regroup. They'll come at us, I imagine, with greater zeal then ever before in an attempt to make us answer for how close we got to them. We… have to crush them _now_. Before they can retaliate."

Nyna grew sick with terror. She didn't even try to push it down, it would have been futile. Only able to stare wide-eyed with fear at Marth, words clung to her throat. It took all of her will-power just to keep her mouth from hanging open. Marth watched her reaction, she looked rattled, scared, without a shred of hope, was she fearing that the League would have been defeated if they march to Grust, or… After several minutes, words at last came to her.

"You mean to… invade. To subtract Grust from this conflict once and for all." It was a sound plan, to eliminate the enemy that had met them time and time again throughout this war. Yet, there was no silencing the churning in her gut. The fall of Grust might, and likely would, see something terrible happen to her. It was the same feeling that had been in her gut before they fought the Sable Order at the bridge earlier today, but now it was far more pronounced, and there was no quelling it.

"Yes." Marth could see that something was bothering Nyna, but could ascertain no specifics from her face alone. All he could clearly tell was that something about marching into Grust was frightening her to no end. She had grown worried in previous battles, but this was a new depth, and Marth wasn't sure what her fear was over. "When we go to the Grustian Castle, we'll meet Camus The Sable. There can be no avoiding it."

Nyna inhaled quickly. There could be no hiding her emotions anymore. Her head hung forward, she held herself and began to breath hard. She looked at Marth, and knew that there was no avoiding the question of what was wrong with her. "I…" that was all she got out, the words stuck to the tip of her tongue, and only after several deep breaths did she manage to continue speaking. "I understand… Marth. This is the best course of action, but…" her eyes shut, she tried, and only partially succeeded, in keeping them from watering. "If we will really attack Grust, then there is something… I must… tell you." She gulped in the necessary air and looked at Marth. "L-later, I need to… collect my thoughts. Think them through, g-give me some time."

In all the time they had spent in this war, Marth had never seen Nyna so… disturbed. He slowly nodded at her, and she left. Something twisted in his gut, and felt, on some instinctual level, that something or other was about to become much more complicated.

He shook his head. He was jumping at shadows, likely. Whatever the problem was with Nyna, it would be confronted when the time came, and it would be confronted simply.

He was confident that everything would go well.

* * *

><p>Lorenz paced anxiously in the Grustian Castle. He had just finished perusing the last report of a Grustian encounter with the Archanean League. The Sable Order regiment led by Sternlin, completely crushed, routed to the last man.<p>

There was once a time that Lorenz would have dismissed the idea of any Sable regiment losing a battle as the sad delusion of some manic scout. Yet as he read it, he knew. Grust was on its last legs, and little could be done to avert its destiny. Lorenz could only shake his head in disbelief and silently despair at how things had gone.

The country of Grust still _seemed_ so prosperous. The hills and plains were still green, and verdant forests still grow. The farms grew luxuriously, merchants enjoyed a rich business, the economy was still booming, and there was little poverty in the nation. It betrayed the truth of Grust's current condition. They were spiraling to ruin, and their chance of avoiding that fate was so feeble and dim, it might as well not exist.

Before Medeus rose, Lorenz would have never seen this coming. King Ludwik was a well intentioned and wise man, but… he was so easily intimidated by threats or displays of force. Yet even in his most pessimist moments, Lorenz never believed that Ludwik would have done what he did.

Now… now Grust was servant to the very being that Grust's founder swore to oppose.

The nation had gone mad. It felt as though Lorenz was the only one whose soul screamed in protest to what was happening, and the direction Grust was headed. Camus, whose judgment he had held in higher regard then any other's, had no qualms about this new direction. Neither did any in the Sable Order, including Camus' three men. They believed without doubt in their King's command and reasoning.

Then there were the other soldiers of Grust. One of the most prominent soldiers of the nation who was not of the Sable Order was Larissa. He would always smirk, swelling with nationalistic pride, and claim that these days were the prelude to glory unlike any other. That Grust had only a golden age to look forward to. Lorenz couldn't bring himself to respond to such words… it was too disheartening to know that some Grustians had such a view.

He sighed and walked on, feeling as if the weight of the entire continent was pressing on his shoulders. The end of Grust could very well be at hand. The King's condition continued to deteriorate. Lorenz did not look forward to telling Ludwik about the defeat of Sternlin.

Ludwik had always been prone to sickness, and was bedridden quite often. It had been like that ever since his young days. But the stress of remaining in Medeus' good graces, combined with the stress of hearing report after report of defeat of the League's hands, had sent him in a vicious downward spiral.

He had been merely shaken by having to meet with Medeus when reports had come of Marth's unexpected reappearance in Aurelis. Now Ludwik's very life was in jeopardy. The future of Grust along with it. The king needed to live if Grust was to prosper, Lorenz did not doubt that, but everyday, he slipped a little further away.

A horn suddenly blared, Lorenz jumped, having become more lost in his thoughts then usual. He seemed taken by brooding these days.

He knew the horn well. Someone from another nation of the Dolhr Alliance had arrived. Not someone from Dolhr itself, a messenger like that was announced with a different horn. With Jiol now gone from this world, this ambassador had to have came from Khadein or Macedon.

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><p>Lorenz found that the visitor was, in fact, Macedonian. Atop the roof of the castle, he watched the black Wyvern swoop down. Lorenz's eyes widened in recognition, only one person in all of Macedon rode a black Wyvern.<p>

With Camus at his side, Lorenz greeted the ambassador.

"King Michalis The Great…" Lorenz hid from his voice the slight bit of annoyance he had for the title of 'The Great'. Macedonians, it would seem, loved their pecking orders. Well, so did certain Grustians, but Camus was not the one who saw fit to name himself 'The Sable'. "This is a pleasure, though an unexpected one."

Michalis looked at the two. Lorenz, who spoke to him, he had never well liked. His talking and philosophy reminded him too much of Minerva's point of view. This Grustian was well known for his more moderate stance, but this was no time in history to have such a stance on matters.

Then there was Camus. Michalis and Camus had an odd respect for each other. Born mostly from their shared animosity for Gharnef. The two had worked separately, and jointly, to frustrate and diffuse many of the Dark Pontifex's bids for power. He and Camus had also both been the targets of assassination attempts orchestrated by Gharnef. Michalis by a woman skilled in infiltration and the Bow, and Camus by a… group of identical masked men with axes. In both cases, the assassin failed, pitifully. Gharnef had underestimated both of the two greatest thorns in his side.

"Dispense with the pleasantries, Lorenz." Michalis responded coldly to Lorenz's greeting. He walked past them, Lorenz and Camus turned around and started to walk alongside the Macedonian King. "I am here to meet with your King."

Camus said nothing, but he did glance at Michalis with a concerned expression.

Lorenz was momentarily speechless, but quickly collected himself. "Forgive my insolence, Macedonian King, but you can't simply demand to see our King. You are the leader of an allied nation, but you are not _our_ leader."

"In the Dolhr Alliance, Grust and Macedon are equals." Michalis reminded the one-eyed Grustian General. "The only one of this nation who can contest me is King Ludwik himself."

Lorenz said nothing. This time, Camus spoke. "King Ludwik is not as he once was. His body had grown frail from disease and stress. He is a shell of what he was when you last saw him."

Michalis turned to Camus and said nothing at first. After a moment, he inclined his head respectfully. "I am sorry to hear that, but I will have my audience with him regardless." He turned his head back to the front as two Grustians opened the door, letting the three flee the cold knight air and find solace in the warm comfort of the castle's torches. "This may be the last time he and I can speak. The League is coming, as I'm sure you know."

"Very well." Lorenz conceded with a shake of his head. "King Ludwik is in his bedchamber, I shall take you to him."

* * *

><p>Neither Camus or Lorenz would follow Michalis into the bedchamber. The man had come on several occasions, and he could be trusted to be peaceful and respectful with their King.<p>

Michalis did not dislike Ludwik. He was a wise, insightful man, and he truly wanted what was best for his people, just like Michalis. Yet his timidity, his easily cowed nature, repulsed Michalis. Ludwik's lack of self-esteem, his tendency to be convinced of a subject by the last person he talked to, were not traits a King should have. Even so, Michalis counted Ludwik as an ally and friend.

"Ludwik, are you awake?" Michalis asked, he stood beside the lavish bed contained within white drapes. No bed in the Macedonian Castle was this decorated, and Michalis found himself wrinkling his nose slightly at the decoration.

A coughing sound came from the man who was mostly hidden under the covers. Only his head and his left arm were visible as he was now.

"Michalis." Ludwik recognized, fear glinted in his eyes at his visitor. "Why have you come?"

"Grust may very well be on the verge of destruction." Michalis answered, "The Sable Knights led by the one you call Sternlin perished. The Archanean League now marches deeper into Grust."

Ludwik gasped, and suddenly convulsed. Michalis didn't need to remove the covers to realize that the Grustian King was grasping at his chest, where his heart was. It would take litte more, just one more push, to free him from the world of the living.

Telling Ludwik that was not a gesture of cruelty. It was necessary that the man know. Just as it was necessary that the man know that the battle to decide the fate of Grust was only a few days away.

"Everything hinges on the next battle, where the Sable Order shall meet the Archanean League again." Michalis said, it was a fact, not some mere possibility. "Grust's hope, it would seem, lies with Camus The Sable."

"There has… n-not been a warrior like him, in all of Grust's… rich his…tory." Ludwik managed, his body was failing. Michalis felt sorry for the man, and was honestly unnerved to see how close Ludwik was to death, but there was nothing he could truly do to help him. The only way Ludwik could be saved is if the Archanean League was defeated, with that source of stress gone, Ludwik would doubtlessly recover. A Cleric or a Bishop could heal injuries, but there was nothing they could do to heal a body that was failing naturally.

"For the sake of Grust, Camus will have to be able to outperform all soldiers of the League. And that is an army that has some of the continent's finest soldiers and warriors." He thought of Minerva, but did not, truly, count her among the continent's finest.

"As long as… C-Camus is here, Grust has… has hope." Ludwik said, gasping like a fish out of water.

"Yes, that is true." Michalis crossed his arms. It was also true that the death of Camus would be the death of Grust, but he did not dare to speak those words to the King who was on the verge of death. "Speak no more, friend. You exhaust too much of yourself when you do." He would at least wish Ludwik to stay with Grust to the end, if it must be ended at the hands of the League. "I shall remain here and watch this battle unfold, Ludwik. You will know the result shortly after I do." Michalis turned, his black cape moving with the gesture. Ludwik stared fearfully as Michalis walked out of the room.

_Too much hinges on this next battle._ Ludwik knew, and did not like it. _Too much._

* * *

><p><strong>Battle with Camus incoming.<strong>

**Please review.**


	34. Bloody Tears: vs Camus

**This chapter was quite... difficult, to name. Things like 'Silver Will', 'Honor and Loyalty', and 'The Sable Commander' had been considered. In the end, I settled on a name that's more reflective of Nyna then of Camus.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>Wolf found himself listening carefully. Roshea had come to him suddenly, and wanted to speak to him and only him. Wolf had been with Palla at the time, but he waved her off. Whatever it was Roshea wanted to speak of, it was something that Roshea only wanted to speak to a family member about.<p>

At first, Palla had been inwardly hurt by Roshea not wanting her to hear about this, but then reprimanded herself. She and Roshea had grown close over the last months, but she was not almost-family to him like Wolf, she had not grown up watching over him and earning his trust and faith. Roshea was not obligated to tell her everything, and she was overreaching herself to expect Roshea to confide into her with his personal secrets and concerns. She left the two Aurelian men and let them talk.

Roshea had spoken at length about a strange… feeling, he had experienced shortly after Marth and Coyote and the others had come out of the Fane. His hand was over his chest as he spoke, it almost, Wolf took note of, looked like it was specifically over his heart.

Roshea couldn't speak to Coyote about this, he was too busy leading the army and didn't have the time to tend to Roshea's concerns. He could have spoken to any of his brothers, but he could trust Wolf to keep a secret more then he could trust Sedgar or Vyland to keep one.

Wolf closed his eyes. He understood exactly what Roshea was going through, even though he had never experienced it himself.

His youngest brother was in love. Who Roshea had fallen in love with, Wolf didn't know. Roshea had just explained the feeling, and had not identified the girl who had triggered it. Though Wolf _was_ able to piece together a small list of women who Roshea could have fallen for. Sensing that Roshea would be too embarrassed to indulge him with any names, Wolf didn't bother to ask who the girl was.

"Yes, I know what it is your feeling." Wolf said after Roshea finished speaking. He sighed and crossed his arms, offering advice on this subject was not something he believed he would be capable of. At the very least, just getting it off his chest seemed to have lifted Roshea's spirits. "Roshea, I'll be frank. You have no time to think about such things. You must chase those thoughts and feelings out of your mind immediately."

The words were so utterly pragmatic sounding that Roshea nearly flinched at them. Wolf's single visible eye, and the other eye hidden behind his drooping hair, looked completely unfeeling and cold as he analyzed Roshea's reaction. Roshea was fairly good at keeping his feelings from being visible on his face when he didn't want to be easily read, but Wolf easily caught the look of hidden indignation. At the sight, Wolf was moved to continue.

"The final battle with Grust is coming, and they will come at us with full force. What we will face will be above and beyond what we faced at the bridge near the Fane of Raman. We need absolute concentration. We can't let distracting feelings cloud our judgment."

Roshea was on the verge of protesting, but the frustration quickly ebbed. If the battle at the bridge was any indication, then Wolf, as he was so often, was right. All his attention had to be on the battle. To divert his attention invited death.

Even so, he didn't want to have to just walk away from the conversation, not when Wolf just said that he knew what he was going through. The question only became more prominent in his mind when Wolf had said that. The information he wanted was now close enough to be seen, far enough to be out of his reach, his face creased with irritation. He crossed his arms and stared at his brother in spirit as if he believed that his glare could possibly intimidate Wolf. "When the final battle with Grust is over, you _will_ tell me what it is I'm going through."

Wolf raised his head slightly, the words sounded somewhat like a taunt and a challenge at the same time. Without saying a word, he simply nodded his head in understanding. He turned around, his attentions would be focused on the battle that was to come, the fact that there would be a battle was already decided, all that was left… was simply winning it.

* * *

><p>"What was his trouble?" The first words that came from Palla's mouth when Wolf came back to her were in regards to Roshea. Wolf tilted his head slightly at the girl, for a second it looked like he was irritated by the question. Palla kept herself from sighing, but assumed that it was another thing the Aurelians would keep private. She was ready to turn and leave, and-<p>

Wolf spoke. "He's apparently in love." He spoke evenly, as if he wasn't particularly interested.

Palla jerked back. A rush of emotions went through her, the enthusiastic little Aurelian… in love? "W-who…" The first question that came to her was what Wolf still didn't have an answer to. Palla desperately hoped that she wasn't the woman in question.

"He didn't mention any names." Wolf said, he observed the way the skin of her face was moving, "Rest assured, I very much doubt it's you."

She jerked again. Wolf's ability to read her perfectly did a very good job at getting under her skin. Then again, she was never good at keeping her face impassive. Swallowing once, she looked at Wolf. "I… just hope the feeling doesn't distract him."

"It won't. He has more self-control then that." Wolf turned his head off in the direction Roshea was at. His youngest brother had melted away into the crowd of soldiers. He turned back to Palla. "The greater concern is whether his full concentration will be enough. This is the center of Grust we're marching toward. The enemy will be even stronger then what we encountered in the bridge." Some League soldiers who he felt would be incapable of facing the Grustian elite came to mind, but he held his tongue.

* * *

><p>"I am not looking forward to this." Lorenz mused as he brushed a hand across his armor. It had been quite sometime since he had fought on the field of battle. He did not fear that his skill had diminished, though his aged bones ached more then usual on this eve of battle. He did not fear for his life, and he didn't fear the enemy, he feared for the sake of Grust. On this path, he saw no future for the nation, but…<p>

He would continue to serve. He would continue to sell his lance to the service of his country. He was honor-bound and oath-bound to do so. In the end, no matter how dark the road was, he wanted to aid his nation. Even if aiding the nation meant being a glorified leg-breaker for the Manaketes of Dolhr. Or, in this case, a murderer of people who had done nothing but strive to free the continent from Dolhr out of duty and the goodness in their hearts. All his strength would be spent for the sake of Grust, up to the bitter end, and perhaps, he would not quit even then.

"No one looks forward to an invasion." Camus reminded the older man as he climbed onto the saddle of his horse. The horse shook its head with irritation at the weight, but did not protest. Camus patted it on the head gently. Like many riders, Camus' horse was almost like kin to him. He cared for it like it was a close brother. "Regardless, Lorenz, those who endanger the life of our king will not be tolerated in this nation. The League has scoffed at Grust and its military might for far too long."

Lorenz's eyes caught the sight of Camus' weapon. Gradivus, one of the Regalia of Archanea. The strongest of the Regalia, so the story went. Previously, Camus had simply used a Silver Lance, tempered at the forge to be more powerful then one would expect. Now, his hands were wrapped firmly around a weapon of legend.

Belf, Robert, and Leiden were here as well. They, like Camus, were fighting for the sake of their king. Though their loyalty wasn't as absolute as Camus' was. Their loyalty was to the man who had trained them, inspired them, and impressed them time and time again with his patience, calmness, and resolve. They were loyal to their king because that man was loyal to their king. Camus was first and foremost in their minds, always.

Other soldiers came, finishing their preparations. Lorenz saw that he was the only Grustian not of the Sable Order who would take part in today's battle. The fact lightly amused him, but the feeling quickly drowned under the unmistakable sense of dread. Which was, again, for the sake of the nation in its entirety, not for him.

"We shall simply let them come, and then kill them down to the last man?"

The answer to the question Lorenz posed was an unmistakable 'yes', but Camus seemed to hesitate. His head bowed down and air escaped his mouth, then he nodded, seemingly unable to form any words at that precise moment. Camus almost looked like he was brooding in the saddle of his horse, but then he sat up confident and proud.

* * *

><p>"They're here." Michalis said from the balcony adjacent to Ludwik's bedchamber. The Archanean League were clearly visible. A rough collation of the already broken armies that resisted Dolhr, and some rag-tag others who joined the army through the battles. It did not seem like an impressive army on paper, nor did it look impressive at first glance. Yet the accomplishments of the army were nothing to scoff at.<p>

His heart sank at the sight of a red Wyvern. Minerva was here… it was the first he had seen of her in a long time. She looked no different then the last time he had seen her. Her opposition to Macedon's growth, it would seem, was also completely unchanged. Minerva's presence also meant… that Maria was here, somewhere. It was nightmarish to think of his youngest sibling on the battlefield.

Shaking the thoughts of his family off with an effort, he looked to the commander. Prince Marth of Altea, son of Cornelius, descendent of Anri. And… quite possibly the only person truly capable of crusading against Dolhr. Michalis' eyes narrowed on the figure in blue, it would be better to claim his life today, and end the threat to the Dolhr Alliance. The League would doubtlessly splinter into small regiments if the military head perished… the remnants picked off with ease. Easy conquests, like it had been before Altea, Aurelis, and Archanea organized into a more potent resistance movement.

He turned back to Ludwik. The man looked more dead then alive, a shell under the covers, ready for the casket. "The most important battle of your life begins now. Pray that Camus fights as he has never before."

Ludwik didn't have the strength to as much as raise his head to meet Michalis' gaze. He was too busy struggling with the sick feeling of dread in his gut. Whether he lived or died depended entirely upon this battle.

* * *

><p>Marth took in a deep breath. The castle of Grust was just ahead. That meant that the brunt of the Sable Order was waiting. He was certain that they were well aware of his approach, and found it disconcerting how they hadn't spotted a single Grustian scout or… much of anything.<p>

Most likely, Grust thought that having any of the soldiers potentially coming into contact with the League right now would be a waste of lives and resources. They were instead waiting at the castle to face the League with all of the Sable Order.

The League began to slow down its march. Tension crept into Marth's bones, he looked to the left and right, those near him seemed to have the same tingling feeling in them. Marth would not afford underestimation. At Marth's request, Jagen spread an order through the army.

'Fight as you have never before.'

Maybe he was overestimating the enemy. As great as a soldier as he was said to be, Camus was a human, not a demon. He, like anyone, would make certain errors and lapses in judgment, would lose his cool in violent battle, would make potentially fatal mistakes.

Even so, before they went on, he had to speak to Nyna. Briefly departing from the front of the army, he found her near the rear with both Caeda and Minerva, and she was conversing with Bishop Boah. Not wanting to intrude, he waited patiently not far from them.

"Ah, prince Marth." Boah raised his head and noticed the Altean prince. The trio of princesses turned to Marth, who was standing nearby.

"Marth…" Nyna said, her voice had even less confidence then when they had been at the Fane. One hand was on her gut, trying desperately to halt an uncontrollable churning. She turned to all present, they were, thankfully, out of ear shot from all others in the army, and were attracting no attention.

One look at her troubled face made it clear that Marth had to hear whatever it was she had to say. "If there is anything you want or need to say before this battle, this is your only chance."

Nyna nodded in understanding. "All… all right, Marth." She looked at those assembled, perhaps they should hear this as well. Especially Boah, with her parent's gone, she regarded no one's knowledge and logic as highly as his. She wished Linde could have been here for this. Slowly, she inhaled.

"As you know, when Archanea fell to the hands of Dolhr, my family was killed. My parents… made an example of."

Marth recalled the story of them being hung at the gates of the Archanean Palace, but did not speak of it. Nyna didn't need a reminder of what she was clearly thinking of already. Boah shook his head, still disturbed at the deeds that took place the day the Palace fell.

"I was given into the custody of Grust, more specifically, the Sable Order, while Dolhr decided my fate. The decision of the Manaketes was unanimous, the Shadow Dragon himself ruled that I be put to death."

"But you're not dead." Minerva observed. The Macedonian princess blinked at the story. She doubted that Nyna could escape of her own accord, the Archanean princess had no fighting ability, and she doubted she could have outrun her enemies as she fled to Aurelis. Those on steeds would have easily caught up to her and run her through. She also wouldn't have had any allies to turn to in her situation.

"No, I'm not." Nyna said, "A Sable Knight came to my aid. The very Commander of the Order." She exhaled, then inhaled. "Camus The Sable. Even though he knew he would incur the wrath of Dolhr, of Medeus, he kept me comfortable during my custody, and was the one who arranged for my escape to Aurelis when the order for my execution came."

Everyone stopped, stunned at the words. Caeda inhaled quickly as her hand went over her mouth. Boah stood aghast, in a thousand years, he'd have never dreamt that he would owe his princess' life to the commander of the Sable Order.

"At first, I hated him." Nyna continued, her hands folded together. "But… he treated me fairly and kindly as I was overwhelmed with anger. In time, the hatred ebbed, and my feelings for him… changed." Her mind was overwhelmed with the memories of the times she had shrieked in anger at him, and how he had never treated her coldly or cruelly. He had not struck her, or did anything to try and force her to be silent as she would have expected. He had weathered her anger until, at last, at last that kindness of his broke through.

Marth was silent. The answer to the question as to what Camus had done to put him on such poor standing with Dolhr was now plainly obvious. His actions had seen the survival of someone Medeus himself wanted to put to death. Had he had been anyone else, he would have been put to death in Nyna's stead. If it weren't for Camus' own skill in battle… likely Grust's most valuable asset in Dolhr's eyes…

"He personally saw to it that I escaped and reached Aurelis. I haven't seen him since then. Now I… I just want to see him again." Nyna finished, "But… but not if anyone should die for it."

"Nyna…" Marth began, "Do you…"

_Love him_ were the next words he wanted to speak, but they would not come. His lips curled in, and he began to speak again, "I cannot promise anything, but I will try to make him put down his arms and join us, for your sake."

Nyna shakily nodded her head. "Thank you… Marth. I could ask for nothing more."

"We'll all try to talk to him." Caeda suggested, "One of us… if he has integrity, he'll listen to one of us."

As Marth and Caeda stood with confident smiles, and Minerva sided with them despite not having their confidence, and Nyna felt hope building in her, Boah frowned, and quietly slipped away.

* * *

><p>"Camus The Sable, who leads our enemy today, was princess Nyna's jailer when the Palace fell." Boah spoke evenly. His audience were the Archanean soldiers of the League. Astram, Midia, Tomas, Dolph, Macellan, Jeorge, and Horace.<p>

Emotion stirred within the soldiers present. Particularly Astram, whose eyes flashed with anger.

They were all envisioning various brutalities that Nyna must have gone through. The images were too cruel to imagine, but it seemed logical to expect such behavior from such a high-ranked individual of an enemy nation. Boah continued. "He was a cruel warden, and deprived the princess of her basic needs. The princess tells me… that he was amused by her plight. That abusive monster is now the enemy we face today."

Astram became the most mobile. With fists clenching and unclenching, he spoke through gritted teeth. "Death will be too good for that man! He will not be allowed an easy death. I'll see to it that he dies slowly and in agony, a fate kinder then he deserves."

A cheer went up. Horace did not participate. The Archaneans left, eager to face Nyna's tormentor. Horace stared at Boah, his eyes boring straight through the Bishop's face and skull.

Boah caught the glare, and sighed. "You know, don't you?"

"I helped Camus The Sable get the princess out of the Palace." Horace whispered, the disgust clear in his voice. "Why lie about his character?"

"We cannot take any chances." Boah responded, "He _is_ an elite of the enemy, no matter what his character is. The princess may not be able to bring herself to order his death, and others may be too respectful to her wishes. We need those who will not hesitate to kill him. If Camus can be convinced to join us, I will reverse my statements about him, rest assured of that. But if not, he must die."

Horace stood unconvinced. For the first time ever, he was dismissive and skeptical of Boah's judgment skills, which were considered some of the best Archanea had ever known in its history. "And if he does join us, would you offer your blessings to their union, should Camus The Sable return the princess' feelings?"

Boah stayed silent for a long moment, then his mouth opened. "No. He is a leading general of a nation that the land of Archanea hates. Our people will never accept such a union. Even if he joins us, for the good of all, the two must forget about each other."

Horace was stunned into silence.

"If you can detach yourself emotionally, you'll see that it is the logical and sane route. If the princess cannot think rationally, then we must."

Horace did not reply, he turned with a scowl and walked away. Boah shook his head. "It is necessary, Horace. Look past how cold it seems and consider what is best for Archanea." Horace still did not reply.

* * *

><p>"An unnecessary complication." Minerva mused as she looked at the Sable Knights gathered in the distance. Somewhere among those numbers was someone Nyna insisted was a good person. Minerva would certainly make the effort to find and talk to Camus, but if he decided to side with his King, then Minerva's next actions would be clear. Nyna may not like it, but she'd do what she would have to do. Hauteclere would rend Camus' head from his shoulders, and she would have no regrets in the act if Camus sided with a coward like Ludwik.<p>

Marth was near Minerva. The Altean prince was more determined to get Camus to listen then the Macedonian princess was. If Camus sheltered Nyna and got her to safety, risking his standing and his life to do it, then he didn't deserve to die. Rather, he should be an ally, one to aid them in fighting against Dolhr. Marth was sure that Camus would see reason.

But the time to talk to Camus was still a few hours off. Marth looked at the Sable Knights. There was still all this to plow through just to _reach_ Camus.

"The final battle against Grust." He was far more tense then he had been when they descended into the bastion of Gra. The impression of skill the Sable Order left on him at the bridge most likely helped him grow anxious.

He quickly shook his head, not allowing the feelings to evolve into dread. With a loud voice, he uttered a single word. The word that would begin the battle that would decide Grust's fate.

"Attack!"

* * *

><p>The Sable Order, the Order that was comprised of some of the greatest soldiers on the continent, soldiers that outperformed even Dolhr troops, met the Archanean League headfirst.<p>

At first, the League could not advance at all. The wall of Sable Knights, which seemed to be more skilled then those they fought at the bridge, if such a thing were possible, provided a nearly impenetrable defense. Grust's mounted cavalry seemed to be more skillful then the League soldiers, on top of already having the numerical advantage.

Nearly. The first kill of the battle went to Est, who was overeager to test out what she had learned with Abel. Her lance thrust with more efficiency then she was used to, and it stabbed through a Sable Knight's breastplate easily. Abel raced to her side, with the sword Mercurius now in his hand, to aid her as she became the obvious target to the nearest Sable Knights surging to avenge their comrade.

Navarre flashed forward, the Killing Edge slashing through those before him as if the Sable armor was as resistant as wet paper. His sword laid to waste all who he chose to target, but his efficiency was less then usual. Some Sable Knights had reflexes to anticipate and deflect Navarre's attacks. He reacted to this calmly, his swordplay somehow resembling a dance as he flowed between attack, defense, and outright retreat. He was still a terror on the battlefield, but he was meeting enemies who were full well capable of matching him. His normally emotionless face creased with irritation at these foes.

The battle was a savage display of skill as two armies, both comprised of people with great integrity, met each other in a battle of life and death. Marth led the League forward, protected by his two bodyguards, and, more notably, by the scorching breath of a Divine Dragon.

In a body so small was contained such a power. Marth was surprised that the Sable Knights seemed completely unintimidated by Tiki's size and obvious power. The towering white dragon moved forward, unimpressed by the lances, mere sticks to the creature, that assailed its tough scales. Marth was happy to call Tiki an ally, at the sight he was seeing, he wondered if the League would even be able to subdue her in a true battle.

The League was moving forward, albeit slowly. If it weren't for Tiki, they might not have been moving at all. The Sable Knights' ability made a mockery of the far more sluggish Bantu.

* * *

><p>"You're here somewhere, aren't you, princess?" Camus muttered, nowhere among the League could he actually see the woman, even as his eyes scanned the League furiously, but she was somewhere nearby, he knew that.<p>

His three closest men looked at him. They knew exactly what he was talking about. They had been there, of course, when they had to fight past Dolhr troops to get Nyna to safety. The only Sable Knights to aid Camus in doing that, though any other Sable Knight would have also leapt to Camus' aid without hesitation had they been there.

"General Camus." Belf spoke, waking Camus up from his thoughts of the Archanean princess. "They're pushing ahead. They'll reach the ocean near the castle in roughly… half an hour. What shall we do?"

Camus inhaled. "The further from the castle we can stop them, the better. You three, follow me." Camus was forming a plan in his head. The first thing to do was give a sign to prince Marth.

* * *

><p>The Archaneans of the League fought more ferociously then they ever had in the past, even when they had fought tooth and nail to stop Dolhr from taking the Palace. The desire to make Grust, and Camus, answer for the indignities that they had been told Nyna had faced, empowered them. One might wonder if they were even capable of growing fatigued, so deep in a battle frenzy they now were. In their bloodlust, they had plowed through the Order, and gotten ahead and separate from the rest of the League. They wanted to find Camus, immediately.<p>

They got their wish.

"Archaneans." Camus came forward on his horse. Both of his hands were on the rein of his steed.

Astram was the first to whirl in response. His eyes locked onto the blonde Grustian in the black uniform and they narrowed at the sight.

"You… you are Camus The Sable." Astram recognized. The other Archaneans turned in response. They all, with the exception of Horace, had bitter disgust laced so deeply in their eyes at the sight of the man.

"I am." Camus replied. He noticed Horace, who he had an odd respect for, but did not focus his eyes on the man. He seemed more interested in the blonde Archanean who seemed to be in the midst of a bloodthirsty frenzy. "I am the commander of the Sable Order, and for some time I was the warden of your princess." He was calm in the face of their intimidating hatred, which seemed to spike after his last sentence. "Where is she now?"

"Safely away from you." Astram growled, stepping forward. "Away from all the brutalities you made her face." His sword pointed fiercely at Camus, who didn't back away, or seem impressed at all. "I'll take a gallon of your blood as payment for every _second_ that the princess was in your custody, monster, and I won't let you leave until your debt is paid off."

Camus made no retort or vocal response. He merely took Gradivus from his back and held it firmly. Astram's eyes focused on the weapon, and he grew even angrier.

"You even dare to dishonor one of the Regalia with your filthy hands." Astram gritted his teeth as his anger started to boil over. "The Regalia are to be used only by Archaneans, and those that the princess deems worthy. A man as immoral and deserving of death as you has no right to even _look_ at one of them!"

"Is the skill you lay claim to able to separate it from my grasp?" Camus asked. He had little interest for words when the time of action had come.

And with that, Astram snapped. "Stay back, every one of you. This is my fight. I'll make him answer for what he did, for what he put princess Nyna through."

The other Archaneans honored Astram's words and stood back. Only Horace looked uncomfortable. Camus motioned with his hand to inform his men to let him fight this fight alone.

Without a moment's hesitation, Astram charged, intent on ending Camus immediately. He swung his sword with max strength, the only Archanean who could possibly endure a blow like this was Horace, and only due to his heavy armor. The fight was already over, and Camus would be cleanly cleaved in half, but Astram's anger had not yet ebbed even slight-

The sword connected to Gradivus' handle and immediately stopped. The swing that had never failed to get the results Astram wanted had been stopped with almost humorous ease. Camus did not look even mildly exerted, but held the sword at bay with an impassive face. Astram stared, gaping. No, surely even a Regalia would not have been able to stop an attack like that, especially if it was held by a monster like this.

Camus thrust forward, and Astram had to jump away. He landed several meters away from Camus in a crouching position. Gritting his teeth, he charged again. As he neared Camus, he moved his sword into position, ready to make a horizontal strike. This time, he planned to strike Camus' horse, he could kill the Grustian with ease once he was robbed of his steed.

Gradivus thrust forward, passing Astram's defense effortlessly, and pierced easily into Astram's breastplate and into the flesh beneath well before the Archanean was going to attack. Several horrified gasps came from the Archaneans behind Astram. The Gradivus was pulled out, and Camus' boot slammed into Astram's chest.

Astram fell onto the ground, he groaned, he still lived, but didn't rise again.

Midia stared in horror at her love on the ground, who had been defeated in only a few seconds by the Sable Commander, then she turned to Camus with fiery rage. "You, don't delude yourself for a second into believing that your skill accomplished that. Gradivus won that fight for you! Without it, you would not have been able to do anything except cower in fear. Only by the power of the Gradivus could filth like you ever persevere over Archanean justice."

Camus looked at her, and knew this woman's skill was roughly equivalent to the skills of the one he just defeated. With slight humor touching him, he slowly put Gradivus away and took out a Silver Lance.

* * *

><p>Within the camp that the Archanean League setup was the command tent. When battles began, normally Nyna was left in it to await the news of victory. Like any other time, she awaited the news, but what she wanted to hear this time wasn't news of victory.<p>

On some level, it had been gnawing at her ever since the League had been formed back in Aurelis. The day would come, if they were to defeat Dolhr, this day would come. All she wanted was for Camus to join them. She had reflected on the thought throughout the war, and was not all ashamed that reuniting with Camus had become more important to her then anything else. Not even her friend Linde, or the memory of her parents, could compete with her feelings for Camus.

She paced back and forth, unable to bring herself to sit still. Camus… she was sure Camus would listen to her, he might not listen to Marth, or Caeda, or…

She jolted. There… there was no chance Camus would listen to them. She remembered how nationalistic Camus was, no matter how well constructed Marth's argument was, there was little chance he would listen to it. He was a knight of Grust, but he _would_ listen to her. He had never turned a deaf ear to her before, he wouldn't now. She turned her head to the entrance of the command tent, hope and dread warred in her gut. Maybe it would only get her killed, but she didn't care or want to take any chances, and she swiftly departed.

* * *

><p>Marth continued to push through the enemy. He flinched at every kill, for a horrible second, every soldier he slew seemed to be Camus. Shaking his head of the thought, he kept going, Camus was somewhere here, most likely directing the battle from elsewhere.<p>

The severed head of a Sable Knight rolled at his feet. He looked in the direction it came from and saw Wolf turning away from a beheaded corpse. Hardin's best man could take care of himself against these foes, it would seem. As could so many other members of the army, the remains of the Sable Order was turning the grass red. He had been unfeeling in this past about his enemies, but today, something felt… wrong, about this.

"The ocean is up ahead, prince Marth." Catria spoke after she intercepted a Sable Knight intent on killing the prince. Marth never noticed the Sable Knight, and looked ahead, they'd have to reach the sand by the ocean, and then follow a bridge to reach the castle grounds. There, he believed, he would find Camus.

There was still the wall of the Sable Knights to contend with first. Catria's lance saved his life again before his mind returned to the battle. He took his Rapier out and met another Sable Knight head on.

* * *

><p>Midia struggled to rise. She had fallen off of her horse, and was trying to pull herself up by grabbing onto the decorated cloth upon the steed. Her armor was cracked in multiple areas, and nearly every part of her ached.<p>

She was the only Archanean who could even try to rise back up. All the others were prone on the floor. They likely all lived, Camus had never stabbed through them, but only struck them with the handle of his lance. It was a great testament to the man's skill that he had taken the Archaneans on by himself, without the Gradivus, had never properly thrust his lance, and still won.

"Believing themselves inherently better then their enemies has long been the weakness and downfall of Archanea's military." Camus noted, not expecting a reaction from any of them, but Midia gritted her teeth at the comment. Yet she had nothing to say in response, and was in too much pain to talk at all.

Belf, Robert, and Leiden observed the skill of their commander, and they all nodded. Camus was undefeatable, and they were proud to serve him. There wasn't the slightest sign of exertion on the Sable General, nor a single bead of sweat on his face, and he had just taken on Archanea's finest elites.

"Do we put them to the sword?" Belf asked, looking at the Archaneans upon the sand. It would be ease itself, most of them unconscious, and those who remained aware of their surroundings were unable to stand, and would be incapable of fighting back.

Camus seemed to be lost in thought for a second, but shook his head. "Leave them be. We shall fall back for now."

"General Camus?"

"…let these still living bodies serve as a sign for the rest of the League. When they awaken, they can tell of how overwhelmed they were. The more rattled the enemy is, the better."

His three men had some trouble wrapping themselves around what he was saying, but turned around on his orders. They began to fall back to the castle.

* * *

><p>Michalis tapped his finger upon the balcony rail. He was amused at Camus making a mockery of the Archanean troops. The soldiers of the nation that had long stood in the way of Macedon's own growth. He immediately understood why Camus had spared them. If supposedly superior soldiers like they had been so thoroughly defeated, it would only make Camus seem all the more daunting a foe. It would leave the League unbalanced… easier to claim.<p>

Ludwik didn't need to know of this development. Michalis would tell the man what news there was to give when the battle was over, and not before. He would not instill false hopes and expectations.

Taking his eyes from Camus, he studied his sister, Minerva. She was… remarkably better then she had been in the past, he could admit. Even so, he could count the dozens of errors she made, she was too reckless in battle, as she had always been. She was an effective fighter, one of the best of Macedon, but was so little when off of the battlefield.

More prominent to him was his other sister. Maria was… on the battlefield. Michalis' hands clutched at the rail at the sight of the little girl and her Heal staff running between all the swinging blades. He flinched every time a Sable Knight went after her. The Knight would always be killed by a nearby League soldier, and Michalis was thankful for that.

The person he found himself thanking for Maria's safety the most was the one he regarded as his greatest enemy, the Altean prince. Michalis looked at Maria… and hoped he was mistaken as he believed he was seeing Maria look at Marth with more then just friendly interest.

* * *

><p>The League came to the ocean, and found bodies spread around. Marth's heart skipped a beat at this sight. The Archanean troops were littered around. He couldn't tell if they still lived or not, and as he looked around, he was unnerved to see that there wasn't a single Sable Knight corpse anywhere nearby. It seemed that they had been completely overwhelmed by… whatever they had encountered. It was a chilling sight, and it had come too soon after desperately clawing their way past the Sable Order.<p>

Wolf grunted. "They were asking for something like this when they thought they could run off on their own. Their injuries are their own fault." Marth turned to the Aurelian and shook his head. A pragmatically accurate statement, but…

Marth noticed one of the Archaneans still moving. He approached the soldier.

The woman noticed his approach and let out a breath of relief at the sight of the League. "P… prince Marth." Midia began, Marth knelt down and helped her up. She groped for breath, getting to her feet with Marth's aid and leaning onto her horse.

"C…Camus." Midia managed, turning to Marth. "The leader of the Sable Order… is a monster. All of us, we all attacked him… and we never scratched him." She took in shaky breaths, trying to piece together her memories. She could barely recall the actual battle, as if her mind wanted to simply forget the kind of skill her enemy laid claim to. Camus had attacked them with something far beyond Archanean lance work. "I'm not sure… if anyone can fight him, if he has skill like… like _that_."

Marth listened, and nodded. "We're not leaving so soon."

"I… know." Midia muttered, "B-but… as long as he holds Gradivus… he cannot… be defeated. If… if Astram, the greatest knight of Archanea… cannot defeat him, then… then no one can."

Marth shook his head at the argument. Astram was one of the League's better soldiers, but there were others in the League, many others, that were better then him, whether prideful Midia accepted it or not. "We came here to win, and we didn't come this far to die on his lance." He looked to the distance. His next words were forceful. "We are heading to the castle."

* * *

><p>The Sable Order had been devastated. Now only a fraction of them remained, some with Lorenz, but most with Camus, his three closest men in particular.<p>

Lorenz despaired. Hope rested with the Sable Order, but they were being dismantled. The League was coming forward, right to the doorstep of the castle. Was there any hope for Grust's survival at this point? Lorenz gripped at his lance, starting to sweat from his anxiety. As the enemy came into view he gestured, and sent the Sable elite forward.

The knights met the League, and put up a great fight. They fought with zeal and pride, and despite their comparatively low numbers managed to force the League into retreat on a number of occasions. Lorenz felt his dread ebb somewhat and felt a surge of pride, Grust did truly lay claim to the greatest military on the continent. His pride vanished as he reminded himself that if the Sable Order that had met the League hours ago couldn't stop them, then these soldiers couldn't either.

Like clockwork, the knights began to fall. One died by prince Marth's own hands, others were killed by the Aurelian prince, and another Aurelian with long bangs covering one eye. Others, many others, were made ash by the white dragon.

"So, this is it." Lorenz muttered, holding his lance ready. "Victory is a fleeting dream, and no victory here can give Grust back her honor or integrity."

Marth approached Lorenz, the fabric of his sleeves now red with Sable blood, but then stopped and quirked an eyebrow. Lorenz, puzzled, emulated the gesture. Marth studied Lorenz's face, and then his eyes widened.

"You… you are General Lorenz, of Grust."

Lorenz closed his one eye, then opened it back up and nodded. "That… I am." His voice remained confused, and wondered if this was some clever trick. "And you are the Altean prince, leader of the Archanean League, and the single greatest threat to the Dolhr Alliance and Dolhr itself."

Marth half relaxed his arm, approaching Lorenz peacefully, but remained ready to defend yourself. "I was in exile in Talys after Altea fell…"

"The scouts who traced your movements when you arrived in Aurelis came to that conclusion." Lorenz answered. He hid his pain at the mention of Talys, and was glad that Mostyn had been able to stay mostly out of this crisis. "What relevance does that hold?"

"The king of Talys calls you a friend, and told me of how you wrote him a missive, saying to avoid Grust because it had gone mad. The king of Talys said that you opposed an alliance with Dolhr, right from the very beginning."

"Why didn't you push harder?" Caeda suddenly spoke up, approaching on the saddle of her Pegasus. "My father called you a friend and spoke so highly of your morals and values, I would have expected more from you."

Lorenz looked at the Pegasus Rider. Princess Caeda, the daughter of Mostyn, truly having grown since he last saw her. To her words, he sighed and bowed his head. "Do you believe I did not push as hard as I could? In the end, Dolhr's military might had a more profound impact on King Ludwik then my words ever would. He holds the power, and my duty is simply to serve my king. Only through him can Grust have a future."

Marth's face didn't for a second turn vexed. "Do you honestly believe that, General Lorenz?"

Lorenz's eye widened in surprise. "What… do you imply, prince Marth?"

"As a General of Grust, a good, idealistic General, you fight for Grust's future first and foremost. The people and their pursuit of happiness are what you want to preserve. Can you… see any future for those things under your King?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. It stretched so long that one could forget that a battle was happening, one that had torn through the Grustian fields in the center of the nation. After a long time without speaking, Lorenz turned to the prince.

"My misgivings in my heart are plain to many, it would seem. So many turned a deaf ear over these years, I had lost all hope. I saw no future for Grust, but with none able to challenge Dolhr, not even any to challenge the Dolhr Alliance, all I could do was strive to preserve Grust as well as I could. But then there's you, prince Marth, over the course of a year, you have campaigned and crippled the Dolhr Alliance every time they came at you. Aurelis, Archanea, and Altea are free of Dolhr's grip, Khadein too is free, though Gharnef still lives, and Gra no longer has any place in this war. All of our power seemed incapable of facing you. Now Grust is on its last legs…" He looked at Marth, his desire to see Grust prosperous and his wish to stand by Ludwik warred in his heart, and then the corner of his lip curled into a smirk. "If you would have me, I shall stand by you, and see if the future of Grust looks any different from there."

Caeda smiled. "We're happy to have you. Now…" she turned to look toward the Grust Castle, "There's something we still have to do today."

Lorenz turned to the direction Caeda was looking at. Caeda was… she had to have been speaking of engaging Camus The Sable. Even as Lorenz's heart was filled with hope for Grust for the first time in so long, his heart lurched for Camus' sake. Maybe… maybe he too can be convinced of what's the right direction for Grust as well. It would only invite horror and panic upon the Grustian people if their greatest champion, Camus, fell in battle on this day.

* * *

><p>Robert's mouth hung open at what he was seeing. "G-General Camus, General Lorenz…!"<p>

"I know. I see it." Camus said with a calming voice. "He has made his choice. His rationale must be that the best for Grust does not lie with our King." He shook his head, feeling somewhat shaken to see a friend like Lorenz side against King Ludwik, but his resolve did not sway in the slightest. He looked over his men, then back to the front. "Let's go. It's time to meet the prince."

"Camus! General Camus!" Marth called out as the last unit of Sable Knights began their approach. He wasn't absolutely sure that Camus was among them, but this last group was led by a man more decorated then any Sable Knight he had seen before. The lance he carried was also so different then anything any other Grustian had been seen to carry, Marth felt sure that it was the Gradivus. "General Camus, I must speak to you."

The Sable Knight Marth was looking at came to a stop and raised a hand to command all of his soldiers to halt. He spoke something to his men that Marth couldn't hear, then trotted forward. Marth moved forward with Caeda, Minerva, and Lorenz. He didn't want anyone else nearby when he tried to talk to Camus. He didn't know why he declined to have his closest friend, Hardin, not accompany him, but something in his gut told him it would be better this way.

"Prince Marth." The man began, "I am General Camus The Sable of Grust, Commander of the Sable Order. What do you wish to speak to me about?"

"General Camus," Marth tried to piece together the argument he wanted to give. "This battle is pointless, you know it is. You have to know that this is not the way that will lead to Grust's prosperity."

"You can't claim to help Grust if you continue down this road." Caeda spoke up, "If Dolhr conquers the continent, what happens to Grust? Dolhr considers the nation a disposable pawn, once all enemies are gone, Dolhr will turn on you. You have to know that! If Grust wins today, then your King will soon be a ruler of empty hills."

Minerva came forward. "If you continue to side with your King, then you deserve to die. You're an enemy of all humanity, and would be better off lying at the Manakete's feet for the rest of your life. If you, for one moment, are concerned for the future of Grust, then side with us."

"Camus, please." Lorenz said with an almost pleading tone. "I do not wish to be disloyal to him, but Grust's future does not lie with King Ludwik, it lies with the people. You know as well as I do what the future will be if Grust continues down this road. Side with us, and we will save Grust from its slavery to Dolhr."

Camus' face did not as much as flicker.

"As long as King Ludwik continues to support Dolhr, what I know or what I see is meaningless. This is the path my King chooses, and I will support his judgment every step of the way. To do any less is to take back the sacred vow of a Sable Knight."

Minerva frowned, disgusted. "Is that your choice? Then you'll reap the consequences of-"

Caeda's arm stretched out to block Minerva from trying to go forward. Caeda's mouth slowly opened, "Camus The Sable, do you not care for the people of Grust? If you let Grust continue down this road, the bodies will line the streets, people made a public display of. Do you want that for your people? Do you want to sell them into slavery? Are you not bound to serve and protect them?"

Camus responded without missing a beat. "My vow of fealty was to the King, not the people. He shall decide what is in the people's best interests, not me. I am simply a Knight of Grust, and it is not my place to question my King's judgment."

Caeda opened her mouth to speak, but it slowly closed. She had nothing to respond to that with.

"Camus…" Marth said, "Surely… surely you don't-"

"Prince Marth." Camus sighed as if he was in an argument with a stubborn child. "There is nothing you can say or do that will make my loyalties sway. I am a Grustian and a Sable Knight, and I shall always serve the man I swore fealty to." His eyes bored hard into Marth's own. "I had a hand in your father's murder on that day, three years ago. Are you a man or not? Draw your sword."

Marth gasped at those last words, and stared at the man. Jiol may have struck the killing blow, and still had Cornelius' dried blood on his lance to prove it, but Camus, it would seem, had something to do with that battle himself. Marth wasn't sure what to do, but…

"_Stop_!" A voice suddenly rang out as Marth had began to raise his sword. He turned to see… he couldn't believe it. Nyna was here, walking along the battlefield. Her dress was dirty and ragged at the bottom, she had apparently been traversing the battlefield while avoiding contact with either army.

"N-Nyna, what are you doing here?" Marth demanded, horrified that she would be here at all. "This… this is the battlefield!"

Nyna looked guilty as she looked at Marth, but she didn't back down. "I… I know this, Marth, but, please…" she looked to the Grustian General. "Camus… please…"

She walked forward, Marth could see Camus' stoic face warp in the presence of Nyna. Previously it was calm and impassive, but now various emotions, love, sorrow, shame, were present on it.

"Camus, you gave me back my life. I never forgot you, and all you did for me. I never forgot how you made me feel secure when trapped in a Palace crawling with Dolhr's servants. Even though surrounded by people who wanted me put to death, I would have let those days continue forever if it meant staying with you." Her eyes misted, then she turned her head over her shoulder and looked at Marth. "Then, Marth gave me back my nation and my people, as he has done for so many other nations." She looked back at Camus. "I… do not wish to see you two fight, it would… it would be unbearable."

Nyna raised both her hands to her chest, letting them rest upon the soft silk. "Please, C-Camus, fight with us. We need your strength." One hand stretched out imploring, "_I_… need it. I need you… with me."

Camus had been unmoved by the words of Marth, Caeda, Minerva, and Lorenz, but in the face of Nyna's pleas, conflict registered on his handsome features. A breath escaped his mouth, and he clenched his fists. His eyes shut tightly as guilty feelings flowed through his veins.

Then he calmed, and he looked at Nyna. She looked at him hopefully. Camus opened his mouth, and his words pierced Nyna through the heart.

"I am sorry, princess Nyna."

Nyna opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She stared in horror at the answer Camus gave her.

"B-but, why?" Was all she managed to say as she struggled just to breath. Her eyes clenched shut, and tears liberated themselves, starting to run down her cheek. "Camus… why? I… I came this far, hoping to find _you_."

Camus closed his eyes, and his next words were clearly laced with regret, but he did not relent. "Were my heart my master, I would have done exactly as you wished me to. If my heart and my emotions ruled me…" he turned his head and looked toward the castle. "But, I am a knight, and what knight abandons his kingdom, his _King_, now, during the time they need him the most? When the enemy marches on them relentlessly, and valued Generals turn their back on the nation."

Lorenz flinched.

Camus looked back at Nyna, as much as it hurt him to side against the woman who had found a place in his heart, he was certain that his choice was the right one. "Princess Nyna, would you have me throw away the life I have built and the lord I serve as if they meant nothing at all? Can anyone throw such things away so casually?"

"I…" Nyna had no words to say to that. Even if she wasn't emotionally devastated, she still wouldn't have had any words to say to that. Her head bowed, "I… I don't know, Camus."

"The life I live is that of a knight. The death I die will be that of a knight." Camus said, "The road I walk was one I started on years ago. There is no other path I can go to." Camus began to turn his horse to go back to his men. He looked over his shoulder one last time. "A princess and a foreign knight, our differences were always too great. Farewell, princess Nyna, I hope you can find someone who can bring happiness back into your life."

He trotted away. Nyna wished someone would simply stab her in the heart. She wanted to say something more, something before he went away, but no words came. Caeda's hand grabbed her shoulder, and she could only walk mournfully to the rest of the League.

* * *

><p>"We have to fight him." Marth said as they returned to the rest of the League. Caeda and Lorenz looked completely haunted, as if… as if they believed they weren't in the right.<p>

"Then we'll kill him." Minerva said without hesitation. Nyna looked at her, appalled at how Minerva was almost looking forward to this. Minerva looked at those present, "He has made his choice, and now we'll punish him for it."

Hardin stepped forward. Marth held his tongue in regards to what they had spoken of with Camus. The Aurelian took his lance out, "We'll be ready for him, even if he's considered the greatest warrior alive."

Marth was not looking forward to this, even though he was certain that the Archanean League was in the right. "We'll face Camus, and the rest of the League can fight the rest of the Sable Order." Marth looked at those around Camus, and noticed three that stood very close to Camus.

"Belf, Robert, and Leiden." Lorenz said, "Next to Grust, they are the most elite members of the Order. Though their skill is pale compared to Camus', they cannot be taken lightly."

Marth nodded. "Those three, I want the majority of the army to face them and the rest of the Sable Order. I, Hardin, Minerva, and Caeda will fight Camus."

"N-not me?" Catria spoke up, right beside Marth. "W-wait, Mar… prince Marth, I want to stand by you as your protector. I… surely you'll need me to help you fight Camus."

Jagen looked slightly worried, but was confident that Marth would be safe. Marth's younger bodyguard, however, had much more profound fears. He approached Catria. "Keeping Sable elites from interfering is the help you need to provide. You, and the rest of the League." He turned, the Sable Order, what was left of it, seemed content to wait for the League to decide how to attack. "I need someone I can depend on to keep them away when I'm fighting Camus."

"Prince…" Catria stretched a hand out and laid it softly on Marth's smooth cheek. She didn't want to separate from Marth, and her reasons were more tender then Marth realized. Reluctantly, she accepted her orders. "Okay. I… don't like it, but as long as I'm there, they'll never reach you. I'll be your most reliable soldier."

Overwhelmed by her feelings, Catria turned away.

Marth turned to the leader of the Sable Order. The way the Archaneans had been strewn across the sand came back to him, and he looked at the man who had done it single-handedly. Steeling himself, he went forward.

Camus saw the approach, and gestured orders with his hands. The Sable Order left him, and he rode forward to face the leaders of the League by himself.

"Prince Marth of Altea." He looked at his primary enemy, then acknowledged the others. "Prince Hardin of Aurelis. Princess Caeda of Talys. Princess Minerva of Macedon." He held his lance, Gradivus, forward. The holy Regalia of Archanea gleamed, looking like fire as the sunlight reflected off of it. "With this lance, Gradivus, I am invincible. A pity you had to waste your life like this."

Wind briefly tossed his hair, and he charged. Minerva was the first to respond. Hauteclere ready to kill the one Minerva saw as a hopeless cause, and a shallow, blind man. Her axe was aimed at Camus' neck. Gradivus easily blocked what Minerva intended to be a fatal blow. With a movement of the lance, he forced Minerva away. The Wyvern tried to snap at Camus to tear the skin off his face, but a thrust of Gradivus cracked the scales on the creature's forehead and turned the Wyvern's roar into more of a soft groan. Flapping its wings, the Wyvern ascended, getting it and its master away from Camus.

Marth and Hardin came forward. Camus kept half an eye on the Wyvern and the Pegasus, but the greater part of his attention were on the two princes. Marth and Hardin were undoubtedly skilled, Rapier and lance in hand, Camus' mind was flooded with the hundreds of ways the two could come at him with their two very different weapons, and he calmly readied his defense. He was ready for anything the two had.

The flurry of weapons was a spectacle, and Camus easily held his own, pushing his two enemies back. When Caeda swooped in on him to aid the two, he was ready for her even as he was focused on the two princes. When she thrust the Wing Spear, Camus dodged it and grabbed the handle in his hand. He yanked the Wing Spear from her grip and threw it aside.

His next move would have been to stab straight through Caeda's gut with the Gradivus, but Marth leapt to the princess' defense. Camus turned to him, and the Gradivus sunk easily into Marth's shoulder.

Camus pulled his weapon out. Rather then back away immediately, Marth stabbed forward with his Rapier, Camus raised his lance and managed to divert the attack somewhat. The Rapier stabbed into Camus' hip, the Grustian's face didn't even twitch in pain from the shallow cut, and he immediately knocked Marth away with the handle of Gradivus.

Hardin moved to aid his friend, the handle of Hardin's and Camus' weapons connected, but the difference in strength was obvious. Hardin was being slowly but surely pushed back, then Camus suddenly shoved him away before turning to face Minerva.

Hauteclere swung down suddenly from above, Camus raised his lance and stopped the attack. The axe did not even scratch the handle of the sacred weapon. Camus shoved Hauteclere to the side and thrust the lance at Minerva, forcing the woman into a small retreat. He turned to a risen Marth, and returning Caeda.

He held Gradivus out and twirled it in his hand, the spinning weapon was enough to make Marth abandon his charge, and then Camus turned and thrust at Caeda.

The tip of the weapon plunged lightly into the neck of Caeda's Pegasus. Not a deep wound, but enough to elicit a painful reaction from the creature. It backed away and flew up into the air, its blood trickling down upon the ground. Caeda's hand went over the wound of her steed, as if frantically trying to stop the blood flow.

_This is ridiculous._ Minerva mentally muttered. _We outnumber him, and he's clearly making a mockery of us._ She turned to the rest of the battle, and hoped things were going much better over there. The last thing they needed was to be losing on two fronts.

* * *

><p>Catria found herself breathing hard, she wasn't fighting the Order's single greatest elite, but still found herself at her limit.<p>

She had somehow found herself in a mostly one-on-one engagement with Leiden. One look at the Grustian made it clear what he thought of her. Catria's way of spitting on Grust's name during her forced servitude must have become something of note, and Leiden was ready to make her answer for it.

His lance came at her with lethal intent. Though Catria had the advantage of being able to take to the air, Leiden was so clearly the better fighter. She was fighting her best, and it still wasn't enough. Catria could only wonder what sort of training the Sable Knights underwent for the Order to be so great in number and yet so well-trained at the same time.

Steeling herself, she blocked Leiden's attack and responded with one of her own. He dodged easily, Catria was forced to ascend or face a lance tip into her face. At this rate, she couldn't see herself winning this fight.

Belf, Robert, and Leiden could apparently lead quite well while Camus was elsewhere, and organized what remained of the Sable Order against the League.

Sable Knights were being defeated and killed here and there, but Belf, Robert, and Leiden were not among those numbers. They had fought well, easily besting one League soldier after another and leaving the wounded but still living body where it had fallen before settling on their current targets.

Est found herself locked in battle with Robert. She had improved quite rapidly with her short time with Abel, but against the Sable elite, she had to admit to being out of her league. Though she regarded her enemy as possibly being the least of Camus' three men, he still seemed to be at the peak of physical skill, and well beyond her.

To Robert, Est's attacks came so slowly that they were just begging to be dodged. He obliged, skillfully weaving through Est's attacks until he moved past her. The handle of his weapon struck Est's backside, getting a yelp from her as the pain registered. Robert clearly wasn't interested in showing mercy, and only by the fact that panic filled her muscles with strength was Est able to dodge his mad flurry.

She might have still died, if it weren't for Abel coming to her aid. Robert turned around and his lance connected with the Mercurius. Est knew immediately that the battle was between those two from this point on. Recognition registered on Robert's face, he knew the Mercurius, and readied his lance.

The League fought under Wolf's leadership at this time. He was one of the few who could defeat and kill the Sable Knights consistently, and did well in leading the League in this battle. He met Belf in combat, and unlike Catria and Est, he was full well capable of matching his adversary. Slowly, he pushed the Sable Knight back, and could admire how Belf did not give himself to panic as he was at a disadvantage. On the contrary, Belf only became more determined, and pushed himself harder to match Wolf. Slowly, their skill managed to even out, and for a second they looked like they could have been rivals of a sort.

The ground beneath him was more ash by way of Tiki's breath and blood by way of blades tearing into flesh then it was grass and dirt, but everything was almost over. The Sable Order's numbers were fast dwindling. At this point, there was just the matter of striking down the three men that were right under Camus. The rest would fall easily after those three died to a demoralizing effect.

Confident in how things would do, Wolf turned his head to the battle with Camus, and his eyes widened at what he was seeing.

* * *

><p>Hardin breathed hard, the fabric covering his gut now reddened with his own blood from when he had been stabbed.<p>

_Too powerful._ Hardin mentally said, _Both physically, and through Gradivus. I might as well be trying to stop a hurricane._

Camus was a nightmare. To think that Grust had a man like this among its ranks… he had only two wounds. The stab to the hip Marth had inflicted, as well as a meaningless scratch that Caeda had somehow struck upon his shoulder. It hadn't effected him at all, and he had responded to the attack by thrusting his lance, nearly claiming Caeda's life. Only by the Pegasus reacting in time and moving Caeda away had her life been spared.

The man dusted himself off and surveyed his four enemies. Each had a grievous wound somewhere on them, courtesy of the Gradivus. He found himself breathing hard despite his lack of meaningful injuries. They were strong, very strong, and required him to call upon his greatest reflexes. Individually, they would have been simple to take down, but all four of them together required him to go all out. But even together, even after pushing him this far, they couldn't stand against him. They were growing exhausted and wounded much quicker then he was, if things continued like this, his victory would be attained in just a few minutes.

"I have no interest in a prolonged battle." He said suddenly. "I shall simply end your lives now." His sights narrowed on Marth, his greatest enemy and first target, who stood in a battle stance with his Rapier at his side in defiance of the crippling wounds inflicted on him. Camus charged forward on his horse, Gradivus ready to run the prince through.

Hardin's eyes widened in horror. If the attack went through, Marth was finished. Hardin tried to move. At first he couldn't, the pain in his gut and throughout the rest of his body too strong. He looked at Caeda and Minerva, neither of them were in any condition to intercept. Their steeds had grown weak, they had taken all the damage for their masters.

Suddenly, the paralyzing pain didn't hold him back. It took only a split second to see and understand that Marth's survival hinged entirely upon him and if he could stop Camus. Hardin forced himself into movement, on his horse he charged forward. At the last second Camus turned to the Aurelian prince, and his eyes widened in realization of what Hardin was doing. Hardin shoulder tackled Camus, disorienting the man and forcing him to abandon his attack.

Camus turned his attention to Hardin, ready to kill the Aurelian with a retaliatory thrust, then immediately turned back to Marth just in time for Marth's Rapier to stab into his gut.

He gagged, then closed his mouth, ignoring the pain as best he could and starting to move Gradivus into position to thrust and kill Marth. He felt a disorienting rush of pain as the Rapier pulled out of his gut. Hardin's lance stabbed into his hip, entering on one side of him and piercing out on the other. Camus responded by punching Hardin in his temple to make him back off. Camus was miraculously still alive, and turned back to Marth, and his eyes widened in realization that the fight was over as the Rapier plunged into his chest.

"I…" Marth watched as blood slowly seeped out of Camus' few, but deadly wounds. The battle had turned around in an instant, and Marth could scarcely believe he stood victorious. "I'm sorry, Camus."

The Rapier came out, Camus sputtered, and the Gradivus fell from his hands. He looked down at the ground. The moment that holy lance fell from his grip, the battle was well and truly over.

"Ny…na…" Camus reached out the hand that had hitherto held Gradivus. The fingers shook, and his eyes slowly closed. "Fare…well…"

With an image of his love in his mind, Camus fell from the saddle of his horse. He fell onto the sloop of a hill and began to roll down. He rolled down to the sand where he had bested the Archanean members of the League not long prior.

"_Camus_!" Nyna yelled at the sight. Her beloved, injured and helpless on the sand, she began to run. Her only thought was getting to him, the fight was over, and she would not let anyone do anything further to him. If anyone at this point approached him for the purpose of slaying him, she would see to it that the person was put to the sword. Even if it was Marth. Even if it was _Linde_.

"Princess, don't approach him!" Astram, who had been near Nyna as a bodyguard, wrapped an arm around her to restrain her. "Let that scum expire on the sands."

Nyna struggled, frantically trying to tear Astram's arm off, but Astram didn't let go. Then Nyna heard a rumble.

The tide of the beach, previously docile, surged violently. The waves got larger, larger, until a veritable tsunami was moving toward the shore, ready to fall upon the sands.

Astram was so shocked at the sight of the wall of water that his grip on Nyna weakened. Nyna took her chance, striking Astram in his gut with her elbow. As the Archanean knight reacted to the sudden pain, Nyna ran forward.

Camus' survival came down to her at this point. She had to get there and save him, she _had_ to. All she wanted to do at this point was hold Camus close, get him away from the wave, and protect him from the hands of the League. She wanted to make Camus understand, and be able to just… be with him, for the rest of her days.

She wasn't nearly fast enough. The wave crashed down upon Camus. Nyna screamed at the sight, and would have kept going, but Astram came up and grabbed her again.

The sands sank under the water for several seconds, and then receded. To Nyna's horror, Camus' body wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Divine justice." Astram said, looking with contentment in his eyes at the sight of Camus no longer on the sand. "Fear not, princess. He'll never get near you again."

Nyna collapsed to her knees, and screamed her anguish out.

Marth almost forgot how to breath as Camus' dying body was stolen from the shore by a force of nature. The Grustian extolled as the greatest warrior alive… was gone. The one he knew he could have never fought solely by himself and expect to win. Dejectedly, he looked to the side and saw the Gradivus lying upon the ground. Kneeling down, he picked it up.

The League now had all three Regalia, but Marth didn't feel any sense of accomplishment. He just stared deeply at the Gradivus, almost as if he were contemplating driving it into his heart. With he sigh, he turned to the Grustian castle. With the battle effectively over with the death of Camus, there was one thing left to do.

* * *

><p>Leiden stared in the direction Camus had been in. His heart continued to beat, but not by his will. At the sight of Camus disappearing like that, he wanted it to stop. Only seconds after Camus was stolen from him, and the thought of living without Camus' direction and guidance seemed pointless. It would be an arbitrary, unbearable existence.<p>

He considered charging forward with his weapon, letting himself die and taking as many with him as he could as an act of spite at the army that stole Camus. With anger coming over him, he was ready to do that. Then a hand landed on his shoulder. Leiden turned to Belf.

Belf closed his eyes and hung his head forward. Both his hands tightened, the hand on Leiden's shoulder clenched harder, causing some pain to the other Sable Knight.

The eyes opened back up. He looked at Wolf, who was the effective leader of those who had come here rather then attack Camus. Belf remained without a scratch, as did Wolf, though both bore signs of fatigue as they had fought each other. He looked at his enemy, and spoke the words he never thought he would have spoken today.

"You win." He said, the battle had stopped, and it was so silent that all heard the words despite how softly they were spoken. Belf pulled on the reins of his horse and turned it around. He galloped off. One by one, the Sable Knights followed suit, retreating into the woods of Grust.

"Should we pursue?" Palla turned to Wolf. With Camus gone, the Sable Order would have lost its head. Defeating what was left of them should have been simple.

Wolf, the cold, pragmatic Aurelian, caught Palla off-guard by shaking his head. "Coyote, I'm sure Coyote would reason that there has been enough killing today. Furthermore, hunting down and killing a broken army and killing all of them… we are not like Dolhr." He looked at Palla, then turned to head to the leaders of the army. "Tell our staff-wielders to tend to the wounded. All who are not wounded will come with me to return to Coyote and the other commanders.

* * *

><p>Nyna's cries went all the way up to the balcony of Grust castle. Michalis looked down, and closed his eyes out of respect of what just happened, for the person who had departed this world. Now… now Camus was gone. His life taken by Marth, his body claimed by the water.<p>

The military of Grust had fled. The Sable Order, what was left of it anyway, had retreated, Michalis doubted anyone would see them again anytime soon. The rest of Grust's military, he could see them fleeing as well, including the coward, Larissa. Michalis predicted that the League would hunt him down.

He did not look forward to what would happen now, but nonetheless turned around. The comforting light of the braziers made visible the one who now would live another minute at best.

"Ludwik." He approached the bed that contained the already broken King of Grust. The man was still awake, and his eyes darted to Michalis' face. He looked like he had aged years since the fighting began today. Perhaps even victory today wouldn't have been enough to save his life, as broken as he already was.

"My friend… Michalis…" Ludwik's voice was cracked and weak. "Is… the fighting over?"

Michalis looked straight at the dying King. "Yes."

"And… the result?" Michalis spotted movement under the covers. If Ludwik had the strength, he'd have likely tried to get up and grab Michalis' collar until he had the answer. Yet he had grown so weak that he couldn't even get the cover off by himself.

"General Lorenz of Grust betrayed you and sided with the Archanean League." Michalis began. Ludwik's eyes widened and his mouth hung open, revealing the dry and cracked tongue.

Though reluctant to speak the words that would kill his friend, Michalis continued. "General Camus The Sable of Grust, the most able warrior of the continent, is dead. What Sable Knights outlived him have fled into the wilderness."

"N…" Ludwik shook his head, but then his entire body began to shake, violently. Michalis bent forward and firmly grabbed Ludwik by the shoulders in an attempt to calm him. There _was_ no calming him. Ludwik seemed to have gone mad, and began to foam at the mouth. For several horrible minutes, Michalis could only hold Ludwik down in his bed as he and flailed and gave into spasms. Finally, his movements calmed, his eyes rolled back into his head, and all movement ceased.

"I'm sorry." Michalis said softly, holding the hand of Ludwik's corpse. Releasing the now limp thing, Michalis grabbed the covers and concealed Ludwik's entire body under it.

Camus and Ludwik, both men Michalis was fond of, were now gone. The fact pained and saddened him more then he expected. He shook his head and turned to leave. There was nothing left for him to do in Grust. His Wyvern was waiting…

He stopped almost as soon as he began walking. There was _one_ untended to matter. A meeting.

* * *

><p>"King Ludwik!" Marth and the League entered the castle of Grust, looking for the King. He was here somewhere. The King of Grust who had sided with Dolhr, and by his own misjudgment, had sent Grust to this stage. Now so many Grustians were dead through this war, and Ludwik had to answer for each and every fallen body.<p>

Marth went through the castle, ignored the fearful glances of the attendants and the terrified shrieks of the maidservants, until arriving at the private chambers of the Grustian royal family.

Marth noticed, with some discomfort, two small beds clearly meant for children. They hadn't seemed to have been used in quite some time. Lorenz also looked at the beds with a pained expression. Reminding himself as to who he was looking for, Marth went into Ludwik's own chamber.

There was a figure on the bed, under the covers, a few other soldiers entered with him and followed Marth to the bed. Marth grabbed the cover and tore it off, revealing Ludwik.

Dead. His face permanently frozen in a haunted, horrified expression. He looked like he had died only minutes before, but, it also looked like he had been slowly dying for months as well.

"Who did this?" Marth asked, his hand slowly approaching Ludwik's head.

"You did." An unfamiliar voice answered. Marth turned, a red haired man was standing at the rail of the balcony, looking at the setting sun as if it was captivating artwork. Marth only saw the back of his head, but he could immediately tell that he wasn't Grustian.

"Who are you?" Marth demanded, his Rapier ready if this stranger turned out to be hostile. The man turned around, Marth looked at his face, and noticed that, though it was more masculine, the structure was very, _very_ similar to Minerva's. Marth's eyes widened in realization.

"King Michalis."

"Michalis!" Minerva stepped past Marth. At first she looked determined, but in the face of her brother's stony gaze, she became increasingly rattled. "Michalis, what are you doing here?" She spoke with a cold voice.

_So this is how she greets her brother. Not with warmth or open arms, but with coldness._ Michalis's shoulders broadened slightly at Minerva's words. "I came to speak to Ludwik, he has gone through much in these past few months. I wished to speak to him when he was still alive."

"You said we killed him." Minerva said, "What did you mean by that? We only entered the castle minutes ago. You were in a better position to have killed him. Did _you_…"

"No." Michalis corrected with a shake of his head, "As I said, you killed him." He focused his attention on the corpse, which already looked like it had been dead for at least a week. "Ludwik was a sickly man, and easily bedridden by stress. Grust being defeated time and time again by the Archanean League left him on the verge of death, but then came today. He simply could not take another defeat at the League's hands. The end of Camus was what triggered his own."

Marth looked at Ludwik, and for a moment, guilt struck at him. Gnawing at his heart and refusing to leave. He felt… he felt almost like a murderer who had mercilessly stabbed and killed a man too sick and frail to fight back.

"By your actions, there are now two orphans in the Grustian royal family." Michalis continued. He had never seen Ludwik's children himself, but imagined that they would not take the news well.

"Michalis. The war is nearly over." Minerva told her brother, "Side with us. Macedon will have no future with Dolhr. I… please walk with the right path with me." She swallowed, then her face hardened. "This is the only time I will ask."

He was unimpressed. "You are ill-capable of deciding what the 'right' path, is. Macedon's direction will not change. I will lead it to a more prosperous existence, I will not allow it to fall to the miserable stagnancy you want it to have. Macedon has grown stronger, more united as a nation, things it would have never achieved had it gone down the path you wished it to have gone."

"Michalis!" Maria suddenly stepped forward, Michalis paused at the sight of his youngest sister. He had planned to speak longer, but the sight of her made the words freeze in his mouth.

"Maria…" Michalis uncrossed his arms and looked at the young princess. His rigid face softened, and he was thankful that she survived a battle like the one that happened today. He extended more of an ear to her then he did to Minerva, and waited for her to talk.

"We want to help you." Maria began, continuing to walk toward Michalis. "We've gone through so much to find you."

Malledus stepped forward and whispered something into Marth's ear. The Altean prince gaped at whatever it was he said, but stayed where he was as Malledus walked off.

"All I want is for the three of us to be a family again back in Macedon. Please, Minerva and me will do our part to free the continent of Dolhr, and then we'll come back to you in Macedon. Nothing will ever separate us after that. I know you don't like serving Dolhr, and you want the best for Macedon. We'll take care of Dolhr for you and come back to you."

Michalis listened to his youngest sister. He should have refuted such naïve words, and if they had come from Minerva he would have, but to Maria, he seemed to lack the heart. His eyes turned to the elderly man, who was standing near a Mage with Altean features to his face. Michalis' eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

The blades of Excalibur appeared, and converged on Michalis, standing on the edge of the balcony. Without a moment's hesitation, Michalis flipped backwards over the rail as the wind struck the carefully placed tiles of stone.

Maria stared blankly where Michalis had been standing, where only wrecked and shattered stones remained, then turned to Merric and threw her Heal Staff at him. It struck hard on the side of his head, and he fell down.

"What do you think you're doing?" Maria demanded as Merric started to get back up, clutching at his head. "You could have killed-"

Her words were cut off by the sound of leathery flapping. She turned back to the balcony to see Michalis' familiar black Wyvern. Michalis himself stood in the saddle.

"Try again, Archanean League. I'm a whole different game from the Macedonians you fought in Aurelis." He settled into the saddle. The black Wyvern glared at the League, and seemed to recognize Minerva, Maria, and the Whitewings.

With his hand on the rein on his Wyvern, Michalis began to turn. "If killing me is your wish. Come to Macedon." The Wyvern made a piercing shriek, loud enough to make every member of the League present clap hands other the ears, then began to dutifully carry Michalis back to Macedon.

Michalis spoke one final time. "This continent needs only _one_ King, and I am he."

"M-Michal-" Maria watched as her brother traveled away, becoming an indistinct speck before vanishing entirely. She turned to Marth. "Please, we're heading for Macedon next, right? I… I have to see Michalis again! If Minerva and I just talk to him, we'll get through to him. I _know_ he'll listen to us."

Marth looked down at the little girl, and was momentarily uncertain as to how to respond. Maria clung to his leg. "Please, Marth. I… I have to save him."

"Y-yes." Marth managed, there was no reason for Macedon to _not_ be their next destination. Grust had been removed from this conflict, just as Gra had been, Macedon would be next. Yet as he looked at the face of Maria, he grew uncomfortable in regards to what, exactly, would happen. After that encounter, he couldn't bring himself to believe that Michalis would truly listen to Maria or Minerva. He couldn't see the Macedonian siblings walking anything but the path of sorrow and violence.

He looked at Minerva, who shook her head, unable to hide her haunted expression. She looked at Marth and sighed, she understood that Macedon would be where they'd go to after their business in Grust was concluded. The Dracoknight was in the awkward position of wanting to go to Macedon and not wanting to go at the same time.

* * *

><p>"Nyna." Marth found the Archanean princess after the excitement of the battle and encountering Michalis had died and the League had settled down somewhat. While Minerva had looked merely haunted after her encounter with her brother, Nyna seemed utterly broken after seeing Camus be torn from the sand by the waters. "I'm sorry. I failed you today."<p>

"No…" she shook her head, the movement allowed the light of the orange sunset to illuminate the trail of tears that had fallen from her eyes. "No, Marth. My… my request was selfish beyond what words could ever convey. I'm sorry for forcing you to ask him to join us. I… should have known."

Just like when she had told the story of Camus, her audience was Marth, Boah, Caeda, and Minerva. She looked at all of them, they all wore mournful faces that sympathized with Nyna, except for Minerva, who almost seemed to be scowling.

Marth was silent. Nyna's eyes were watering again. She had not yet truly begin to grieve. Ever since she had made it safely to Aurelis, she must have continued to live just for the sake of reuniting with Camus. Even her duties to her nation paled compared to the thought of him.

"The worst part… th… the worst part, is that I knew this was how things would go." She looked at Marth, "Ever since I gave you, that Emblem of Fire, Archanea's Fire Emblem, I knew this was how things would go. I just… knew." She hiccupped, "Do… do you know the story of… Artemis' Curse?"

Unable to speak to her, Marth just shook his head.

Nyna took in a breath and spoke through her tears. "During the last war to defeat Medeus, I had an ancestor named Artemis. She loved your ancestor, Anri, with all your heart, and he reciprocated the feeling. But when Medeus came, she gave Anri the Emblem, and they were separated, they would never… see each other again. In the end, Anri and Artemis had their hands given in marriage to people their hearts did not belong to. Artemis cursed the Emblem when it was returned to her, calling it the end of war, and also of love. Now look at me…" Nyna had never looked so pathetic. "Now… now _I_ am the one who is cursed."

Nyna's entire body began to shake, and she looked as though she could never give an honest smile again. She looked miserably at those around me. "I'm sorry, please, leave me. I… need time. I…"

Marth nodded. He didn't say anything, and suspected that he wasn't the person Nyna wanted to speak to right now. It was he, after all, who made the final blow to Camus.

Minerva was the last to start moving to the door, and as the others left ahead of her, she stopped at the sound of Nyna's sobs. She turned to the Archanean princess, watching the tears stream down Nyna's cheeks and going to her chin. Tears falling onto her gown, leaving it wet. Nyna's hands were drenched from rubbing at her leaking eyes. The image of Camus in her mind, once offering her so much resolve, now crushed her spirit and left her wanting to die. Minerva couldn't take the sight, and stepped toward Nyna with a clear look of frustration.

"Why waste tears over _him_?" She suddenly demanded, "He was a pig who sided with that coward of a King over you. If anything you should be happy to see someone like that die. You can find someone much better for y-"

Nyna immediately rose and struck Minerva in the cheek. Nyna was no warrior, but the suddenness and fierceness of the open palm striking Minerva made the Dracoknight fall down.

"Get. _Out_." Nyna growled, refusing to let _anyone_ speak of Camus in that way. She also wouldn't let anyone speak of Ludwik, the man Camus held in such high regard, in that way. Minerva rose to her feet and opened her mouth to retort, but stopped at the look of anger from Nyna. Reluctantly, with a shake of her head, she turned and left.

* * *

><p>"It feels good to see that pathetic excuse for a man meet an end like that." Astram said, grinning. The other Archaneans shared his expression. They all drank in the exaltation of Camus' end. With the exception of Horace, who looked like a man who had endured a great personal tragedy but was enduring it in silence.<p>

"My only regrets are that he didn't suffer enough, and that I didn't strike the killing blow." Astram continued, his fist shaking. The various leaders of this army weren't worthy to fight Nyna's personal enemies for her, only Archanean knights like himself should have that particular honor.

"Do not speak of him." Boah appeared, the Archaneans whirled and looked at him. Boah did not back down from the surprised looks. "Especially in front of the princess. No Archanean shall invoke his name, or speak of him and bring the princess deep pain, from this day forth. Violations of this will result in immediate expulsion from the League. After the war, speaking of him will be answered with exile from Archanea."

The soldiers stared at Boah blankly, but all nodded. The less spoken about that monster, the better, they believed. Even stray thoughts would awaken the worst images in their minds. They did not question the lengths Boah was going to to ensure that Camus was never mentioned in Nyna's presence.

Horace looked at Boah, and was more understanding of what Boah was doing. The Archaneans would never speak anything but ill of Camus, and for the sake of appearances Nyna must not ever rebuke someone who spoke of Camus with contempt. For the sake of Nyna, to keep her sane, Boah would silence all talk of the one whose name would cause such unending pain in Nyna's heart.

Without saying anything further, Boah left. The Archaneans left in turn, Horace was the last to leave.

* * *

><p>Marth approached Hardin. The Aurelian noticed that Marth seemed lost in thought. Surely he was thinking about how difficult today's battle had been. Hardin himself had been caught completely off-guard by Camus' strength. The title of 'Most Able Warrior' was well-deserved, Camus' lance play had earned his respect, and maybe even his fear.<p>

"Hardin." Marth held a lance in his hand. Hardin was confused at first, Marth didn't use lances, but then recognized it. "This is Gradivus, one of the Regalia of Archanea, and the strongest of the three weapons. As my close friend, advisor, and the one I trust and depend on the most, I'd wish you to wield it."

The Aurelian nodded. "As you wish, Marth. Until this war is over, I'll use this to fight against our enemies. For the sake of Nyna."

Marth tilted the lance forward and Hardin took it. To Hardin, Marth seemed to remain uncharacteristically somber. Nevertheless, Hardin held Gradivus in his hands, getting a feel for the weapons unique metal, and looked at Marth. Something was up…

Something undoubtedly personal. Hardin didn't ask what. Marth wasn't speaking of it, it couldn't have been important.

"Before we head to Macedon, I want to root out the last of the regular Grust troops. They may try to complicate things for us."

"Not the remnants of the Sable Order?" Hardin was honestly puzzled.

Marth shook his head. "With Camus and Ludwik both gone, I don't think we have to worry about them coming for us. They didn't strike me as the sort who would come at us for revenge."

Hardin wasn't sure of that, but respected Marth's reasoning. "Then we'll find the last remnants of Grust's standard army, and rout them. We should be able to do that just tomorrow." He smiled, sure of tomorrow's victory, then turned his attention to the Gradivus, the very weapon that had stabbed into his gut earlier today. Now his, to wield for a just and proper cause.

* * *

><p>"I think something's happening with our commanders." Roshea leaned by a window of the Grust castle, looking outside. With the defeat of Grust, the League should have felt a great sense of accomplishment, but Marth had responded almost as if they had been defeated. Coyote also seemed remarkably neutral about this victory. The feeling seemed to have permeated the rest of the League, and with the exception of the Archaneans, most of the League paced around the castle in silence.<p>

"We are not privy to that." Wolf reminded him. They weren't meant to know about the personal demons and struggles that Marth and Coyote faced. They could only continue to serve as knights.

"I guess." Roshea said with an almost depressed tone of voice. He didn't seem to catch the slight note of warning in Wolf's voice, and remained as curious as ever in regards to what was going on. "Anyway, Wolf, are you ready to tell me about my feeling now?"

The older Aurelian blinked, and had to remind himself of what he and Roshea had talked about before the battle several hours earlier. Wolf looked at a few spots of Roshea's armor that were now cracked and stained with blood. Thanks to Sister Lena, nothing life-threatening had inflicted Roshea. Palla grew far more frantic over Roshea then Wolf had.

"The feeling you had." Wolf began. "Was it been triggered by a certain… woman?"

Roshea jerked, and didn't look back at Wolf, knowing that his face wouldn't remain calm, and made a point to continue to look out the window. The image of Linde fluttered in his mind. The feeling was similar to what he felt when he had first met her, but intricately different. "…May…be, Wolf."

"Roshea." Wolf had studied Roshea's reaction and had no doubts. "I don't know which woman it is, but you've fallen in love."

The boy seemed to almost spasm. The image of Linde took on a completely different meaning. He took in a deep breath as weight was added, to both his shoulders and his heart, and immediately realized that it was a good thing he hadn't been told this before the battle. He'd have never been able to concentrate, the thoughts of the girl would be too prevalent, and the desire to see her safe, though she was plenty strong enough to not need protecting, would overrule his logic.

"Where the feeling will go is up to you." Wolf said, ignoring Roshea's physical reaction to his words. "But don't let it keep you from fulfilling your duty as a knight. I have high beliefs of your self-control."

Roshea allowed himself a smirk. No, even if he could… go somewhere, with Linde, he would always be a knight. That would never change.

He looked out the window, imagining himself and Merric and Linde, and Palla having a walk on the Grustian path. Such a scene was very unlikely to happen, the chances of them spending any recreational time in Grust was exceedingly low. He looked to the village he could see in the distance, and noticed something.

"Wolf, Wolf." He beckoned his eldest brother over to him with a wave of the hand. Wolf moved over to Roshea. "Look, Grustian soldiers, in that village."

* * *

><p>"T-The Sable Order… was defeated?" An elderly Grust woman stood in horror. The news cut her straight to, and through, the heart. The Sable Order was the thing that kept Dolhr at bay, that made the Shadow Dragon leave the nation of Grust alone. It was the symbol of Grustian strength, and the members of the Order were their greatest protectors. If the Order was gone, what became of Grust? The fact that they had no one else to protect them crashed over the Grustian peasants.<p>

The Grustian General stood among the people of the village. His name was Larissa. "Hope did not die with the Order. We can save _you_, at least." He spoke both calmly and warmly. Several Grustians looked at him expectantly, but their spirits were now too shattered for them to look at him with hope. "If the League finds you, they'll vent their anger and frustration for failing to capture every Sable Knight by tearing you to pieces. We can protect you from them, and hide you until they depart the nation. It is sorrowful to see that it had come to this, that we can save only one village, but we must preserve what Grustians that we can."

"Where are you relocating us?" A gruff voice asked, the voice seemed to be thankful, yet suspicious, at the same time.

"Ah. We need to be in a place they won't bother searching. So-" as Larissa had continued speaking, he had turned to the voice, and was utterly shocked at what he beheld. A man as tall as he was muscular stepped forward. Larissa, clad in dense Grustian armor, only came up to the middle of this man's chest. For a moment, Larissa was stunned into silence, and he just wanted to scream _What is this monster?_ at the top of his lungs.

The man, sensing Larissa's shock, backed off. "Where… are you taking us, so we'll be safe?"

"Y…yes." Larissa looked at the large man as if he was some kind of barbarian or bandit king, or even a demonic ogre. "We'll relocate you inside a cave. Please, follow us. Conditions may seem poor, but this is your only hope for survival."

The people bowed their heads in thanks and followed the soldiers out. Larissa followed behind them, and smiled. A fine lie, it was, for protecting the people was not his concern. When he proposed this plan, all his soldiers had cheered for his cleverness.

They'd use the people as meat-shields when the League attacked. If the League didn't care about the people, then Larissa had some durable shields in front of his soldiers. If the League _did_ care, then Larissa had the greatest of assets. Yes, the plan made perfect sense, either way it went, it was in his favor.

The only thing that discomforted him was this giant. A colossus of muscles, Larissa didn't like that axe the… creature, it seemed more natural to call it a creature then a man, was using either.

Shaking his head, remove the axe from the hand and all would be ease. With renewed confidence, Larissa continued with both the villagers and his shoulders, as they entered the yawning mouth of the cave.

* * *

><p>"Maria…" Michalis mused as he went through the darkening sky on the saddle of his Wyvern. The black scaled creature reacted to the name and growled in a manner that seemed sympathetic. Michalis sighed, he did not wish to face an army that counted his youngest sister among its ranks. Facing Minerva did enough to scratch at his conscious.<p>

Yet those feelings weren't important now. Marth had seen him, had been only a few feet away from him, the King of another part of the Dolhr Alliance. With the memory of his face still fresh in his mind, the Altean prince would undoubtedly seek to come to Macedon next. Michalis' next action was to ready Macedon for the League's now inevitable attack.

He no longer had to simply prepare for the possibility of a battle with the Archanean League, he had to be convinced of the certainty of it. Raising his head, he pivoted his upper body to look at the Grustian Castle, a silhouette with the sunset behind it. An impressive piece of symbolism.

"Grust's sun has set." Michalis mumbled. He was honestly saddened by both Camus and Ludwik's passing, and turned back to the front. "Still, Macedon's sun has yet to peak, and under me it will grow in ways it has never before. I'll make sure of that."

The leathery wings began to flap harder, the beating wings almost musical as they brought Michalis ever closer to his throne.

* * *

><p><strong>My interpetation of the three Sable Knights, as well as presenting Belf as the leader under Camus, is a bit of a shot in the dark. *shrug*<strong>

**The whole tsunami thing was due to how Camus appears in FE2 on a completely different continent. So it seemed appropriate to have the ocean effectively 'claim' Camus. To my convinence, the Chapter 20 map in Shadow Dragon has a nice body of water.**

**Please review.**


	35. Honorable Ogre

***insert witty rant about the Gaiden chapter unlock criteria here***

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of whcih there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The Grustian soldier's eyes widened in terror as the giant advanced. A monster, surely an abomination that lacked any real empathy and compassion, advanced purposefully.<p>

Within the cave, several Grust soldiers had been cleaved into parts already thanks to the axe of this creature. The blood and parts of their bodies were everywhere, lying on the floor where they had fallen, footprints in the spilt blood. The soldiers that remained raised their lances to defend themselves. The heat of the volcanic cavern made it more taxing then usual for them to move, and the sweat poured down their faces in almost steady streams. The giant, far more comfortable in its looser outfit, simply raised a giant axe and swung it.

The greatest Grustian armor cracked and broke like brittle glass the moment the axe's blade struck the metal. The axe continued, cutting through cloth fabric and into skin. Blood spewed out as organs were slashed in half and muscles torn through. The bones were chopped through like a blade of grass.

The axe had entered the body through the Grustian's shoulder, and left through the hip on the opposite side of the body. The soldier, cleaved into two halves, fell down, having died before the axe had even finished cleaving through him. His blood lay splattered around his resting place, and flowed out over the rocky floor.

Not stopping at that, the giant turned to what other soldiers were present. His axe swung through the air, easily cutting through the helm and breaking through the skull of one soldier who had not raised a defense in time. He reached out with one hand and grabbed the insignificantly small arm of another soldier and heaved him through the air. The soldier fell into one of the running currents of magma in the cave. When he fell in, the soldier did not resurface.

With an axe screaming through the air, the giant continued to rampage like a berserker against his enemies. The giant disregarded his own safety and health and charged at the lances and swords of his enemies. Against this, the Grustians stood little chance. This berserker, this… ogre, he could be defined as, could handle any Grustian that came at him. He had wounds, yes, but it was like they weren't there, he seemed almost impervious to pain.

The giant gritted his large teeth and surveyed the surroundings. Broken bodies, some cleaved in two, others with just a few limbs hacked off, were everywhere. He had taken on all the soldiers who had come at him, and won. No more Grustians were present, but it was not yet the time to relax.

He had been duped so easily, as had everyone in the village. They had followed the Grustians into the cave, expecting to be protected and sheltered from the wrath of the Archanean League. Instead, the soldiers turned on them. The people were to become meat-shields to use against the League. The soldiers, apparently, prioritized their lives much more highly then the lives of the Grust citizens.

They might have succeeded in doing it, but they hadn't counted on the giant.

Ymir, strongest in the land, giant of muscle and merciless in combat, was fond of the village he lived in. He would not sit back and allow the people to become shields for the trained men who should have served as _their_ shields.

He looked around, seeing that no other Grustian soldiers were in sight, and let loose a fierce battle cry. The roar resonated throughout the rocky cavern, echoing to every corner. Ymir knew the sound, the yell of death, warning, and challenge, would reach the Grustians who still waited somewhere else in the cavern.

After letting loose the roar, Ymir's head hung down, and his entire body sagged. The adrenaline of combat ebbed, and he reacted to his many wounds. It was only twigs that had stabbed him, but he could not deny that, after the rush of combat faded, he was in pain.

"Ymir." An elderly voice spoke from behind him. If it had been the voice of a Grustian soldier, Ymir would have immediately spun around and cleaved the speaker in half, but instead his anger broke and he turned to regard one of the village's elders. "You're doing too much… look at how many times you've been stabbed." She looked on in horror at the wounds and cuts in the fierce giant's torso. She reached out and laid her hand on one such wound.

Ymir did not wince at the wrinkled hand on his wound. He shrugged. "These scratches? I hardly feel them."

An elderly man approached, his face revealing deep worry and concern. "Ymir, why face an entire army just for our sake? You'll just get…" he trailed off, not daring to speak the next word.

Ymir smirked as if the answer was as plain as the fact that people needed air to breath. "I'll fight them for you because you treat me as a human being." He suddenly grew silent, and his jaw slackened. His mind flashing through the many years of his life. Abandoned as a youth, jeered and scowled at for years as a 'monster', and those same people cowering in fear if he as much as turned to them. They were too scared to come at him individually, and only had the nerve while in a group, and even then, the cowards would disperse so quickly when he began fighting back. Then he came across this village, where the elders were neither prejudiced or fearful. That was _all_ they needed to do to attain Ymir's unwavering respect and loyalty to them.

The two villagers opened their mouths, as if to protest, but they both slowly closed them in unison. They stood with thankful, if guilty, expressions.

Ymir was honestly embarrassed by the concern they showed for him, but knew that he was happy to find people who actually displayed such worry for his well-being. It was all the incentive he needed to be their protector. The thoughts drifted in his mind for a moment, then his face hardened, and he turned back to the pile of corpses he had made and grit his teeth. More would undoubtedly be coming. "I'll be waiting for any further Grustians. No one will get to you. I swear it."

* * *

><p>Larissa shook his head. How could this have happened? It had seemed so simple, use the villagers as shields against the League, but now he had lost nearly half of his troops, a good eighty soldiers, just trying to <em>procure<em> those shields.

All because of that giant.

If only that village hadn't sheltered a monster like that, this would have been so simple. The village was comprised mostly of elders, and those who were younger were non-combatants. It should have been ease itself, but it wasn't to be.

So here he was, the Archanean League doubtlessly approaching, and that… creature, decimating his troops, and every part of him just wanted to scream _Why is this happening to me?_

"General." One Grustian solder spoke, breaking Larissa out of his anxious reflections. To his credit, Larissa had kept his face stern and unyielding as he had thought his thoughts. His sweat could be taken as a sign of the heat of the cavern, not of his stress. He turned to the soldier, his face not betraying a speck of his emotions.

"Have the villagers given up yet?" Larissa asked. There was always the hope that the villagers would come forward themselves. Surely cowering and hearing the sounds of battle, and the cries of the beast, were too much to bear for them. Yes, some might have had intelligence.

The soldier shook his head, and Larissa's heart sank. The soldier's words confirmed Larissa's fears. "No. Not one. They've retreated deeper into the caves, and that creature stands between us and them. They're probably just as hesitant to approach that ogre as we are." The man looked concerned. He would be, he and the rest of the Grustian soldiers were caught in a pair of pincers. The Archanean League on one side, and a veritable demon on the other. And, in so many ways, death at the League's hands seemed gentler then death on the axe of an unfeeling behemoth like that.

Larissa growled, but the low, guttural sound quickly flowed into a rasping voice. "Fine." He said, irritation and vexation clear in his voice. He did something that Camus would never do, he let his frustration cloud his judgment. "Tell the troops to take their positions. We'll meet, and defeat, the League, then we'll face that monster with all that we have. We will not fail at this, we are trained soldiers." He paused for a second, then forcefully added. "We are _Grustians_."

* * *

><p>Linde took in a deep breath and examined the interior of the cave. She couldn't claim to have ever been in such an area, being far more familiar with man-made structure then nature conceived architecture, but it still brought her bad memories. The small area, the rocky walls looking like they were closing in on her, reminded her of the utterly claustrophobic places she was forced into when she had been a slave.<p>

Not only that, but… there were running rivers of magma beneath them. If someone fell into that, it was all over. Hotter then any flame, even magical flames, ready to consume any human who fell into it. Linde gulped at the thought of falling over the edge and slowly turned away to look at Merric.

"Ah, Roshea." She whispered, seeing her Aurelian friend past Merric and not far away, leaning over and examining the magma. Absentmindedly she had failed to notice how close he was to her and Merric. She told herself that Roshea had probably never seen the molten rock before in his life, and smiled at the endearing curiosity. As she watched, the image of Roshea's curiosity getting the better of him and toppling over rushed into her mind.

"Roshea!" She spoke up in a louder voice, but quiet enough to not draw attention to them. The Aurelian turned to her with a… peculiar expression. Linde couldn't read it, but he was looking at her in a way she was sure he hadn't ever before. She paused for a second, but then reminded herself of what she wanted to say. "I won't want you near the edge. You could… you could fall."

Roshea turned his head away and continued to look at the magma. The liquid rock seemed almost hypnotic, but he shook his head like he was shaking off a haze, and obliged Linde's nervous request. His horse trotted away from the edge, though Roshea knew that there was no danger, Aurelian horses were perfectly surefooted. He took a moment to look at Linde, who seemed ridiculously relieved at him moving away from the edge. She looked at Roshea, now marching a little closer to her, and was able to see his face better. She wondered why he seemed to be sweating as he looked at her… then reminded herself of the heat of the cavern.

The feeling of comforting her made Roshea feel somehow lighter. Of course, just looking at Linde now gave him many conflicting feelings, and wondered where his time with Linde might result in. His eyes moved from Linde and to Merric, who was standing between him and the Archanean girl. Linde had obviously grown very attached to them both, and Roshea wondered who she held firmer. He wasn't sure who he wished Linde to have fonder feelings of. Roshea felt as though he was being pulled in more directions then necessary, a feeling usually reserved for leaders who had to make decisions. For a moment, he just wanted Linde to look at him agreeably.

Mentally chiding himself and reminding himself that he was a knight, Roshea turned away from Linde almost shyly. Linde didn't notice Roshea's telling expression, and returned her eyes to the front as the League marched. She held Aura close to her, almost as if she thought that it could shield her from the intense heat of the cavern.

_He's confronting the feeling as best as he could be expected to._ Wolf looked at his youngest brother, then felt himself grow slightly irked. He did not enjoy Roshea being so emotionally… troubled, and would rather him move with confidence, but immediately reprimanded himself. Roshea didn't want to talk to Linde about it yet, and that was it. He would deal with it at his own pace, and the end result that Roshea's crush got him would be what Roshea got.

"I assume he understands the feeling, now." Palla said from beside Wolf. Wolf had told the Whitewing about it, though at the time he hadn't been able to name who the girl was. At this point in time, he didn't need to, Palla could see very well what was going on. She wondered how such a relationship would go, an Archanean noble and a young knight of a foreign land.

She caught a glare from Wolf, and immediately snapped herself back to the front. Her attention should be on the battle that was to come, not some endearing crush she was witness to. Acting in a way that Wolf thought was becoming of a soldier seemed to be eternally high on her priorities. Her Pegasus trotted forward, occasionally defiantly swinging its head around, protesting about the heat of the cavern. Palla sighed and tried to soothe it by stroking its mane.

The Pegasus snorted, flapping its wings indignantly. The creatures thrived in Macedon's cooler climate and open air. This hot and muggy, and closed and cramped, cavern was the exact opposite of what the creature needed to spread its wings and feel free. Palla felt lightly guilty to have forced it in here, but still made it continue to trot through the offensive heat.

"Let's get this over with." Palla thought out loud. She didn't expect a reaction, and Wolf gave none. "Anything so we can get out sooner and I can keep my Pegasus from getting mad at me."

* * *

><p>Marth wiped a hand over his forehead. He wasn't used to this kind of heat, having grown up in Altea, which was far more pleasant in regards to temperature. The magma flowing beneath their feet heated the rocks to the point that Marth could feel the hotness seeping through his boots. It was like walking on hot coals while barefoot, and it didn't take long for Marth to form an acute dislike of it.<p>

To Marth's left, Hardin didn't seem bothered at all by the heat, though there was a little perspiration clinging to his face. He moved forward on his horse purposefully, with Gradivus newly in his hand, he seemed focused entirely on today's battle. Marth looked at the lance, and had to resist the urge to sigh and shake his head.

"If all goes well, we'll crush the last of Grust's standing army today." Hardin crossed his arms. He took a certain amount of pride in the fact that his own men, Wolf and Roshea specifically, were the ones to spot these last remnants of the Grustian army.

He and Marth had already discussed whether or not they should simply leave the Grustian army alone at this point, but neither of them were content to leave these remnants to their own devices. Grust's army was mortally wounded, but it wasn't dead, leaving it alone risked them attacking the League from behind. On the other hand, if the Grust willingly surrendered to the League, Marth would spare them… but if the Grustians struck first, then attack would be all the League _could_ respond with.

His hand went to his Rapier. After the grueling battle against the Sable Order, he was not enthusiastic about fighting Grustians again. And Nyna… hadn't spoken to him yet since she spoke of Anri, he couldn't blame her. It was, after all, he who stole the life of the man she had become so devoted to. Sighing, he began to move a little faster, knowing that the battle with Camus would haunt him for a long time to come.

A tension, palpable, almost able to be tasted on the tongue, was felt by all of the Grustian troops. They certainly weren't the Sable Order, not in skill, organization, or mobility, and still these troops were about to take their stand against Grust's enemy. Standing in a grim preparation, the Grust soldiers heard the echoing footsteps of the approaching League.

Softly at first, then louder, the anxiety sprouted in the hearts of the Grustians.

* * *

><p><em>It all comes down to this.<em> Larissa crossed his arms and shook his head. _Even now, Grust shall not bend knee to them. The nation _will_ rise again, with their bones spread across the dirt and gravel._

Larissa gritted his teeth as the Archanean League slowly came into view. Grust went from the greatest nation on the continent to a broken shell almost overnight thanks to this army. The nationalistic Larissa planned to see every League soldier broken upon the ground for that crime.

So intent was he on making the League answer for their actions, he didn't notice just how badly situated he was. Caught in a cave, many of his soldiers ready to pass out from the heat and the stress. The League, rested after its fight against the Sable Order, hadn't spent hours in this blistering hot cave, and Larissa had the ogre to contend with as well.

The odds were against him, he could admit that. What he couldn't admit was that his chances of victory were almost nonexistent. Yet he readied his troops, firmly believing that the end result was a legitimate question.

Larissa saw Marth at the front of the League, there could be no mistaking that face. There likely wasn't anyone on the continent who could mistake that face at this point. Marth was here.

With a slow inhale to calm his nerves, and with the sweat born of both heat and stress flowing down his face, Larissa made the order to attack and then fell back to the rear of his army.

_No point in asking for a surrender, then._ Marth reacted to the enemy charge, signaling to Hardin and Minerva, who led the League to face the enemy.

Marth met the first enemy, and was almost caught off-guard at how weak this enemy seemed to be. These were not Grust's Sable Order, and the difference in skill was plain and obvious. He was almost disoriented by the difference, but quickly collected himself.

Surprised at first, he quickly approved of the sudden and unexpected ease. Any enemy would have likely been easy compared to Camus and the Sable Order. He turned to look around, suspecting that Hardin and Minerva had the same thoughts running through their heads. Returning his attention to his enemy, the fact that he could divide his attention was proof enough of how inferior to the Sable Order these Grustians were.

The League pushed forward, the fight was nothing like how it had been with the Sable Order. It almost reminded Marth of the earlier months of the war, when his enemies lacked much in the way of the training necessary to fight him.

No one sought to embellish his kills, but this fight was almost… relaxed. The League moved ahead smoothly, Marth turned his head to see friends and allies easily slaying the enemy. Metal piercing into flesh, magic fire roasting Grustian soldiers, viscera plain as day on the ground, Marth had gotten used to the sickening display, but was slightly unnerved that apparently so had everyone else. Looking in the distance, Marth saw the enemy commander. He saw the man's face twist into vexation. He had clearly expected things to go better then this… but these results… almost as soon as the fight started, the man ordered a full retreat.

The Grustians fell back, dispersing and withdrawing deeper into the volcanic caverns. Larissa walked into the cavern with a torch in his hand, leaving the League alone. They would have to regroup… regroup and form a plan.

What plan? The moment they had entered the cave, there had been no turning back. Larissa's ace in the hole had been rendered null by the giant. Gritting his teeth, he started to walk faster, thinking all the while.

* * *

><p>Ymir raised his eyebrow at the sound of combat far from him. That made no sense, the only people here were the Grustian soldiers in front of him and the villagers behind him. A bandit group, maybe? Regardless, whoever these new people were, he couldn't see them being friendly, why would anyone with good intentions have come to this cave? His muscles tensed as sweat crept down his biceps. His axe arm trembled, bridling at the thought of what anyone might seek to do to the villagers.<p>

Then he saw someone approaching. Marth, though he didn't know that. He was flanked by several soldiers, and it was clear that he had been fighting the Grustians. An elderly knight and a Pegasus Knight seemed intent on staying by him, and several others remained in his proximity. Ymir didn't recognize anyone, but could see plainly well that this blue haired man was the leader of this other, non-Grustian army.

He held his ground, and tensed when they looked at him. If they left of their own accord, he would leave them be… he wasn't a killer like that, like them.

He grit his teeth as they approached. Their expressions were quizzical, confused… Ymir didn't buy it. He wasn't going to fall for lies twice in one day. He was a trusting man, but he wasn't gullible or naïve. Scanning the members of this group, he was beginning to determine who should be his first target the moment they pushed him to violence.

"Who are you?" Marth asked, looking over the giant of a man in front of him. He clearly wasn't a Grustian soldier, he wore no armor, and someone as physically capable as this would have been fighting alongside the Sable Order, not the rank and file. "You don't seem to be a Grustian soldier, so…"

"Back off." Ymir growled, raising his axe threateningly while posturing like a feral animal. The blade was stained red, and to Marth, it looked like it could rival Minerva's Hauteclere. Marth's eyes were drawn to various glyphs, runes, and inscriptions on the blade. "I'm not letting _anyone_ near the villagers."

Marth took another step forward trying to look disarming, but stopped when the giant seemed to just grow angrier. Marth spoke calmly, but quickly. "You misjudge me. I'm only here for the Grustian army. I have no quarrel with any villagers." He waited for a reaction, Ymir's expression did not change. He still looked ready to slay them. Marth sighed, "I can protect you and the villagers from the Grustian army. I don't want to see the innocent get caught up in these battles."

Ymir's eyes narrowed and his face twisted in repulse. "They told us that they would _protect_ us when they drug us down here. See where that got us?" Ymir stepped forward, it took all of Marth's courage to not step away from the intimidating mountain. Marth's head only came up to Ymir's chest. This giant looked like he could kill an enraged, charging bull with a punch to the face.

"I'm telling the truth." Marth said, hiding the fact that he was relieved that this man hadn't attacked yet. "But…" he held up a hand, "If words won't convince you, then judge me by my actions. The Archanean League will face the Grustian army and keep them away from you, but whether you believe me or not, you're in danger out here. It would be best if you found the villagers and got to safety."

_So _this_ is the Archanean League. _Ymir glared at Marth, believing that he was sensing a trap hidden in the words. If anything, this man, Ymir now knew it was Marth, could just come at him with the Grust soldiers by his side. If Ymir was with the villagers, he'd have to separate his attention on fighting the enemy and keeping his foes from the villagers, it was unlikely he could divide his attention like that. If he fought out here, he was sure he could win. Humoring Marth's words was a great, grave risk.

He cursed under his breath as some part of him felt compelled to take such a potentially fatal risk. He looked into Marth's eyes, they seemed honest, but so did Larissa's when he came to the village. Yet, as the light of the cavern illuminated Marth's face, Ymir saw that there was some… subtle difference that he couldn't describe. It was a frustrating decision he came to, and one he did not believe was rooted in logic. "Fine, I'll go back to the villagers, for _now_." He continued to glare at Marth as he slowly backed away, not turning his back to the prince. "If it turns out you're lying, I'll split you down the middle, along with _all_ of your troops."

Scowling, he didn't even wait for a reply. "You and the rest of your army wouldn't be able to defeat me, Ymir, the strongest in the land. I'd take on your whole army and win." He turned and walked away, but kept his head turned and his eyes on Marth until he was gone from sight.

_Ymir_. Marth watched the giant walk away, as they had talked, he could sense a great heart behind that intimidating frame. Shaking his head, he turned around. Ymir could have been a potent ally, but he wasn't willing to trust Marth right now. After a moment of contemplation, he chased the thought away and focused on his troops. "We have the rest of the battle to deal with. We're heading for the rest of the Grustian troops."

* * *

><p>"Here they come…" Larissa breathed. He had nursed the private hope that the ogre might have slain them, they had to have passed near that monster to get here where the Grustians were stationed. Perhaps they had killed the ogre… it would have been one less thing to concern himself with.<p>

"No matter." Larissa answered his own thoughts, knowing that it would be better to think them when it was over and he stood victorious. "Grust will never surrender to their kind. The nation _will_ return, dancing on their ashes. I will not allow us to lose our place in the Dolhr Alliance. We found the path to a golden age with Dolhr, I will not allow us to fall from that narrow path."

This was it, there was nowhere else to go. The only thing behind them was the cavern wall. And all in front of them was the enemy. Larissa felt he was ready for this, felt he was ready to lay waste to the Archanean League. The nationalistic spirit was with him, and he was sure, even as he was backed into a corner, that Grust would find a way to prevail. Surely, even at this stage, Grust would stand proud, the last line of the Grustian army would not bend to these foes.

The only worry that bit at his heart was that he hadn't been able to formulate much of a plan. In the short time-frame, all he could come up with was a very defensive strategy, and it would have to be enough. Mutely, he raised his hand, then pointed forward.

* * *

><p>"Ymir?" One of the village elders saw the familiar gentle giant. The mountain had departed from his guarding post and returned to the villagers. This went beyond being unexpected…<p>

The giant looked across the deep cave, it would have been pitch black if it weren't for the torches some of the villagers had. They looked more like cave-dwelling demons in the light, and the flickering fires made Ymir look all the more imposing and frightening. The villagers were huddled in little groups like frightened pack animals, Ymir was indignant at the sight.

"Another group has entered the cave." Ymir said plainly, never keeping any secrets from the people who accepted him. "The Archanean League. They seem to be trying to hunt down the last of the Grustian army."

"No…" one villager breathed, pure horror in his widening eyes. "The League broke the Sable Order and General Camus. If they're here then… we're doomed."

Ymir's face was blank. "They said that they were willing to protect us from the Grustian soldiers." He clenched his fist, knowing just how ridiculous it must have sounded, for the invading army to go out of its way to protect the citizens of an enemy nation. "They let me leave peacefully, rather then attack me when they had the chance."

"If they knew you were trying to protect us…" one villager said as she began to stand up. "Then they knew you would be easier to subdue if you couldn't focus entirely on them."

He knew that, the thought had passed through his mind already. He also knew that there were no flaws in the logic. Grunting slightly, he turned back to the way he had come. He wondered if disapproving glares were coming his way right now.

"The only thing we can do at this point, is hope that prince Marth had been truthful when he said he would protect us." His words were answered only with clear murmurs of disagreement.

* * *

><p>"Kill them! Remember, you are <em>Grustians<em>!" Larissa yelled, though no speech could rouse his soldiers any further then they already were. At this point they were cornered beasts. Trained, violent beasts, fighting without concern for honor or nationality, but simply for the sake of surviving. Desperation had set in, and they tried, to the best of their ability, to face and destroy the League. In that, they had only a mediocre performance against the elite of the League.

Larissa was blatantly in denial of how skilled his enemies were, but as he looked ahead, as he saw his soldiers, the last line of defense, falling in droves, despair began to set in. Despite their best efforts to form a formidable defensive formation, Grustian blood was splattering across the pavement, and there wasn't any sign of the situation turning around. Some couldn't even have their blood poured out, and were instead turned to ash by either a Mage or a Manakete. Yet a part of him held stubbornly onto the belief that Grust would prevail.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Larissa demanded as he ran forward. "We… we are all that is left of Grust's military, we are the nation's last hope. A nation with such a history, with such a military, we won't be felled in a matter of days by these… urk!"

As he had moved hastily forward trying to find a target for his lance, a League soldier had targeted him. The Mercurius, in Abel's hands, sank into his upper left chest, piercing through the armor like it was as durable as butter. Not a lethal blow, it had missed his heart, but more then enough to garner Larissa's undivided attention.

"Scum. Rebel… scum." Larissa grumbled before he thrust his lance, but Abel tore his sword out and swung the Mercurius, slicing cleanly through the Grustian's valuable weapon.

Now with only a piece of useless wood in his hand, Larissa looked aghast at his enemies. "We…" he stammered, his voice trialing away after he spoke the words. Looking around, he saw that only a select few Grustians were still alive, and their fates were sealed. His voice quickly regained its vigor, with a spike of anger. "We of Grust will never bow before you! No matter how many of us you slay, the spirit of Grust will endure!"

_No match for the True Spirit of Aurelis._ Hardin mentally noted. He signaled for the others to spring forward, the battle was over. The enemy commander, to his credit, remained standing, valiantly holding onto his claim that he would not bow. Yet that defiance was, Hardin suspected, born more from spite at the League then loyalty to the nation. Regardless…

Marth signaled, and Abel moved again and struck the killing blow, a mercy blow, and far better then the man deserved. Larissa grabbed the holy blade to try and pull it out, but then his movements slowed and his strength left him, Mercurius came out, Larissa fell with a bloody chunk missing from his body, ending the battle. Now Larissa, and in turn, all of Grust's military, had been defeated. Marth felt a rush of emotions, completely different from when he had devastated Gra.

The defeat of Grust felt so… bittersweet. It saw the end of the Sable Order, something that, Marth was sure, was comprised of honorable, well-intentioned people. It saw the death of Ludwik, who… Marth wasn't sure what to make of. Most prominently, Camus was gone, the death of Camus affected princess Nyna so completely… Marth doubted she would ever fully recover.

Marth held out a hand, clenching it as if trying to affirm something. The only thing around him were League troops, and deceased Grustians. He offered no celebratory face, but quietly walked away.

* * *

><p>"Grust… is defeated?" Ymir asked with a disbelieving tone. Having grown impatient, he had gone back to his position in the front of the cave, and found Marth. He had suspected that Marth was returning to kill him, but Marth instead simply began a conversation, and told of Larissa's death.<p>

"Their bodies will be left in the cave. We haven't the time to carry them out."

Ymir nodded, finding it a fitting, though somewhat morbid, fate for the Grustians. His fierce scowl lessening to a face of neutrality. "To think that the invading army would come to our rescue…" he shook his head, and his head and shoulders sagged slightly, then they bolted upright, he now wore a remorseful expression. "I… I'm sorry I doubted you, prince Marth."

Marth simply smiled, "It's okay, Ymir. I'm just glad we got it all sorted out, and the villagers are safe."

"Hmm." Ymir looked at Marth, "I'll go and tell the villagers that they can safely leave, after that…" he looked straight at Marth, there was something on his mind, something he wanted to ask, and would regret for the rest of his life if he didn't. Marth was obviously a strong person, not as physically as Ymir, but strong in his own way. As he looked at the prince, he felt that he wanted to see what the prince of a nation would fight for, and he wanted to pay Marth back for helping the villagers. "Prince Marth, think there's a place in your army for me?"

Marth stopped, just staring at Ymir.

Ymir was standing with his knees bent in what looked like a fighting stance, but he then rose to his full imposing height. "I'm the strongest in Grust. Strongest next to General Camus, I mean. You'd gain a thousand allies in one with me in your ranks.

"I…" Marth was still stunned by the suddenness of the proposition.

The word dragged out, and Ymir's eyes closed slowly. "If you don't want a monster in your ranks, I understand. I'm… used to it."

"Ymir." Marth said in a hurry, speaking the word before Ymir could try to interrupt with words or action. "You're a giant among men, and could do the work of twenty soldiers. With that heart of yours, we'd be honored to have you join us."

The giant threw his head back and laughed. "Then it's a deal, we'll just see how many armies are stupid enough to go up against me." He crossed his arms, smiling with pride. He found nothing disagreeable about Marth, and would be happy to be fighting for his sake. Besides, ever since Dolhr had returned as an acting force, he had wondered what fighting a Manakete would be like. "I'll just take the villagers back to their village, then come back to you. We'll be breaking armies left and right."

* * *

><p>Marth found that they had been in the cave longer then anticipated, it was night when they left. He looked up, and found that clouds blanketed the sky, blocking the stars. It was appropriate that no stars glimmered down on Grust on the day its military was destroyed so completely. Only some shreds of the Sable Order were left, and for all anyone knew, they had deserted.<p>

Grust had been remarkably unscathed. It remained a verdant nation and the only casualties had been among the military. That wasn't to say that it remained pristine. Marth had led the League to inflict a scar on Grust that would take generations to heal. He didn't want to think about how the Grust would likely perceive him. When the war was over, peace with Grust would depend on Lorenz.

"Prince Marth." Marth was surprised to be suddenly addressed, he turned to the direction the voice came from to see one of his guards.

"Catria?" The woman was a little hard to make out in the dark night. Marth had only her silhouette and her now familiar voice to judge her by. She wasn't on her Pegasus right now, he'd have recognized her very easily if she was. "You don't need to continue to guard me after the battle. You can… do whatever."

Catria's head tilted down somewhat, "We… we're heading to Macedon next, aren't we?"

Marth nodded, reminding himself that marching on Macedon had to have been troubling for the Macedonian princesses and the Whitewings. "We have no choice. We can't go to Dolhr until we're sure that the Manaketes' allies are no longer acting forces. It's too much of a risk to leave them alone. Dolhr troops alone are vicious enough, and if there was even the slightest chance of us having to contend with people like the Sable Order at the same time…"

He could hear his guard sigh, then walk over to a rock and sit down. "There was once a time I wanted to see King Michalis die. I even wanted to be the one who killed him." She shook her head, knowing full well that Michalis' skill in battle was far beyond hers, and she no longer wanted her lance to meet his. "Not anymore. Ever since I met you… I just, spending time with you, I can't call upon rage like I used to. When we go to Macedon I just… want someway for things to go well. I don't want the royal family to be torn apart. I just know… King Michalis' death, will be the catalyst for princess Minerva and princess Maria drifting apart."

Marth didn't have any words to say, and realized that Catria was trusting him with her private thoughts. Thoughts she might not have even told to Minerva or her own sisters.

"I'll be your guard no matter what happens, you know that. I just… I want us to make the extra push to talk to King Michalis. He's no fool, but he seems to believe that siding with Dolhr is doing good for Macedon. If we can only convince him of how things will go when Dolhr runs out of enemies…"

Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at Marth, patiently listening to her. At this moment, she felt closer to Marth then she did to Minerva, and that didn't bother her.

"We'll do all we can to reach him." Marth said quietly, "For Maria's sake, if nothing else." Marth crossed his arms, knowing that there was no easy way to console Catria, and seemingly no way to resolve the family dilemma of the Macedonian Royal Family. "How skilled are the Macedonian troops that King Michalis commands? The only Macedonian soldiers I've fought before were the ones who invaded Aurelis."

Catria thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know. The training that King Michalis puts his troops through is completely different then what his father put them through, and what princess Minerva put me through. Knowing him, they're probably much better trained then what I remember of them." She looked over her shoulder, her left hand wrapped around her right bicep. "Prior to his ascension, Orridyon was the only one who had gone through his training, on top of the obligatory training that all Macedonians had gone through at the time. The advance to Orridyon's skill was obvious, I and my sisters could attack him as a team, and he would defeat all three of us in an instant. Now, Michalis' own direct troops are probably all up on that level. It'll be like fighting the Sable Order all over again."

Marth's eyes narrowed. He had already known that Michalis would undoubtedly be a fierce enemy, the fact that he was the sibling of two friends made it worse. He reminded himself that it was all for the sake of the continent as a whole. This _had_ to be done.

No matter what the end result would be.

* * *

><p>Ymir had returned after bringing the villagers back to their homes. He had left with some mixed responses by the people, but most of the older Grustians supported him, and he had been accepted into the League soldiers, and, for the most part, was warmly received. Some remained slightly wary of him and his intimidating size, larger then humans normally grew, but he was content with this.<p>

He looked at his axe, the very powerful Devil Axe. It drained the wielder's strength even as it hacked through the flesh of enemies. It demanded great will and vigor to wield for extended periods of time, and 'will' and 'vigor' were certainly things Ymir had in great bulk. While even well trained soldiers would faint in seconds of picking it up, Ymir had wielded the foul weapon non-stop for several hours. He took the chance to put it down, and felt the rush of relief as the axe's contaminating influence left his limbs, leaving them feeling fatigued and heavy.

This feeling of weakness would disappear in an instant if he grabbed the axe again, but he did not succumb to the temptation. It was the temptation that claimed the lives of others, but it had no hold over Ymir. He knelt down next to the weapon, watching it closely, remaining here to assure that no impulsive League troop might try to grab it out if curiosity. He almost looked like he was meditating over the cursed weapon. The weapon would drain the very life from those who wielded it, Ymir was simply blessed with the fortitude that allowed him to hold it for much longer. Many other League troops wouldn't have that kind of strength, he had to ensure that no one try to curiously grab it.

"Vhat is that?" An unfamiliar, female face spoke. Ymir turned, he hadn't even begun to get any names straight outside of the princes and princesses of the army, and so didn't recognize this woman immediately.

Athena got on her knees not far from the Devil Axe. Answering her question didn't occur to Ymir, his focus was on readying himself to move to stop her, should she try to grab the weapon.

"A strange looking axe. How poverful is it?" She began to reach out… only for Ymir's humongous fingers to wrap around her small wrist.

"The Devil Axe." Ymir whispered. "The elders of the village called it 'a vile thing'. It drinks away the very life of its wielder, even as it ends the life of the wielder's enemies. Only the strongest can wield it, and even then, not for very long. I may very well be the only person on the continent who can wield it for hours on end."

Athena stared at the weapon, wondering how long she could last with it in her grip. Not that she was trained to use axes, anyway. She turned to Ymir. "Vhat do you use this veapon for?"

The giant shrugged. "Protecting my village mostly. I don't need much to be content. I just want to be around people who treat me like an actual person, and I'll fight to keep those people safe. Wealth or thrills… don't really mean much to me."

Athena's eyes bored into the side of Ymir's side as if she was appraising him, and after a time she stood up. "Ve like that outlook. Ve like you."

Ymir careened his neck at looked at her, even though he was sitting down, he came up to her shoulders. "Do you now? I wish more people could be so simply appeased."

Athena walked to Ymir and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ve can't say ve have ever found people who give us such peace. Ve… envy you."

He blinked. It was the first time anyone had envied him over anything. The emotion was, strange. "Well, if I want to keep enjoying this sense that I'm somewhere I belong, I had better see to it that we win this war."

* * *

><p>Michalis paced through the halls of the Macedonian castle. Orridyon was nowhere to be seen right now. Tending to his wound, of course. He'd be ready to fight tomorrow, and the sooner the better. He had to be aware of the battle plan, and ready to lead the army. There could be no forward commander besides his most trusted knight.<p>

The League marching into the nation was no longer a question of 'if', but 'when'. As he came to the throne room, he went to the window and watched as the rising sun illuminated the nation of Macedon. Even as battle was approaching, he could allow himself a slight smile.

Macedon had become a nation of glory, a booming economy with little to no poverty. Free from all banditry and thievery, minus the pocket thieves that seemed impossible to stamp out entirely. His rule had also been blessed with no natural disasters of any sort, and the prosperity of the nation came so shortly after he had been made King. Even an infant would know to credit him with the nation's current glorious status. He also knew full well that he was on the people's minds, and they trusted him as their King. Not only a successful King, but a beloved one as well.

It was not to say that every decision he made was well received, but for the most part, he was revered. He had brought Macedon to heights his father never could, and had kept Macedon in those heights. Not even Holy Archanea in its prime could compare to Macedon as it was now.

'Iote's reincarnation', some people called him. He disliked that title, but kept it to himself. For one, he wanted to be recognized by his own accomplishments, not by the fact that his skill was similar to his ancestor. He also found it disconcerting that he had done in his time the exact opposite of what Iote had done in the ancient past.

Iote had been a slave who led a slave rebellion against the Manaketes, Michalis was a King who had made an alliance with the Manaketes. They were opposite in many matters. Nevertheless, the title they gave him was a sign of their loyalty and respect for him, and he made no effort to stop them from using it.

Despite the many things to lift him up, there were just as many things to weigh him down. Murdering his father, he knew Minerva doubted it was an Archanean assassin but likely didn't realize who exactly had done it, still stabbed at his soul. The end of both Ludwik and Camus also hit him, and those deaths were much more fresh. Michalis closed his eyes, and mentally debated Camus' exact fate, but quickly shook his head of the thought. Camus was gone, torn from the sands by a force of nature, and no amount of contemplating would bring him back. Perhaps he and his Wyvern could have plucked him from the waters if they acted immediately after the incident, but…

"If the prince is killed, it would spell defeat for the League." A familiar voice spoke.

Michalis was surprised by the unexpected words, but he didn't jump in shock. He heard his Wyvern growling at an intruder in his throne room. Slowly, he turned his body around. There, in the throne of Macedon, in _his_ throne, stood a cloaked figure.

Xemcel looked at Michalis searchingly, and, as it had been so often in the past, he seemed pleased with the Macedonian king, but held some minor irritation for the man. Xemcel disliked a human who stood on almost equal footing with him, especially one so… politically and militaristically capable as Michalis was.

"The descendent of Anri." Michalis crossed his arms, after Gharnef had sent an assassin after him, he had little love for those he could not truly trust, but spoke calmly to Xemcel. "The only one capable of wielding the Divine Sword."

The Hand of Medeus nodded, then rose from the throne. Khozen and Bulzark appeared, seeming to materialize from the shadows. Michalis saw Bulzark's look of contentment.

_Of course._ Michalis told himself, Bulzark was the one who tried to stop Camus from spiriting princess Nyna away, and ended up being defeated by the Sable Order. Michalis knew that Bulzark's only regret was not seeing Camus' end himself.

Michalis' Wyvern rose to its feet, but Michalis made a gesture to order it to back down. Xemcel took another step forward and continued speaking. "Yes, in lieu of destroying Falchion itself, which despite our best efforts, we cannot destroy on account of it being forged of Naga's tooth, we target the prince of Anri's domain instead. With his death, the veneer of confidence the Archanean League wears will disappear, and we can claim them easily."

"Yes." Michalis said, "And I am likely his next target."

"Indeed. Yet… I am bothered." Xemcel's brows drew together, Michalis did not like the look. "On two occasions, agents of Macedon came into contact with the League. Your greatest knight, Orridyon, in the Altean castle, and you yourself in the Grustian Castle. Yet neither one of them made a move for the prince. Were you…"

Michalis was a master of keeping his face impassive, and, judging by the look of irritation, Xemcel didn't see what he was looking for in the King's face.

"No, I suppose not." Xemcel drew back. "How foolish of me to think that you were disobeying the Emperor's command and trying to get into contact with your siblings. Either way, you are the next target of the League, and you _will_ slay your sisters."

Michalis could not completely keep his face calm at that, the corner of his lips twitched just slightly.

"You will prove your loyalty, and your, use, to Dolhr." Xemcel said, "When the battle is over, Marth's head, alongside the head of your sisters, will be ready for us. There is no margin for error… if one of your sisters flee, you will personally lead the hunt for them. When that is all done, you will finally be the King you always aspired to be… King Michalis The Great."

Normally, he enjoyed being addressed with the title, but something about the way Xemcel said it made Michalis' hackles rise. "You are putting your faith in me?"

"I never put my faith in a human, Michalis." Xemcel deliberately did not use the King's name. Michalis realized that the order to kill his sisters, and now being addressed without his proper title, Xemcel was seeking to put Michalis in his place. "Merely do as you are instructed. Face the League, take this hope the humans are building and crush it beneath your boots." He turned away from Michalis, and smiled. "Of course, even if you fail and die, the Emperor's plans still advance."

That took Michalis by surprise. He had not seen Medeus often, but was one of the few who looked at him without fear, but even then, he knew that Medeus' plots were not things to underestimate. He felt himself growing wary…

"What exactly are you dragons scheming?"

Xemcel blinked at the word Michalis used to describe the Manaketes, but only smiled. "More then what you humans could ever fathom, I needn't waste my time explaining it to you. The Shadow Dragon's plans are flawless and cannot fail. Even you, Michalis, are a speck of dust in the wasteland compared to him, possessing the comprehension of a newborn. Simply do as you are told. If you win, perhaps, as you hold your sister's heads in your hands, we will tell you more of how the Emperor has been looking at this war."

The Hand of Medeus stepped away, and seemed to fade into nothingness, the other two following suit. Michalis stared at where they had been, he stared at where Xemcel had been until the rising morning sun had turned into the hanging noon sun. His Wyvern grumbled at its master in confusion, waking Michalis from his almost trance like state.

"I need to double my efforts in preparing for the Altean prince. Macedon depends on it." He looked out the window again and he knew, all of Macedon was counting on him. If he lost, Macedon had no future.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	36. Macedonian Defense

**Moving on...**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The light cast by the sun illuminated the Macedonian wilderness. Natural vegetation and plant life stretched across the plains and hills of the chilly nation. Tall, ancient trees which served as roosts to the birds and nests to the insects cast long shadows over the grass. It seemed as though, as far as nature was concerned, everything was right in the world, and was oblivious as to what was to come.<p>

A few wild Pegasus and even fewer wild Wyverns were flying freely through the air. Neither creature was in short supply, but they were reclusive, and rare was it that they gathered in particularly large numbers. Their numbers today was a little greater then usual, something taken as a good omen by the Macedonians. A sign that prosperity was on the way.

On the ground, some more earthy animals grazed on the grass and berries. Prominently, some deer studied their surroundings cautiously before lowering their heads to eat the soft food that the ground provided for them.

Then there was a sound. The deer raised their heads and looked off in the distance. The sound grew louder. A life of avoiding the Macedonian hunters had given the deer a healthy level of awareness of their surroundings, and they knew the sound of approaching humans. Without a second thought, they were off.

Orridyon examined the wilderness of Macedon. The castle of Macedon was well situated, all enemies mostly formed around land-locked troops would be forced to follow this route to reach the castle. And… the Archanean League, despite a few aerial troops, was certainly a land-locked army.

Only an army that can fly, or an army that could teleport, could avoid this route. Macedon itself was the only nation that could supply enough Pegasus and Wyverns to create a flying army of any credible size. While Khadein was the only group that could have infiltrated by way of magic in large numbers. The Dark Pontifex wouldn't dare do something like that, of course, he wouldn't be so foolish as to incur the wrath of Dolhr like that. The Manaketes encouraged competition among the human nations, but did not condone such blatant attacks like that. The condemnation of such assaults was, everyone knew, based on the rationale that it thinned the pool of viable pawns too quickly.

Macedon's finest knight looked down at his left arm. It did not end in a hand as an arm usually did. The end was wrapped in red cloth, under that cloth was a useless stump. Thanks to the Aurelian… the traitor Whitewing referred to him as 'Wolf', he would spend the rest of his life with just one hand.

No matter, Michalis had taught him versatility, and he could fight just as well with just one hand. He had already practiced with a one-handed lance style well before he lost his left hand. It was fortunate that it was not his right hand that he lost, otherwise, his fighting ability would have been lethally crippled.

Orridyon looked around, finding that he was the only member of the army who was on the ground. The rest of the troops he led were either in the saddle of a Pegasus, or the saddle of a Wyvern. They had all gone through the training that Michalis set out for his soldiers. Despite being led by Orridyon, these troops weren't the true elites, the most skilled were back with Michalis. They remained at the castle to keep the order, and in case Orridyon should fall.

Little chance of that, Orridyon believed. Even with one arm, he was more then a match for the entirety of the League.

By the projections of the tacticians, the League would arrive today. Orridyon was ready. He could feel it in the air, the sense of war, the feeling was an old friend to him. Not for an instant did he think that the League would have ever reached the nation of Macedon, yet here they were.

Inexcusable. To think that Minerva was fool enough to come back to Macedon a traitor. The King had been very clear to Orridyon that Minerva would have to die for what she had done. He could sense Michalis' pain as he gave the order, but Orridyon was proud that Michalis was prioritizing the nation, and wouldn't let it fall to ruin in a desperate bid to try and keep his family together.

He looked down again at the cloth that covered where a hand used to be. He was sure that he'd meet that Aurelian today, and his brows drew together. As he thought about meeting him again, his remaining hand clenched. He had a score to settle…

* * *

><p>Palla looked ahead, and felt a deep pain in her chest. Macedon was an emotionally difficult place to march to, let alone march against, after all that had happened. She looked around, and felt that the wilderness was inappropriately cheerful about this. Between the trees stretching up and the grass cheerfully swaying in the breeze, it looked like the perfect day, and it didn't care how heavy the heart of the Whitewing felt. It was wrong. The wrong weather for this. It should have been cloudy at least, ideally with a drizzling rain. But the elements were cold to her feelings.<p>

"Your own nation." Wolf spoke from beside her. The eyes that missed nothing surveyed the Macedonian lands, and seemed to grow almost offended by how peaceful it looked. His thoughts drifted unheeded to Aurelis, and how the nation looked like an ashen wasteland when they left. Something that happened by Macedonian hands, and yet Macedon still remained so… pleasant to look at. He turned to Palla, keeping the irritation out of his voice and off of his face. "How does warring on your own nation feel to you?"

Palla looked at Wolf, but immediately turned away from his searching eyes. She focused her gaze on the dirt as they marched. She wished she could have continued to stare at the grass until the end of time rather then face Wolf again, but knew that there was no avoiding it.

Looking at Wolf was a dagger into her soul, but she didn't retreat from the question. "I… wish we didn't have to. Macedon is my home, and its prosperity and integrity have always meant so much to princess Minerva. Though we want the best for Macedon, what we'll do will seem contradictory to our motivations. And, the people we have to fight…"

"Do you still have fond feelings for anyone in the military?"

She shook her head as an answer. "The Whitewings weren't thought of fondly by much of anyone before this all happened. By now, they probably think of us as traitors who only deserve to die. They'll attack me without hesitation."

Palla let her head fall into one of her hands. Wolf could see plainly well that this was painful for her, but found it difficult to empathize. He regarded Macedon _very_ differently. After a moment, she turned to him with a haunted expression. "How does invading Macedon make _you_ feel, Wolf?"

Wolf closed his eyes. "Aurelis was bleeding to death from Macedon's invasion. When we finally left Aurelis after ousting General Emereus, it was a wasteland of death. I can have little love for the nation that all but destroyed the land that Coyote cared for so much."

Palla nodded, understanding completely, and wouldn't try to make Wolf sympathize with how she felt. Wolf's confidence, maybe even enthusiasm and readiness, did nothing to calm the churning sense of guilt in her gut on this day. The feeling, no, the _knowing_ that the invasion of Macedon would not end in a way that anyone wanted it to. She turned away from Wolf and looked to the distance, quietly closing her eyes and offering a prayer, that somehow, in someway, things would turn out alright.

* * *

><p><em>Michalis.<em> Minerva looked toward the distance, her eyes slowly closing, her eyelids strained as she began to sweat. She had told herself that this day would come time after time, but it didn't make the reality any more despairing when it finally did. Her brother was up ahead, in the castle, which seemed insignificantly small at this distance.

Correcting her brother and, in turn, Macedon, seemed like a simple enough thing. The reality, however, was more heart tearing then she could have possibly expected.

Her mind flashed back to the simpler times when the two were children. Some memories from before Maria's birth, some after. Michalis had always been calm, while she had been rash, and it seemed like he always knew the solution, had the answer, and knew exactly how to approach any situation.

That's what made this so difficult for her. Why did Michalis have to make such a horrible decision, and be so set about continuing with that decision? One that tore Macedon to pieces… and she shouldered some of the responsibility for allowing Macedon to reach its current pathetic state. If only she had acted sooner…

"Minerva?" Minerva jolted back to the present at the sound of Marth calling her name. Looking at her friend, she immediately swooped down to get level with the League commander.

"Yes, Marth?" She asked, trying her best to hide her worries. Marth didn't need to know what coming here was doing to her.

"Are you sure you want to fight this battle?"

She flinched. She herself would have liked nothing better then to wait in the back, to not have to face her brother like this. Yet doing that would invalidate the entire reason she had returned to Macedon. "Yes. Yes I do want to fight. If I wanted to avoid this fight, I would have never sought to join my forces with you. This is something that I need to do."

"In that castle is your own brother. Do you really want to-"

"I don't _want_ to fight him, Marth, but I _have_ to." Her hands clenched into fists as she shook her head, cursing the way things had gone. "My brother, he used to be… my, my _hero_. I wanted to be like him in any way I possibly could. I… still care for him, he is family, but… he needs to be corrected and shown the error of his ways. At the very least, his sister can be the one to do it." she looked down at the dirt, but her attention was beyond the dirt and on the nation itself. A nation that, however pleasant to look at from a distance, had become filthy at its core. "Macedon has gone astray. History needs to know that when the King and his vassals ignored what was happening, it was a Macedonian who saw the madness and pulled the nation back on its proper path."

Her hands unclenched. She was angry, not at a specific person, but at how things had reached this stage. She and Michalis, they should have campaigned against Dolhr from the very beginning, they would have had the power and cunning to do it. Her brother could have matched Anri, surpass him, even. Such a feat would have been well within his capabilities.

Marth looked at Minerva, and wondered if Minerva really thought she was capable of setting Macedon straight by her own hands. She was commencing war on Macedon while stating that she had the nation's best interests at heart. Marth doubted that the people of Macedon would find that logic believable. He could only see them thinking of Minerva as a destructor who believed herself a savior.

"The enemy is up ahead, Marth." Minerva said, motioning to the distance. Marth squinted his eyes and believed he saw them. Figures that were only dots at this distance, but Marth knew that it was Macedon's elite.

"Orridyon will be among them." Catria said at Marth's side. She turned to Marth as her hands tightened on the reins of her steed. "King Michalis' most trusted knight, the one who appeared in Castle Altea. Knowing him, losing his hand hadn't affected his abilities."

Marth nodded, this Orridyon couldn't possibly be as formidable as Camus had been, but he would take the man very seriously should he encounter him.

With a sigh, he walked forward, then turned to look over his shoulder. "Tell the soldiers to ready themselves. We'll be meeting the enemy in about an hour, unless the Macedon army starts moving faster."

* * *

><p>Abel marched on his horse with no particular feelings. Just the usual anxious-yet-determined sense he normally had before a battle. Mercurius, securely wrapped in his hand, likely helped him remain unafraid as they marched to Macedon. He looked over his shoulder, seeing that all the soldiers also seemed ready for this and was pleased at the sight, then he noticed his 'student' hanging back.<p>

Slowing his horse down, he got beside Est and touched her on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Est shook her head of whatever thought she was having and turned to Abel. "This will be a battle against some people I actually know, who are fighting for my nation." Her lips curled in, and she sighed. "It won't be easy…"

"You feel guilty about going to fight them?"

"No." Her lips quirked into a half smile at the implication, but it quickly fell back into a frown. "They didn't like the Whitewings, and we didn't like them. I'm just more worried, because I used to be one of the worst of Macedon's military. I know their level of skill, and how… bad I was, compared to them."

Abel shrugged. "You've only been with the League a few weeks, but you've improved tremendously. I haven't seen anyone improve at that kind of speed."

"Don't give me that-"

"I'm dead serious." Abel interrupted. "You have a lot of raw potential, if your rate of progression is any indication. If you survive this war, you could…" He paused, looking away for a moment and trying to find a wording that was complimentary, but wouldn't potentially make Est become arrogant about herself. "You could… be an elite warrior, and one that developed very quickly."

To Est, the words seemed to have been delivered very awkwardly. Slowly, she turned away, then she felt Abel's gauntlet fall onto the back of her head.

"Try to smile some more." Abel whispered, "You're a lot prettier when you do."

Her face flushed and her head immediately bent down. Her grip on the reins of her Pegasus loosened, then immediately tightened. She didn't dare look at Abel's face right now. If she did, any semblance of composure she had would vanish. Abel suddenly strode past her, Est looked up and glared at the back of his head indignantly for the tease.

_Just for that, your student is going to completely outperform you in today's battle._ She grinded her teeth, then her eyes suddenly widened at a nervous thought. _Wait, does he… _really_ think I'm pretty?_ She blinked, looking at Abel again, and lost the composure of her face at the thought as one of the army's elites started to put more distance between the two of them.

* * *

><p>"They're here." Orridyon said, holding his lance firmly in his hand. The League was plainly visible in the distance. And even at so great a distance, he could easily make out the red-scaled gecko that was Minerva's Wyvern. "And the traitor flies so proudly in the front of the League. The King may not like it, but the head of her and her Wyvern will be prepared by the time the sun begins to go down. Along with that prince…"<p>

He crossed his arms, feeling the Macedonian wind tossing his grey hair. Tilting his head up, he saw the army of Macedon above him, each and every soldier awaiting his orders. With a simple motion, Orridyon would see them rain savage death upon the League.

Without a moment's hesitation, firmly believing that victory would be his, Orridyon thrust his arm forward, and the Macedonian army moved wordlessly on his command.

* * *

><p>"Positions." Hardin ordered, the League soldiers, already bracing for the certainty of this battle, quickly fell into formation. Michalis may have had family in the League, but it was clear that his army was going to give no quarter, and would ask none in return. With Gradivus in hand, Hardin watched the first wave of the enemy swoop in with overwhelming numbers. Memories of Macedon's invasion of Aurelis came unbidden to his mind, and he became ever so slightly… angry.<p>

The first enemy Wyvern Rider, with a squadron behind him, tried to strike at Hardin, most likely hoping to attain honor for himself by striking down an enemy commander down immediately. The Aurelian prince dodged to the left, and sank the Gradivus into the first enemy's breastplate. The lance pierced easily through the armor and out the knight's back. Caught on the holy lance, the man was torn from the saddle, the Wyvern obliviously continued on without its rider. The creature was almost instantly felled by a bevy of arrows before it could try to as much as snap at anyone.

The first kill was a simple thing, but the brunt of Macedon was descending. Hardin backed up as he and Marth both began to issue orders. The formation the enemy came at them was coordinated well enough to tell Hardin that his experience at fighting the Macedonians in Aurelis would be of little help. This was a different class of soldier. He turned to Marth, and hoped that the experience with the Sable Order left the League ready for this.

Minerva came forward, her red Wyvern flapping its wings as she met her enemies in the sky. Recognition might have glinted on their faces, and it would be one of the last things to cross their features as Hauteclere suddenly ripped through them. The woman, fueled by a righteous anger, hacked her way through her own brother's soldiers, leaving the pieces to plummet from the sky.

Marth became unsettled as a Pegasus, no longer with an attached head, landed only meters from him, its rider still fastened to the saddle, seemingly killed by the sudden stop, her neck bent to an unnatural degree. The gory sight made him stop and look up. For a moment, Minerva looked more like a demon, and Marth, in that instant, doubted that Minerva really knew what was best for Macedon.

The Macedonians continued to come, and nearly two-thirds of their number were met by Ymir. If Minerva looked like a demon from a distance, then Ymir was the devil himself. The ogre claimed that an army would break against him, and as he swung his cursed axe around with no refinement and grace, claiming life after life, there was no reason to doubt that claim.

The cursed Devil Axe drank deep of the blood of the fallen, and swung with a blade that made an eerie cry as it rent the air itself. Ymir swung with arms that didn't know how to grow tired, armor seemed to be nothing against the monster, the Macedonian armor barely any more durable then the Grustian armor. Ymir found this fight to be easy, even as he was taking it very seriously.

* * *

><p>Blood was pouring, the proud winged mounts of Macedon were slowly being spread out on the ground. Palla looked at the sights with mixed emotions. On one hand, she was happy that the League was winning, but it was soul-wrenching that people she could honestly recognize were the ones falling. Every cold, unmoving eye seemed to look at her with the same accusing expression that pierced through her. It would all be uninteresting to Wolf, maybe even an emotional flaw in his eyes, but she almost felt like she was slaughtering people who had done nothing wrong. Just like… back in Aurelis. Her stomach was going numb at these sights, and didn't have the heart to try and strike anyone. She had yet to thrust her lance in this battle, despite her many opportunities.<p>

She looked at Wolf, who fought with no hint of any emotion, his arrows clipped Pegasus and Wyvern wings alike, and his sword killed those who succeeded in getting close to him. She could bring herself to smile, her partner didn't need her help. Perhaps, he would never need it. As she looked at him, she remembered Wolf saving her from Orridyon in Castle Altea. Remembering that Orridyon was here in the nation, she knew he would bear a grudge against her Aurelian partner.

What would happen if the two met again? She had great confidence in Wolf's fighting ability, but Orridyon wouldn't be by himself, and Minerva and Michalis were the only Macedonians that were greater warriors then him. Palla took in a gulp of air to calm her nerves, and-

Something suddenly swished just behind her head. If she hadn't been hunched forward, her neck would have likely been torn open by what she instinctively realized was a blade of some sort.

"You're a fool among fools to show your face here, traitor." Cold words sounded, Palla turned around and saw a Macedonian soldier atop a Wyvern. She didn't know the name, but could vaguely recognize the face, she believed it to be someone who had only been a squire when Michalis rose to the throne. He had become an elite of the army, just under the Royal Guard. The face was a stony expression of disgust and hatred, feelings for the Whitewings that had likely sunk through all of Macedon's military by now.

She raised her lance in defense, then heard more leathery flapping from all around her. Turning her head, she saw that she had been surrounded. In all directions there were Wyvern Riders, she seemed to be trapped in a giant ball. The lizards leered at her in intimidating silence punctuated with the occasional low growl, their riders stood with sinister, stony faces. At the sight, she gulped, she might have been capable of handling several of them by herself, but she had little chance of facing this many.

"Traitor, your defiance to the throne will receive its just punishment today. There will be no mercy, your remains will serve as an example to all who try to defy King Michalis." The man raised his hand, preparing to signal an attack. Palla braced herself, ready to try and take down as many as she possibly could before she fell to the axes and lances, if she could stomach fighting at all. She readied herself as the hand of the man opposite of her began to move, and-

An arrow swished right past Palla's head, right through her blowing hair, and went straight into the throat of the man. It was so sudden that it took several seconds for Palla to realize what had happened. It all only registered after the Wyvern Rider had landed, dead, upon the ground.

"An Aurelian… in Macedon…" one Wyvern Rider turned and growled at the man on the ground. Palla turned to where the arrow had come from.

"Wolf." She could only whisper, so quietly that she herself was skeptical that any sound had come from her mouth.

"Do those mewling horsemen think that they can truly stand against us?" One Macedonian said, the contempt dripping and obvious. Macedon's military felt great animosity toward the Aurelians, built from the shame of their invasion ending in failure.

The speaker, who seemed to have taken command after the previous commander died, looked at Wolf with murderous intent. "Forget the traitor Whitewing, she's a joke. Slay the Aurelian before he fires another arrow." He raised his chin and spoke with a loud voice. "Aurelian! You made a mistake, attacking us for the traitor's sake. You have only your own lack of judgment to blame for your death, because you _will_ die today."

Wolf didn't blink. "Not likely. I've seen you fight. You're not at all superior to what besieged Aurelis."

The squadron of Macedonian Wyvern Riders postured at what appeared to have been the gravest of insults. One of the more impetuous knights suddenly spoke. "How _dare_ you compare us to Emereus' army… we're going to make this as painful as possible!"

On cue, they all charged en mass, Wolf calmly placed an arrow on his bowstring. He took a precious second to glance at Palla. "Go elsewhere, Palla. Leave these ones to me."

"I…" the words came out cracked and weak. No matter how much this troubled her, she didn't want to just leave Wolf to his potential death. "Wolf-"

"Hurry up." He felled one of the Wyvern Riders with an arrow into the neck of the mount. Before the arrow had even come close to the Wyvern, Wolf's hand was already going to his quiver. "For your own sake, leave. You can fight again, when the enemies aren't Macedonians."

Palla's face flushed with shame, and she felt herself crushed by the belief that Wolf was disappointed in her. Without another word, Palla moved to leave, ashamed of her lack of resolve. She couldn't even strike at the Macedonian army, and was sure that Catria and Est didn't feel reservations like this. She felt completely worthless… and was sure that Wolf was disgusted by her lack of resolve.

* * *

><p>Hardin removed Gradivus from the underbelly of a Wyvern, and immediately turned to his next enemy without pause. As his lance stabbed through the chest of another Macedonian, he took a second to survey the battle.<p>

Most of the enemies that Hardin could see were down. The skill of Michalis' army seemed a little reminiscent of the Sable Order, but still far from matching Grust's finest. These Macedonian Dragoons started fighting the League on fairly even footing, but then were at a disadvantage, and the disadvantage just grew more pronounced as the battle continued. They weren't being slowly beaten back, they were being efficiently dismantled.

Far beneath the Sable Order, but leaps and bounds above what Hardin remembered in Aurelis. For a moment, his mind returned to the hopeless resistance of those days, when only he and his four men were really capable of fighting, despite the enthusiasm of the other resistance fighters. Now they were part of a large army, nearing the end of the war, one that would doubtlessly end in their favor. He continued to attack without thinking, fighting on reflex. The Macedonians were thinning. In time things would end, and they'd return to marching toward the Macedonian Castle.

"Palla?" Roshea blinked in confusion at the sight of the Whitewing returning without Wolf. She swooped down to Roshea as she recognized him. The first thing Roshea noted, the thing that worried him the most, was just how troubled she looked.

"Where's Wolf? Wasn't he with you?" He asked, with Palla's Pegasus landed, he grabbed her by the shoulder, not hard enough to discomfort her, but enough to illustrate his concern. His eldest brother's partner came back without him…

"He… told me to go." Palla said weakly, "He saw how troubling fighting the Macedonians was for me. He told me to leave, let him fight."

Roshea's hand fell from Palla's shoulder. His eyes suddenly narrowed, he did not, in the slightest, approve of Palla leaving his brother behind on the battlefield, but did not lash out, Wolf himself was the one to tell Palla to leave. Still…

"Do you think he's okay?"

Palla perked up a little at the question. "You know him better then I do, Roshea. He's safe. He'll tear his enemies apart by himself."

Roshea turned his head away. Only Coyote knew Wolf's skill better then he did, and Palla was right that Wolf was likely safe, but… but unlike any other time Wolf had fought by himself, Roshea felt sick. Some part of him sensed, something was going to happen. Something that maybe even Wolf couldn't single-handedly overcome.

"Where is the enemy commander?" Marth asked, scanning around the battlefield. Most of the Macedonian enemies were either dead or about to die. Most of the kills going to either Ymir or Minerva. He looked around, seeing no sign of who was leading the enemy. Yet there had to have been someone nearby, coordinating the enemy. Even if it was a non-combatant tactician, Marth was certain that an officer had to be close.

"Sire." Jagen pointed to the distance, ignoring the blood, some of it his own, dripping from his gauntlet. Marth followed the finger and saw a mass of Wyvern Riders gathering. "That appears to be the last large gathering of enemy troops, it seems logical to assume that the commander would be there.

"That place…" Palla looked at the place Jagen had pointed out. She took notice of it, realizing that it was were she had just…

_Wolf_. It was the place she had left Wolf at only a few minutes prior. Suddenly, a lump formed in her throat, and animal panic overcame her. She knew, without knowing how she know, that _that_ was where Orridyon would be.

"Wolf!" She was off before anyone could even respond to the sudden cry, her Pegasus carrying her to the air, gliding with max speed to her destination. With a sudden realization crashing down, Roshea immediately began to follow her, but his horse couldn't keep up with Palla's Pegasus.

Feeling that she had made a grave error in leaving, and had inadvertently put Wolf into a far too dangerous situation, too dangerous for even him, Palla pushed her Pegasus to go faster then ever before. She could never forgive herself if Orridyon should succeed in hurting Wolf.

* * *

><p>An arrow pierced a Wyvern's wing, right in the joint where the wing connected to the back. The creature fell, shrieking, carrying its rider to the ground, ending both of their lives on the pleasant Macedonian grass.<p>

With that, the Wyvern Riders that Wolf had been fighting were now gone. His eyes traced the scene, every enemy laid out on the field, and no signs of life. With a shake of his head, he turned around.

"Impressive skills, my friend." came a voice from behind. Wolf's movements froze, then his eyes caught the speaker. A knight of advanced age, though not quite as old as Jagen, trotted forward on a decorated horse. The armor he wore clearly denoted him to be a Macedonian knight. The shiny, decorated armor seemed to imply that he held very high rank. Wolf looked at the man's face, the pleasant voice he heard contrasting with the harsh, seemingly angry expression.

"You." Wolf said, recognizing the man from the Altean Castle.

Orridyon's face didn't change, he took more interest in the deceased Macedonians then he did in the Aurelian before him. After only a few seconds of surveying, he turned back to Wolf. "'The True Spirit of Aurelis', the will to fight, and win, no matter how overwhelming the odds. I would have regarded it as nothing more then some inane moral booster, but it seems there _is_ something to the story."

His face hardened, and his eyes began to bore into Wolf's skull. "Nevertheless, you may have defeated that unit with only your own hands, but I don't see it allowing you to prevail against the King of Macedon. It won't even allow you to overcome _me_. You Aurelians are, in the end, horsemen, not soldiers. Some of you may lay claim to admittedly considerable levels of skill, but you are not warriors on the level that Macedonians are. You hunt, you don't truly war."

Wolf didn't blink at the words. "You Macedonians love the sound of your own voices. You won't accomplish anything by talking."

Orridyon's eyebrows quirked, and he smiled. "There is power in being able to disarm your enemies and make them submit with words alone. Though Aurelians would not know of such a thing. If strength of arm and martial might are more understood by you, then allow me to speak your language." He raised his hand, and with that visual cue, reinforcements appeared.

Almost seeming to spawn from the ground, Macedonian soldiers appeared from hiding, marching on foot with lances and swords. Wolf had caught no wind of these soldiers at all, but stood unimpressed.

"Dead bodies to throw at me. Is this supposed to impress?" Wolf's mouth was the only thing on him that moved as the Macedonian swarm began to circle around him. Twenty, or thirty, enemy troops. He examined them, able to see flaws in their gait, the way they held their weapons, and saw no signs that it was a farce to disguise a deeper level of skill.

"How long can you keep up the bravado?" Orridyon asked. He pointed at Wolf with two fingers, and the surrounding soldiers threw themselves at Wolf without any fear or concern for their own well being. Each likely imagining their weapons piercing Wolf's flesh and ending his life instantly.

What happened next seemed to defy logic. The Macedonians moved in coordination and fell upon Wolf. The Aurelian bared his sword and met the attack. With a swing of his sword, he sliced through the chest of one enemy, then immediately turned to block the sword swing of another. Rather then immediately kill this foe, Wolf thrust his sword to the side and slew another attacker that was posturing to attack

The orgy of violence continued as the soldiers seemed incapable of killing, harming or even touching Wolf. From the distance, Orridyon, for the briefest of moments, marveled at his Aurelian prey, and wondered if he had underestimated his adversary. He shook his head, his enemy would be dead soon anyway. Anything he noticed about the Aurelian's fighting style would just make him doubt his own skill.

Chuckling slightly to himself, he took his lance in hand and charged.

Wolf's sword easily sliced off a Macedonian's arm. Rather then kill the man right then and there, he instead kicked him away, leaving him to writhe on the ground. He turned to his next enemy, who was trying to perform a lethal blow, and then he saw Orridyon out of the corner of his eye.

Where the Macedonian general's lance was heading was obvious, and Wolf was forced to make a decision with only half a second to think.

If Orridyon completed his attack, the lance would go straight through Wolf's hip. The attack would be easy enough to avoid, even counter to a lethal effect. Yet the attack from one of the last surviving soldiers was still coming. He was already swinging his sword to meet his enemy, if he disengaged from the attack, the lesser Macedonian's attack would stab straight into his head.

Neither option was pleasant, and he didn't have the time to try and avoid both attacks. His only choice was to commit to what he was already doing. His sword ripped through the abdomen of the lesser soldier, ending the man's life instantly. He turned to Orridyon.

To the best of his ability, he tried to dodge, but succeeded only in making the potentially lethal blow through his gut end up being a crippling blow to his leg.

"Only a beast." Orridyon commented, immediately backing away to avoid Wolf's retaliatory swing. It would have done no good to wound his enemy and be killed immediately afterwards. He got a safe distance away as Wolf began to examine his wound.

"Is this the 'True Spirit of Aurelis?'" Orridyon asked with a hint of mixed humor and sarcasm. "Humph. Too little, too late, savage. Now you die, so far away from the King." He raised his lance, wondering if Wolf might be able to dodge, but dissuaded the thought, he couldn't see him evading the attack, this was the end.

He hadn't forgotten losing his hand to this Aurelian, and now he would repay Wolf with his head. With righteous anger and vindication, he threw the lance. Wolf narrowed his eyes as it approached…

A horrid spurting sound was heard as the lance sank in…

Wolf blinked, it wasn't him that the lance had struck. He looked on.

"Wo…lf…" a weak voice spoke up, Wolf looked at what had managed to get between him and his enemy.

"Palla…?" Wolf asked, seeing his partner, now… now with a lance stabbed into her back, the tip protruding out of her gut.

"Whitewing traitor." Orridyon clenched his single hand, "Your interference changes nothing! You and the Aurelian will both die. If you want to die with him, I'm happy to oblige."

Palla fell off of her steed, Wolf ignored the pain that moving his leg put him through, caught her as she was falling.

"Why… did you take that attack for me?" Was the first thing he said, looking at the woman who was barely conscious. "I would have been fine."

"You're my… partner." Palla said, struggling to raise her head and meet Wolf's face. "And… I failed you, today, not fighting… like I should…"

Wolf gritted his teeth at her justifications. Foolish and flawed reasoning, and she could have very well been on the verge of death now, at an attack that might not have even been lethal to Wolf. Wolf now found himself at an impasse, not being able to tend to Palla and fight Orridyon at the same time. She needed immediate aid, which he couldn't offer if he was engaged in battle. There wasn't any chance that the Macedonian General would let them leave… Palla's presence had brought nothing but complications. Yet she would be the one to pay any prices.

He heard galloping from behind him, turning in the expectation of Macedonian reinforcements, Wolf instead saw Roshea.

"Roshea. Here, now." Wolf commanded, Roshea immediately came up.

"Wolf, are you… ah!" He stopped at the sight of Palla, at how bloody she now was. "What hap-"

"Roshea." Wolf said forcefully, commanding silence. "Take her away. Take her to Wrys, Lena, Maria, any of them. I have a final matter to attend to here." For a moment, Roshea continued to stare, and then Wolf gave him his harshest reprimanding glance.

"Y-yes. I'll take her." He took Palla from Wolf and sat the girl behind him in the saddle. Palla's Pegasus put its nose on its master's shoulder gently, looking like it would rather be the one carrying her, but seemed to understand that this was not the time to protest. Instead, as Roshea left, it simply followed him…

Wolf watched them go, then spoke to Orridyon without turning to him.

"Macedonian. That was my assigned partner. There are many things about her that I don't like, but I won't tolerate an action like that. Especially after Roshea has formed a bond of friendship with her…" Slowly, he turned around, the wound to his leg seemed to not bother him anymore.

"I will not forgive you."

Orridyon closed his eyes in annoyance. "You won't forgive me? Is that meaningful? Your 'True Spirit of Aurelis' won't get you victory. I already bested-"

"You attacked me when I was preoccupied with another enemy. That doesn't say much for your skill. Rather… it showed that you didn't think you could fight me by yourself."

"Don't shove words in my mouth, Aurelian." Orridyon hissed. "I seek every advantage I can get on the battlefield, there is nothing cowardly about that."

"So you cannot fight without the odds stacked in your favor." Wolf clenched his fist. "I see the true meaning of your words under all those empty justifications. You don't have any skill, and against me, you have no hope."

Orridyon growled beneath his breath. Frustration was building and overflowing at the sight of an animal Aurelian speaking to him in such an arrogant fashion. Taking a spare lance out, he glared with clear murderous intent at his enemy. "Let's see you say that when I carve your heart out and wear it as a badge. Macedon is far beyond anything Aurelis will ever produce. Let me _show_ you…" he charged at Wolf.

Wolf dodged the running charge with a roll to the side, Orridyon stopped his mount and turned to the Aurelian. He charged again, Wolf pivoted his body to dodge Orridyon's attack, and when Orridyon attempted a second attack in the exchange, Wolf caught the lance in his hand. Orridyon attempted to wrest the lance free, but Wolf's grip was absolute.

"At best, you're a child." Wolf said, "You're lost without your tricks… and your toys." With one motion of his wrist, he snapped the top of Orridyon's lance off. Orridyon immediately backed away. "In the end, you're nothing. King Michalis' greatest General, is _nothing_."

Orridyon stared at his weapon, the blade on the end snapped off, and now it was just a useless piece of wood. "I find it hard to believe that a filthy animal of an Aurelian would speak so arrogantly to me." He was too prideful to admit that the animal had outright bested him. The _wounded_ animal bested him when he was rested and healthy.

"Reality doesn't care if you believe it."

Orridyon's teeth grit in offense. "I am only a pebble in Macedon's unshakable foundation. You may have bested me today, but you won't fell Macedon tomorrow. King Michalis… nothing can defeat him or best him. Certainly not you Aurelian _animals_."

"Is that your idea of final words?" Wolf asked, taking his sword out, he dashed forward, Orridyon's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to… either utter a final threat or simply to gasp, but no sound came out as the sword pierced into his chest. Wolf pulled him off his horse and into the ground, he pulled the sword out and stabbed again into Orridyon's chest, with a groaning sound, Orridyon stared at Wolf, then breathed a final slow breath.

Turning around, Wolf looked at Orridyon's steed, apparently waiting for a signal to do something. With a sigh, Wolf turned to the now masterless horse and struck it once on the back with his open palm, the horse immediately trotted off, now a creature that would have to make do in the wild.

This battle was over. Macedon's forward commander was dead. The first enemy in this war who had managed to wound Wolf in such a way, even if the wound was relatively minor. Without as much as a second glance at any of his fallen enemies, Wolf turned around and walked away.

* * *

><p>"The battle is over." Marth recognized. He looked at the remains of Orridyon. To his left, Minerva seemed ever so slightly bothered by the corpse. He wasn't someone she had a high opinion of, but he <em>was<em> someone she had known. His death felt unbelievable, and yet, she didn't really care at the same time.

"The castle is next, Marth." Minerva said without emotion. She turned to Marth for a moment, seemingly stoic on the surface, but she had shoved knives into her heart with her own words. Quickly turning away from the Altean prince before any emotion was visible, she walked away without another word. She suddenly had a sense that there was something deep and personal she wanted to say to Marth right now, but she pushed the feeling away. Her emotions were focused on her meeting with her brother.

"…Marth." Minerva suddenly said, "I… I want all three of the Whitewings with me in tomorrow's battle. I want them alongside me when I go to fight my brother."

"Why-"

"Just as the liberation of Altea and the defeat of that Manakete was Altea's business, this is Macedon's business. I will handle my brother, and my soldiers will fight alongside me."

Marth stood silent, Minerva turned to him. At first her expression was hostile and forceful, but then it become imploring. "Please, Marth. I need them, with me."

"Okay." Marth conceded with a wave of his hand. "They'll join you for tomorrow's battle. I just hope you know what you're doing."

"As well as I possibly could." Allies or no, defeating Michalis would not be easy. It would have been better to have more come with them, but it truly was just Macedon's business, just like defeating Morzas had been Altea's business. That was all. "Marth, if I can make one more request, for now…" she walked up to Marth and suddenly seized his hand, and didn't do anything more then that. She stayed right there, holding the confused prince's hand. At the moment, she seemed content to feel his hand in hers, as if it was some great source of comfort. Both of her hands were on top of his, and she took in a deep breath.

"Minerva…?"

"Just a little longer… Marth."

* * *

><p>Merric looked over his friend. Roshea had absolutely no wounds to speak of, despite rushing toward the last strong gathering of Macedonian troops with no form of backup following him. He was among many who tried to follow Palla and Roshea, but had fallen behind. He had felt mad concern for his unusual friend, but that panic had been, in the end, unnecessary.<p>

"You know, Roshea, you're really kind of an idiot." Merric said with an impish grin that hid the fact that he was still in a moment of relief that Roshea was safe. "You could have easily been killed without any backup."

Roshea crossed his arms, bridling slightly at being called an idiot. Taking in a meditative breath, he spoke. "It was Wolf and Palla who might have been in danger, I couldn't leave them. You'd rush off to save me if you thought I was in some kind of mortal danger."

Merric gave a peculiar expression that made it look like he had been called out and he was amused at the same time. He shrugged. "I suppose, maybe…"

"Of course we would." The two men turned to Linde. "We go the distance for each other. We had friendships like that since only a few days after we met."

Roshea's head rattled a nod. "We… didn't really meet _that_ long ago."

She shrugged. "Half a year ago, so what? I for one feel like I've known you two forever." Merric looked slightly embarrassed as Linde looked at both of her friends with a prideful expression.

"I…" Roshea looked at his two friends, he hated to break a moment he had with the two, but turned away. "I'd like to check on Wolf and Palla. By now, Father Wrys should be done with Palla. If… you'll excuse me." Roshea looked at both of them, they both seemed okay with him walking off. Bowing his head apologetically, he departed.

"Gone now." Merric turned around and scratched at his chin. "You know, Linde. I've been thinking, we should see how well you've progressed with Aura. You're very good with it, we might as well see how much control you have over it. After all, with Excalibur I…" he slowly turned around, and saw absolutely no sign of Linde. "…am now talking to myself. Lovely." He scratched at his scalp, figuring that she had followed Roshea out of concern for him. Whether that was an attempt of hers to watch over Roshea, or just an attempt to see how the boy interacted with his family… he shrugged and paced off.

* * *

><p>"Ah, Wolf." Wrys bowed his head as the Aurelian came to him right near where he was tending to Palla. "Worried about your friend, are you?"<p>

Wolf's face remained jaded. "I am here to determine that my partner will be fit for tomorrow's inevitable battle, Father Wrys. I would like to see her to be sure."

Wrys quirked a smile as if he was terribly knowing, Wolf ignored it. The Curate sighed at the indifferent expression and stepped back, allowing Wolf to go to Palla.

Looking at what he saw, Wolf found it hard to believe that Palla had been mortally wounded just earlier today. She was just sitting on the soft grass, and though she looked as though her abdomen still pained her, she seemed to be otherwise healthy.

"Wolf." She turned, seemingly slightly surprised that Wolf had come. She turned away almost immediately, feeling embarrassment pricking at her.

"Palla." Wolf sat down cross-legged in front of her, "Look at me." His tone was cold, offering no clue as to what he had come to her for. Palla immediately obliged, Wolf stared unblinking at her nervous face. "You could very well be the most stupid person I've ever known."

For just one small moment, Palla forgot how to breath. Wolf continued speaking. "For that, I might owe you my life." A long silence set in as the words took their sweet time registering on Palla. "I… do not know what would have happened if you had not interfered when that man threw his lance. I might have been able to handle it just fine, I might not have. Either way, your interference, both selfless, and beyond idiotic, allowed me to defeat him easily, despite my injury."

Palla gulped, taking in the fact that Wolf was, in his own awkward way, showing her gratitude.

Wolf sat in silence for a few seconds, studying her face. After several long moments, with Palla seeming to grow more nervous, he finally spoke again.

"…in Khadein, you asked me what the word 'slave' meant to me."

Her eyes widened, and she wondered why Wolf would suddenly bring something like that up.

"After potentially saving my life, you have the right to know, if you still wish to know."

Palla was frozen with shock, but slowly nodded. "If… if you think I'm worthy of hearing the story."

"Wolf?" Wolf had just been about to start speaking when he heard Roshea's voice. Wolf turned to his youngest brother, "What are you two doing?"

"After the blow she took for me today, I have decided that she has the right to know how we came to know Coyote."

Roshea looked at Palla with a surprised expression. As Palla returned the look, she was nervous at Rosheas presence, like she was trying to learn some very personal secret that didn't concern her.

"Know what?" Roshea's shoulders broadened at a familiar female voice. He looked over his shoulder to see Linde walking up with an innocently curious expression.

Wolf's eyes closed as he sighed. "There are more present then I-"

"She's fine, Wolf." Roshea said, though he gave Linde a disapproving glare that the mage slightly recoiled from. "I would trust her with the story."

Wolf looked at the Archanean, and eventually sighed. "Very well." He looked at Palla again, then back at Linde. "You are sworn to silence about this story. The reason why I and my three brothers in spirit are so loyal to Coyote."

Palla and Linde both nodded, Roshea and Linde both sat down as they waited to hear.

With an inhale of breath, Wolf began. "This story isn't something that would be known outside of Aurelis. First off, the Aurelian nobility… once kept slaves."

The two women sat aghast at that fact, and shared a confused glance with each other. The nation of Aurelis, one of the pillars of the League that had produced some of the army's best troops, was open to slave ownership and slave trade?

"Not anymore." Wolf continued. "Coyote saw to the elimination of the slave market in Aurelis, but…"

"You… were slaves." Linde surmised, looking at Roshea, suddenly realizing that Roshea had gone through the same thing that she had.

Wolf nodded. "I, Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea. We were all slaves. We had been slaves since infancy. We don't know our families, we don't know if any of us had any _real_ siblings. My earliest memories are of men I'll never know the names of, whips in hand, ordering us to do whatever they wanted us to do. Heavy lifting, crafting, mining, garden tending, animal herding, all of that. The animals we shepherded as slaves were more precious to our masters then us. Unconditional obedience to the masters was all you needed to live. Disobedience was not tolerated, in any form."

Palla stroked her chin in thought, unable to see Wolf obliging any of a slaver's orders. After a moment, she asked a question. "How… did you and Roshea and the other two meet each other?"

"On a day I was to be punished." Roshea spoke up, his face seemingly pained. "My legs buckled during some heavy lifting, and I dropped and broke some crates. They were going to lash me, a lot, as a reminder to stay on me feet…" Linde looked at her friend, gaping, wearing an apologetic face despite no wrong doing being committed by her, wordlessly conveying the message of _if only I had been there_.

"At the time, we didn't know each other." Wolf said, closing his eyes and trying to picture the moment as well as he could. Roshea, barely at the age of eight, pushed into a wall, a slave master behind him, whip in hand, ready to begin the discipline. Even after so much time had passed, he could still feel the anger as that soulless man raised his arm. He could still remember what he did to stop that man. "I, and Sedgar and Vyland, all independently interceded on Roshea's behalf. We stopped his punishment, by pummeling the slave master to the point he fell unconscious."

Palla blinked, then smiled. It seemed like something she would have done in the same situation. Especially if Est or Catria were the ones pushed to the wall.

"Enforcers came en mass in the fear that a riot was about to start. They passed over Roshea, took I, Sedgar, and Vyland, and…" his hands clenched as his words trailed off.

"I'll never forget that." Roshea muttered, his head bowed forward. "I'll never forget… the way they were so… mistreated, just because they tried to help me."

His eyes were clenched as shut as they could be, and yet the memory seemed to make tears form. Linde placed a hand on his shoulder. She hadn't been a slave for as long as he had been, but could faintly understand what it was like. She felt miserable, and wanted to help him, somehow, shoulder some of the pain for him. Yet being physically close to him seemed to be all she could do at the extent of the moment.

Ignoring the expressions and gestures around him, Wolf continued. "After that, they did their best to see that the four of us never got into contact with each other."

"Why would they do that?" Linde asked, trying to see the logic, even though she never wanted to know how a slave holders mind worked.

"If we consistently encountered each other, it might mean some manner of organization. If we were organized, it could mean a rebellion."

Linde grew disgusted, but, admittedly, understood the logic. "The slaves outnumbered the master by a hundred to one, didn't they?"

"We could have destroyed them in a revolt… if they hadn't used fear to keep us in line." Wolf shook his head. The ease of which a rebellion could have thrown off the yoke of rebellion was something that only occurred to him, to any of them, in hindsight. "We continued to interact with each other despite their attempts to stop us. We lived like that, trying to keep everyone's spirits up, despite the hopelessness of the situation, until Coyote came."

He looked up in the air. "He and his brother, the heir to the throne, had been oblivious to what the nobility of Aurelis had been doing. Despite once being friends with many of the nobles, the two immediately severed all ties, Coyote himself came and led a revolt. He led us, the slaves, against our masters. It was easy, Coyote led us, Aurelis' military sided with us, the nobles had barely a few dozen soldiers. We destroyed them, sent them scurrying out of the nation and gained our freedom."

Palla took it all in, and a question suddenly nagged at her. "How did you four in particular, among all the slaves, come to serve prince Hardin?"

Roshea began to speak again. "After the revolt, most of the slaves left to try and make a life for themselves. The four of us… wanted to stay with Coyote. He impressed us in his actions, he was the exact opposite of the nobles we completely hated. We wanted to learn more about the man who saved us from that life. He quickly accepted us, since we had no place else to go, and trained us in the ways of battle, personally overseeing all four of us. Though after a certain point, it was more Wolf and Sedgar who were training Vyland and me. We became knights of Aurelis, serving Coyote directly, we're also the knights he trusts the most. He likes the honest perspectives of all four of us. He only trusts his own brother more then us."

"That is… the story." Wolf concluded, "And you are sworn to silence. You will not tell anyone about it. Not princess Minerva, not princess Nyna, no one."

Palla nodded in understanding. She felt… sorry beyond words, for what they had to go through, and had gained a new respect for prince Hardin. To set out to break the slave rings without the slightest hesitation, even fighting former friends… She didn't have such a story to explain her loyalty to Minerva. Minerva had just taken pity on Palla and Catria when they desperately tried to join Macedon's military, and decided to take the two under her wing, Est joining later.

She turned to Roshea, and looked at him sorrowfully. "It's… difficult to think about, isn't it?"

Roshea turned away. "I've… tried so hard, to forget. Yet the sound… the cracking sound of those whips, comes back to me so often…"

Palla grabbed Roshea by the shoulders and pulled him in, letting Roshea's head rest on her breastplate in what was intended to be a comforting gesture. "I can't claim to understand what it was like for you, but… you don't need to let those memories haunt you. You… know that you have people who will never let you be put in that situation again."

Roshea tilted his head up slightly, knowing this quite well, but was confused. "Palla, why are you so insistent on-"

She smiled, knowing what he was trying to say. "Roshea, I'm pretty much the loving sister you never had."

Linde looked at Palla with a slightly offended looking. She placed a hand on Roshea's shoulder, one that seemed ever so slightly possessive, as if she felt she was the only one who could offer that kind of nearly-family comfort for Roshea. Palla met Linde's glare, and the air suddenly turned hostile.

"We have the battle at the Macedon Castle, tomorrow." Wolf said, speaking when he realized that something might have been about to start. "You should be ready to fight tomorrow."

Palla understood completely, and was ready for it. "Tomorrow, I won't hesitate to attack, no matter who my enemies are." she took in a breath to remind herself what this fight was for. "I will serve well. I won't fail you or anyone else again."

Wolf nodded, then left. Palla sighed, releasing Roshea and following Wolf. Linde turned to Roshea. They sat in silence for a moment, long enough that Roshea began to grow edgy and wanting to move. Finally, Linde reached a hand out and let it hang in the air. Hesitating for a moment and feeling slightly confused, Roshea grabbed her hand.

"Merric and I are here for you, Roshea. Just like your brothers." She spoke slowly, "You're safe with your brothers, and you're safe with us. If those memories try to haunt you, just… think of us."

Roshea silently looked at the hand he was holding, then nodded in thanks.

* * *

><p>Marth stood silently, looking at the castle in the distance. A good chunk of Macedon's military should be gone now, but he doubted that Michalis had sent his best. He only saw the man for a moment in the Grust Castle, but he had seen enough to believe that Michalis wouldn't be fool enough to throw his best agents to his enemies this early.<p>

This would be it for today. Tomorrow would be the war's conclusion.

_Marth._ An ethereal voice resounded, only in his mind. Marth knew in an instant who it was, and was ridiculously relieved to hear it.

"White Sage Gotoh." Marth said, his voice soft, but he knew that Gotoh heard it clearly. "Where are you? You never told me-"

_Patience, Marth. You will meet me soon._ Gotoh soothed. _Do not let eagerness be the end of your life, a life that far too much depends on. You will meet me, face to face, tomorrow._

"Where?"

_You are near me already. Since I departed Khadein, I have made my home in Macedon, in an old house not far from the castle. Should the Starsphere and Lightsphere be in your possession, hold them in your hands when you come to me. Only with them will there be any hope against the Dark Pontifex._

A silence began to settle in as Marth thought of triumphing over Gharnef, the most wicked of his enemies aside from Medeus himself.

_Ah._ Gotoh said, as if he had a sudden epiphany. _I have news for you, Marth. The wick of your sister's soul is not extinguished. Elice's life remains strong._

"Y-" Marth's words stumbled, and he was at a lose of words. A sense of hope and determination coursed through every vein and pore of his body. "You are… sure?"

_Yes, she is with Gharnef, in the Temple of Thabes. A place more valued to him then Khadein. He has your sister, his purpose for her-_

"Is she safe?"

…_yes. Her soul is strong and her body healthy. However, she is only his prisoner._

"I'll save her."

_I trust you will, but first, you must bring me the spheres. Without them, without Starlight, your life will be but another of the things Gharnef will have stolen from you. Bring them._

Marth nodded. "I understand, White Sage. Tomorrow, I'll be there."

_Tomorrow._ Gotoh repeated. _May the sown seeds of Gharnef's defeat be finally reaped of their fruit._

* * *

><p><strong>Just to clarify, I am not trying to present Wolf and Palla as a couple. I am, however, presenting Palla as developing a crush on Wolf. One-sided, Wolf's feelings for Palla aren't growing beyond camaraderie.<strong>

**Please review.**


	37. Bond of Family: vs Michalis

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>Michalis sat mutely in the unassuming house. A cold wind tossed his hair somewhat, and his nose wrinkled in slight offense to the setting he was in. There was nothing particularly… wrong, with the building, it just stood in stark contrast to what he had grown accustomed to.<p>

Placing a finger on the table in front of him, he swiped a small line through the dust that clung to it. From the status the house was in, it might as well have been abandoned. Yet there was someone who did live here.

Gotoh, the occupant, stood nearby. His eyes were closed… Michalis had never seen them open, as if the White Sage was always meditating. His visits were frequent, Gotoh was nearly an advisor to him. Michalis came to him again today, and the visit, both knew plainly well, could possibly be the last.

Michalis knew that Orridyon was dead. When news that his trusted knight and bodyguard was dead had reached him, Michalis reaction had simply been to shake his head, as if the knight's death meant as much to him as dirtying clean boots with mud. He had simply turned pragmatically to his duties.

"Your thoughts betray you, Michalis." Gotoh said after a long silence. Michalis snapped his attention back to Gotoh. The White Sage's ability to outright know what Michalis was thinking at any moment did much to disconcert the normally unshakable King. Gotoh turned to Michalis and waved his hand, all the dust on the table lifted and fluttered away. Michalis breathed calmly, not fearing any dust coming toward him and choking him.

Despite Gotoh's eyes being shut, Michalis sensed that the man saw easily what was before him. Perhaps even saw straight through those he looked at. "Your think of your sisters, members of the army that will be here, today, to take your life."

Michalis' face hardened, for the first time since the death of his father, stress was clearly visible on his face. "Minerva has made her choice to oppose me. I understand what has to happen. I have to fight them."

"One sister… you worry about, more."

Michalis clenched one hand into a fist. "Maria… she shouldn't be on the battlefield. I'd rather she never be on one, but she certainly has no business being on one at her age. And she's so headstrong… Minerva should have stopped her, but she has never learned to say 'no' to Maria."

Gotoh stood with a face that looked almost apathetic. "Perhaps, you should listen to your sisters, and their belief as to Macedon's direction."

Michalis sighed. _This discussion again._ "I have made my decision to ally myself with Dolhr. I've already passed the point of no return. I could not ally with the League now if I desired to… and the League is not as noble as the breadth of the continent is trying to paint them as."

Gotoh quirked an eyebrow. "What leads you to believe that?"

"The League is fighting out of vengeance. They're bitter vindicators who think only in terms of who should be killed and who shouldn't. If they think of themselves as pure good and their enemies as pure evil, I imagine them to be more destructive and irrational then even Medeus. The last thing this continent needs is such a powerful group subscribing to such needlessly absolute views of good and evil."

"You say that _now_, Michalis, but I wonder…" Gotoh approached the still sitting King. Michalis grew apprehensive, but continued to sit as Gotoh continued. The White Sage reached a hand out and placed the wrinkled thing on Michalis' forehead. "I am capable of something that no other still living being can do. I can see the strands of fate, the threads of a man's destiny. Everything about a person, past, present, and…"

Gotoh's hand started to glow a dark blue color. "I can see your future, Michalis, and the Manaketes won't always be your allies. I see only…" His voice trailed off and his eyebrows quirked, whatever he was seeing in Michalis' fate, it triggered confusion in his face.

"What do you see?" Michalis asked, not able to entirely keep emotion out of his voice. The ability to see the future is something anyone would desire, and the chance to even have a glimpse of it was…

"Your youngest sister…" Gotoh said slowly, "Will save you from death, and guide you to an alliance with the Altean prince."

Michalis blinked as the glow ended and Gotoh lowered his hand. "I find that unlikely. I do not think her incapable, but… save me and lead me to ally myself with the League? No single person could do that."

Gotoh crossed his arms. "You underestimate your kin."

"No." Michalis shook his head. "I understand their capabilities quite well. Neither of them could be called weak or incompetent, they are both capable. Yet, neither Maria or Minerva is capable of what you just described."

There was the slightest twitch to Gotoh's face. Michalis wasn't sure what it meant, but he suspected that Gotoh had been irked. "Tread lightly, Michalis. It is destiny itself you are trying to face. Those who fight the current will be dragged to their proper place by the waves."

"I will… keep that in mind, White Sage." Michalis rose from his chair, and took a moment to examine the room he was in. A Dining Room perhaps, or maybe a Living Room. It felt inadequately small, even the smallest champers in the Castle were bigger then the entire building. As he looked at it, he knew just how… well, it would hold up if it was attacked. "White Sage Gotoh, would you move someplace else for the duration of today's battle? You are not safe here."

Gotoh didn't make much movement at the suggestion. "Why not rather end this folly, Michalis?"

Michalis turned to him. "What folly?" The question was honest, but it sounded slightly defensive in his own ears.

"Your power as King is absolute, the people's fondness for you is honest, the military has never seemed stronger. At first glance, you are the ideal king. However…" Gotoh turned to look out the window toward the Macedon Castle. "Everything is so frigidly built. Everything came from your folly, your own lust for power and the throne. Macedon has gone down the wrong path ever since you plunged that knife into your father's heart."

Michalis' body seemed to forget to move for nearly a minute at the realization that Gotoh _knew_. When it finally functioned again, he looked straight at Gotoh, his voice low and grave. "How do you know that?"

"Despite your murder of your own father…" Gotoh continued, ignoring Michalis' question. "You could have still led Macedon down the proper road, if only you had listened to your sister and accepted her aid."

"With Dolhr back in power and Grust and Khadein and Gra allied to it, Macedon could not have fought them as Minerva wished."

"Her rashness had to be tempered, she wasn't able to make the decisions on how to proceed on her own, yes, that is true. Yet you chose a path that was so much worse then a Macedon ruled by Minerva. Now, your leadership skills, military skills, and political skills have succeeded only in making you a pawn to the Manaketes. Your people mere expendable assets."

Michalis clenched a fist at the words, but slowly relaxed the hand. "What has happened cannot be undone. You, who understand destiny so much better then I, know that. I can only continue down the path I have chosen. And…" He turned around, "Macedon is not destroyed. Not yet. So long as I and my Wyvern fly, the nation has a future."

"And should you win, should Macedon's finest snap the League apart, what will you do? Where will you take Macedon from there? Where _is_ there to take Macedon?"

The King started to move toward the door. His words had no hesitation. "If I win, I'll tell you what direction I plan to take the nation. Until then, my only interest is crushing the League and seeing the Altean prince dead on the grass."

Gotoh crossed his arms and slowly shook his head. "Then this discussion is over, is it not? Go, but I assure you, this day will not end in a way that pleases you."

"It will end with either my death or my sisters' deaths. I know _full_ _well_ the result will not please me." He departed the house. His Wyvern was waiting for him. The black-scaled creature's red eyes glinted in recognition at its master's approach. It raised its head off the soft grass it was resting on, making no sound. Michalis came and patted the creature on the snout. Quickly, Michalis climbed onto the Wyvern. The creature raised itself on its legs and spread its wings, revealing the green webbing as it let loose a piercing shriek. After a few moments it rose from the ground, flapping its wings, and taking its master back toward the familiar castle.

"King Michalis The Great." Gotoh said, emphasizing every syllable, it would be the last time he would speak of Michalis with his full title. "The King of Macedon. Murdering his own father, being a pawn of the Manaketes, and now being expected to slay his sisters. His struggles and regrets are on the verge of crushing him." He shook his head, feeling nothing but pity for the man. For the fool who remained ignorant to just how dark the path he was walking truly was.

* * *

><p>"He's here." Maria held her Heal Staff close and looked at the Macedon Castle. She remembered the castle so well, or at least, how it was before everything started. Always being watched by guards had always been slightly creepy to her, but she loved spending time with her siblings and her parents. The Wyverns that her siblings rode were like big pets to her, even though she had been told that Michalis' Wyvern was exceptionally violent, even for Wyverns. It had always lowered its head to the ground and let it be caressed by the little girl.<p>

She couldn't have ever looked at either of her siblings and said that there was one she liked better. Though it was more Michalis then Minerva that she idolized and wanted to emulate. Now, she and Minerva had taken it upon themselves to try and save the sibling who had so frequently acted as some strange guide for the two.

Living in such a large structure still had a certain cheerfulness to it. It wasn't cold, as some people might have assumed castle life was. She enjoyed it, but, being near the family she loved was worth so much more.

"Hey, Minerva." She looked to her sister, who was busy looking at the castle, and seeming to grow angrier with every passing moment. That anger briefly broke as she recognized Maria's voice. At the knowledge that they would be marching straight on the castle, a strong concern was birthed in her gut. "We… we're still here to help Michalis, right? We're still here to save him from his circumstances?"

There was the briefest look of conflict from Minerva, but she nodded. "That has never changed. We'll save him, no matter the cost." she clenched her hands, feeling the wind touching and tickling her face, as if the elements were trying to lighten her mood. Yet there could be no comfort, nothing could possibly placate her for what was going to happen.

"And we'll be a family again." Maria said, "Minerva, you'll have an easier time finding him. Promise me that you'll talk to him. You'll continue talking to him until he finally joins us."

Minerva's mouth opened to speak, _I don't think things will go so well_ was what she wanted to say, but she didn't have the heart to say that straight to Maria. Her mouth slowly closed, and she just stared at her sister's face.

The moment of Minerva's silence made apprehension build in Maria's chest. "P-promise me, we'll be a family again at the end of the day, you, me, and Michalis. And the three of us will help Marth take down Dolhr."

Minerva knelt down to get her head level with Maria's. She should have been blunt, should have told her that Michalis wouldn't listen, and that violence was unavoidable, and would end in someone's death. Maybe Michalis', maybe Minerva's. Maria wouldn't like it, but it would have been easier. Yet as she looked at Maria, she wanted to say something, anything to placate her, keep her in high spirits… for just a little longer.

"Yes, Maria." She held her little sister's hand in her own. "I'll talk to him. I promise you."

Maria looked into Minerva's face, and slowly smiled. "We'll take back the years we lost, and Michalis will help us take down Medeus."

"Of… course." Minerva let go of Maria's hand, rising to her full height and turned away before her expression broke. Maria might have been relived for the moment, but nothing could soothe Minerva right now. Her heart felt like it was being torn from its proper place in her chest and tumbling down to her stomach. She almost wished she could have just ripped it out and be done with it.

"The Whitewings are going to come." Minerva thought out loud. "Against the four of us, even Michalis shouldn't be able to amount to much. If he doesn't listen to reason, and he probably won't, we'll-" she lacked the will to finish that sentence, to add the words _kill him_. With a shake of her head, she left the sentence unfinished and wandered on.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, prince Marth." Catria bowed her head to Marth. It made sense that Minerva would have the Whitewings follow her when the time to face Michalis had come. It was how Catria had always envisioned the battle, but it didn't change the fact that it felt like the request that the Whitewings accompany her came out of nowhere. "I won't be protecting you in this battle."<p>

"It's okay, Catria." Marth said, though he looked maybe a little miffed at her forced departure, or maybe Catria's eyes were playing tricks on her. "Go with your princess. This is the affair of your country, not mine."

She bowed her head, it was a natural reflex with Marth. Then she took a sudden step forward, grabbing his hand in hers. Her face approached his, and Marth suddenly leaned his head back, not sure of what was happening.

_I can't believe I feel this way, but…_ Catria turned the awkward moment into a simple hug, holding Marth in her arms. Marth was too shocked by the sudden embrace for the idea of returning the gesture to occur to him. His most prominent thought was on what would happen if Caeda walked in. Catria's grip tightened, then eventually released, and she stepped away from him. _I'd rather stay with him, then go back to princess Minerva._

She gulped once. "Forgive me for that. I'll return to princess Minerva, and be back to guarding you as soon as possible."

* * *

><p>Palla looked at Minerva, saddled on her Wyvern, ready for this battle. The eldest Whitewing wondered how this would play out. They were heading out to face Michalis, who had been the greatest warrior in Macedon the last they had seen of him. Palla could only imagine that his skill had likely grown two fold.<p>

A part of her was happy for this little reunion. It had been a long, long time since they had all fought together. Still, a part of her was upset by her forced separation, even if only a temporary separation, from Wolf. As she looked at her two sisters, she knew that they felt the same. Catria wanted to go back to Marth, and Est wanted to go back to Abel.

There was the slightest feeling of apprehension in Palla's mind over Est's contact, and she wasn't entirely sure if she approved of Abel and Est's interaction. She trusted Abel's character, yet worried that he was putting Est in dangerous situations before she was ready for them.

"Alright." Minerva turned her head and looked over the Whitewings, nodding in approval. "Our objective is to find Michalis. We will make an attempt to talk to him, but if he ignores any attempt to be reasoned with…" she turned forward and bowed her head for a second before it bolted upright. "We'll have no choice but to kill him."

The Whitewings were silent, for once it was Catria, not Palla, who seemed to be the most disturbed by how violent things could get with Michalis.

"As the rest of the League is fighting the brunt of the soldiers Michalis has left, we'll find him." She pumped her fist. "Ready, Whitewings? We move on Marth's signal."

* * *

><p>With his cape billowing in the wind, Michalis stood on the top of the Macedon Castle. His Wyvern was nearby, looking at the enemies that were approaching. Its eyes, much stronger then a humans, scanned the ranks, and it noticed Minerva. More prominently, it noticed Minerva's Wyvern, and its eyes narrowed to malicious slits.<p>

Its chin was stroked by Michalis' hand, and it relaxed itself. No matter how much it hated Minerva's Wyvern, and the other creature returned the sentiment, it wouldn't do anything without Michalis' permission.

"Prepare for battle." Michalis ordered, some nearby attendants bowed and darted away. His single greatest elite may have been dead, but it was a negligible fact. The greatest elites of Macedon were still here with him, and that would be more then enough. It would not be a complicated battle, and needed no complicated strategy. Slay Marth, and the others would retreat. Xemcel had specifically stated that Minerva and Maria had to be slain as well, the thought repulsed him, but he knew what he had to do to keep Macedon secure.

The battle would be simple, but that fact didn't soothe Michalis. He turned to his Wyvern, the creature grunted, seeming to understand Michalis' feelings, but it cocked its head as if to simultaneously say that it _didn't_ understand. Michalis' hand fell on its face, rubbing gently just below its eye. After a moment, he got up in the saddle, his lance in his hand, and a very special shield slung onto his arm.

Iote's Shield. Something that remained from the days of Iote, Michalis' distant ancestor. The weapon had been blessed by the Divine Dragons in the ancient war against Medeus. Though not something of mythical strength, like the Falchion, it possessed great power, which his Wyvern would reap the benefits of.

As long as he held the shield, arrows were nothing, and unnatural wind was perfectly negated. The blessings to the shield had been tailor-made to suit a man riding on a creature of the air. His only weaknesses were diffused. Macedon's sacred treasure was in his grasp, and nothing could defeat him now. The shield had been designed to aid Iote in fighting against Dolhr, Michalis sighed at the irony of the fact that it was now being used to aid that very nation.

A long shadow fell over him, he didn't bother looking up. Macedon's elite flew above him, waiting for their king to join their ranks. Their numbers were legion, Michalis' training had allowed even with most unsuited for combat to become soldiers the likes of which few could ever become. They were inferior to Grust's Sable Order, but not by much, and with _Michalis_ at the helm…

He climbed onto the saddle of his Wyvern, the creature made a small growl, and then rose off the ground on its master's signal.

* * *

><p>"Our objective is to meet and defeat Macedon's military." Hardin stated, looking over the soldiers. "King Michalis is not the concern of any of you, he will be met by Minerva and the Whitewings. Should you encounter him, flee. You are only to engage Macedon's rank-and-file." Hardin turned to the distance, signaling with a hand just as Marth came up to him. The soldiers began to fall into uniformed formations.<p>

So very, very soon after the fall of Grust, the League was ready to break another part of the Dolhr Alliance. Marth should have felt a sense of accomplishment at how far the League has come, instead, all he felt was conflict. He didn't want to aid the destruction of Minerva's family, but he was honor-bound to lead the League here. He could only trust that Minerva could find… some way to solve this, but doubted she could.

He looked over his shoulder. "We are here to strike down another component of the Dolhr Alliance. All of you, do your best to drive back their forces and rout them." He pointed to the distance. "We're moving _now_."

With high spirits, the League began to move. It wasn't hard to spot the waiting Macedon army. Up in the air, their numbers darkening the landscape, blocking the sun out with their numbers, outnumbering the League to the point of absurdity. They were there, mobilized and ready to try and pluck the soldiers of the League off the face of the continent.

Minerva and the Whitewings soared above the League. Everyone knew what was about to happen, and no one said a word. Marth raised a hand to call for a small halt, there were no whispers from within the League's ranks that needed to be silenced. Looking toward the Macedon army, Marth saw a single black Wyvern between all the Wyverns of different colors. Feeling a slight chill inside of him at the sight of Minerva and Maria's brother, Marth pointed forward, and the Battle of Macedon… began.

* * *

><p>The Wyvern Riders and Pegasus Knights of Macedon descended, and were met by the core of the Archanean League. The first few waves of Macedon's military were killed almost instantly by the League's archers, but in time Macedon's numbers came too quickly for the archers to keep up with. Utter pandemonium ensued as Macedon's army made wild swooping runs through the League, some managing to injure their enemies, but most getting cut down before they could rise up out of the mob of soldiers.<p>

Though they died, Macedon's army succeeded well in disorienting and dividing the League soldiers. Marth looked at how the League seemed to be falling into small groups, and wondered if this was what Michalis wanted his army to do. The tactics the enemy employed… they were so different then anything Minerva or the Whitewings had ever used. It felt strange, he looked up, seeing Minerva battling the enemy in the air. She looked frustrated, running afoul of Macedon's tactics.

At the very least, Minerva was still ripping through her enemies, and the Whitewings, despite their time apart, were well coordinated. He saw the three suddenly all stab into a single enemy at the same time in a maneuver he had never seen from them before. Marth sensed that they were likely far superior combatants since the last time they had fought side by side like this. This war had tested and forced everyone to improve. Still, the enemy was a veritable cloud of wings and lances, and it was likely taking all of Minerva and the Whitewings' skill just to survive up in the air.

The Macedonian enemies attacking the grounded League soldiers were even greater in number. A swarm of locusts descending upon them with lances wrapped firmly in their fingers. Marth stabbed at one enemy with his Rapier, sinking the blade into a Wyvern's neck, ending the creature's life while Jagen slew the rider. Though Macedon was doing very good at disorienting, distracting and separating them, Macedon's numbers were starting to thin. If the League could just keep it up…

_Impressive._ Michalis looked on from a distance, his focus primarily on his two sisters. Minerva in the air, Maria on the ground. Both capable and strong in their respective fields, Minerva the warrior, Maria the healer. Looking at their skill… yes, they were certainly his kin. He could be proud of them, and yet…

It was time to meet the warrior. His Wyvern raised its head and let loose a piercing, shrill shriek. His soldiers heard, and heeded. They withdrew from their attack upon Minerva and went to the ground, leaving him to meet his sister. Slowly, but not reluctantly, Michalis approached.

* * *

><p>"Hello, sister." Michalis began, looking at the familiar face. He hadn't been given much time to speak to anyone save Marth in the Grust Castle, and enjoyed the familiar sight of family. The sense was bittersweet, and he quickly moved on to business. "You have returned to Macedon. What do you make of it, Minerva?"<p>

Minerva's eyes narrowed, and her first impulse would have been to attack, but a moment of hesitation stopped her. She kept her eyes on every movement Michalis made, and met his question with an answer. "I'm not impressed. The nation was better when father was alive."

"Have you even looked at it at all, Minerva?" Michalis responded. "The bandits of Macedon have been all but eradicated. Poverty effectively does not exist, the nation has grown more unified, and the people are closer then ever before. Father never succeeded in doing this, but I did. I wasn't the one who named myself 'The Great', Minerva. It wasn't my loyalists in the military who conceived it either. The people, the common people of Macedon, whom you believe that I trample underfoot, gave me that title."

"You… you don't care about the people." Minerva said, though there was a subtle, almost unnoticable sense of doubt in her voice. Something that the discerning Michalis easily noticed. "You're only interested in power and having a throne under you. No leader that cares about the people would ally himself with Dolhr."

"You're wrong, Minerva." Michalis spoke calmly, "Have you never stopped to consider the strength of Dolhr's allies? Gra, Grust, and Khadein. Macedon could not have fought them and Dolhr by itself. My alliance with them was built on pragmatism, the wish to keep the people safe. So long as I proved myself a useful ally, they left the Macedonian people alone." He looked hard at Minerva, almost accusingly toward his sister. "Every time you disobeyed an order, the Macedonian people were threatened. For every order you refused or ignored during your servitude, the Manaketes threatened to slay the people of the nation. Your actions have put the people in much greater jeopardy then mine have, and have cost them much more. Or do you presume that the bloodbath of yesterday, which you assisted in, did _not_ rob so many Macedonian families of someone dear?"

Minerva opened her mouth to retort, but at first no sound came. Slowly, she developed her argument. "Those… were necessary sacrifices. Some had to… to die for Macedon to return to the path it should have been on all along."

One of Michalis' fingers went up to stroke his forehead for a moment, then dropped back down. "Minerva, would you kill everyone in Macedon, burn the nation to ashes, and say that you _saved_ it? You've made it quite clear that you can't see the illogic staring at you straight in the face."

"I… you…" Minerva began, growing flustered as the words she would have needed to crush Michalis' argument were nowhere to be found. "You… Michalis, you're wrong. You've led Macedon down the wrong path. You've proven yourself unworthy of the throne."

"Such a compelling argument." Michalis responded, partially amused, partially disappointed in Minerva's irrational words.

"Michalis, please." Minerva said with a suddenly softer voice. "I don't have the words to make the convincing argument you want and need, but I know that you're wrong. Please, join me and the League. Macedon can turn upon Dolhr and be a great champion to the cause. Please…" her voice slowly trailed off, her face pleading. She looked into Michalis' stony, unmoving face. "Michalis, for Maria's sake, if not for mine."

He turned away, pained at the mention of Maria. Hope surfaced in Minerva's heart, she hoped that the mention of Maria would have gotten through to him. Slowly, Michalis turned back to Minerva.

"The Hand of Medeus, Xemcel, came to me recently. He spoke of the League's approach on Macedon. He told me, if Macedon is to continue, I must supply Marth's head, and, as a sign of my loyalty to the cause, my sisters' as well."

"Michal-" She tried to speak her brother's name, but the realization of what he just said hit her with a sickening force. "Michalis! No, _please_…"

"I won't ask for your or Maria's forgiveness." He said. "I'm sorry." He raised his lance in his right hand, and Iote's Shield on his left arm, and his voice gained a new commanding tone. "I am King Michalis The Great, ruler of Macedon. I have dedicated my life to the prosperity of Macedon and the people's right to the pursuit of happiness. I will let no one sully this nation. Minerva, for aiding an army that invaded Macedon, you will be punished with death."

Minerva looked down, aghast and horrified, and then anger deeper then anything she had ever known before exploded from within her. Not anger directed at Michalis, but at the Manaketes. She would not… _could_ not, forgive Dolhr for forcing Michalis to make a decision like this. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was to see her axe plunge into the necks of the Manaketes of Dolhr, Xemcel's in particular.

"Minerva." Michalis spoke, drawing his sister's undivided attention. "Come at me as if you're trying to kill me. If you don't, I'll kill _you_."

"I'll… save you, Michalis." She lifted Hauteclere, holding it with hands without resolve in them. "The only way I can. I'll… free you… from your circumstances." The same words Maria said so often, to save Michalis, save him from his circumstances. She took in a deep breath, unable to stomach what she was about to do, but not relenting from it either.

"Whitewings." Minerva commanded somberly. "Attack."

* * *

><p>The fighting continued on the ground. The orgy of violence continued as severed wings and broken corpses fell upon what had once been healthy, unblemished grass. Maria was hard at work, healing a wound that had been inflicted on Marth's thigh. As she healed it, she took a small moment to liken herself to Marth's dependable guardian angel.<p>

When that was done, Marth, and his bodyguard, Jagen, took off to their next targets. Maria turned to watch them leave, and then her eyes were drawn upward, and she saw both Minerva and Michalis. Only, they weren't talking, they had begun to attack each other. She looked, her mouth hanging open in horror as Minerva and the Whitewings, Est included, charged at Michalis.

She wasn't the only one who noticed. Several soldiers on both sides of the army turned to the battle above. League soldiers on the ground had no way of aiding in the battle against Michalis, and the Macedonian army respected Michalis' order to let him fight. A strange silence fell across the battle, Maria looked on in shock. Then, slowly, the fighting began again, ground and sky.

* * *

><p>Hauteclere came down, Michalis blocked it with Iote's Shield. Not even a knick was made into the design of the shield. Michalis' Wyvern snapped at Minerva's, biting and cracking some scales on the head of Minerva's Wyvern. Minerva rose Hauteclere back up into the air and tried to swing again. Michalis swung his lance, connecting the blade of his weapon with Minerva's axe, throwing her attack away with enough force that even her Wyvern backed up somewhat.<p>

Minerva regained her orientation and looked at Michalis. She pointed at him with a look that seemed to state that she felt victory had been achieved. Michalis raised an eyebrow, then suddenly realized the position he was in.

"Forgive me, King Michalis." Palla said, she and her two sisters were around Michalis in formation. Palla raised her lance up, "Together, sisters. The Whitewing's Triangle Attack!"

All three of them charged toward Michalis. He knew exactly what this attack was, it was the signature attack of the Whitewings, he had seen it several times, and had been impressed by it. A three man charge at one target, that always had a lethal result. Even so, there were flaws in the attack. If one knew where to look, it was simple to diffuse.

The Whitewings approached with the intent to kill him. With enemies coming at him from three different directions, it was easy to freeze as fear coursed through you, and that's what made the attack so intimidating. Michalis rose into the air, feeling no fear, the tips of the lances of the Whitewings connected with each other, fatally piercing through nothing, in contrast to what they had intended. Michalis floated above, not one thread of his royal uniform damaged.

"The famed Triangle Attack." Michalis noted, looking at the astonished faces of the three women. "Not impressive." Holding his lance ready, he descended on the three, they scattered before he reached them. A certain distance away, they turned to face them. Their faces…

Their confidence in meeting and defeating Michalis had turned to mist the moment he so easily evaded their signature attack. He turned his attention from them and back to his sister. She was coming right at him, he raised his lance and blocked her first attack. Hauteclere moved across his lance, generating sparks as it went down the handle, and then lifted.

Michalis saw what he believed was an opportunity, and brought the lance back for a thrust. Minerva swung her axe again, Michalis immediately disengaged from his attack and tried to pull back, but could not completely avoid the axe swing. The axe lightly went over his chest, ripping easily through the fabric of his clothes and cutting a gash into his chest.

So shocked at the sudden wound, he briefly let go of the rein of his Wyvern. He began to, fall… from the saddle of his Wyvern. His lance flew from his hand as he began to descend.

"Michalis!" Minerva called out, suddenly swooping down. As she saw her brother plummeting, she tried, desperately, to reach him, catch him. As they approached the ground with sickening speed, she reached a hand out. "Michalis, grab my hand!"

He looked at his sister. His face was… confident. "It is not me you should be worried about, Minerva."

She hesitated at the strange words, then looked above her. Michalis' Wyvern was descending, and the black creature was moving far faster then Minerva's red mount. Minerva's eyes widened, and she immediately banked to the side to get out of its way. The black Wyvern swooped underneath Michalis and caught its master. The King raised a hand up and caught his lance as it fell to him.

The Wyvern flapped its powerful wings and slowly ascended until it was level with Minerva. Her face was relieved, but it quickly shifted to an expression of determination.

"You impressed me, Minerva. Last we sparred, you would have never been able to interrupt that attack." He readied his lance, ignoring the small amount of blood daring to seep out of his chest. His Wyvern flapped its mighty wings and rose above, Minerva followed, ascending higher and higher, until they were well above where they had been fighting earlier.

"Michalis, more then ever, I want to help you." Minerva said, looking at her brother. At the height they were at, a fall at this point might, by some miracle, not kill one of them, but it would most certainly end the battle. She realized that Michalis wanted to end the battle, rather then engage in a prolonged struggle. "I can't bring myself to support what you're doing, that's not the kind of help you need. I can't persuade you, we've already established that that's hopeless. There's only one way I can help you, and that's to…" She left the rest of the sentence unspoken, and her resolve shook.

"I cannot die." Michalis answered. "Not when Macedon's security, and future, are my burden to bear." Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly opened them again. Her brother… so much was on the verge of crushing him, if he truly slew his siblings, he would really be broken. That, she knew, was what the Manaketes wanted. A man as militaristically capable as Michalis would never rebel once he had been so thoroughly broken.

They both looked at each other, and knew that the end had come. The Whitewings stayed back, no longer taking part in this fight. Michalis and Minerva shared a look, then immediately charged.

Minerva's axe sliced through the air in an attempt to reach Michalis, but it failed, time and again, to reach its target. Michalis' Wyvern snapped at the soft underbelly of the opposing Wyvern, eventually biting and ripping a deep gash into its enemy.

They briefly separated from the exchange, Michalis dashed around on his Wyvern, making fast hit-and-run attacks on Minerva. Minerva gritted her teeth as her Wyvern was incapable of moving so quickly, slowed as it was by the wound to its gut.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and watched as Michalis came at her. She dodged the attack and swung Hauteclere at him, missing entirely. She put too much energy in the swing and nearly fell forward out of the saddle.

Michalis came at her again, she knew she wouldn't last against him for much longer. Not if she continued to fight like this. She watched her brother approach, and decided to do something she believed Michalis would not expect. She charged straight at him, Hauteclere in her hands. For just one fraction of a second, surprise registered on Michalis' face.

Rather then connect with a possibly fatal attack against his sister, Michalis instead felt Hauteclere slash through his hip. Immediately afterwards, the very moment he had realized the pain in his hip, Hauteclere slashed across his back.

"M-Michalis…" Minerva's voice sounded apologetic and sorrowful. "I… the fight is over. Let me take y-"

"Truly…" Michalis began, his lance slipped from his hand and began to fall down to the land so far below. "…skill, worthy of… a member of the… Royal Family." He turned the hand that had held the lance and looked at the now shaking palm. He wondered… if father was smiling smugly at him, from above, or below.

_Macedon… my people… I have failed you._

Minerva began to reach out to try and grab Michalis, but was too slow. Michalis suddenly began to slip from the side. Minerva, in a panic, tried to wrap a hand around him, but was too late. Michalis fell from his saddle and began to plummet.

Immediately, Minerva swooped down, the only thing mattering to her in this precise instant was getting to and saving her brother.

Michalis' Wyvern raced neck-to-neck with Minerva's Wyvern as both tried to reach Michalis. Minerva didn't care who reached him first, she just wanted him to be safe, to live beyond today. He had been forced to make too many tough decisions for death today to be his reward.

The ground began to come into sight. Neither Minerva or Michalis' Wyvern were getting closer to the King of Macedon. Animal panic set in Minerva and she tried to make her Wyvern move faster. The wind buffeting her face was making her eyes water, or maybe the fear of what could happen was beckoning tears. The ground had become so close, and yet they were still far from Michalis.

Seconds that felt like hours passed, and the pursuit of Michalis' gravity pulled body ended… as he landed with a sickening cracking sound on the dirt and grass of Macedon.

Minerva landed and immediately dismounted from her Wyvern, sure that Michalis was dead. Her eyes, blurred from the water that had leaked from them, managed to catch slight of movement. Michalis' chest was heaving up and down, he was still breathing, he was still alive. She tried to approach, when two rows of fangs appeared in her face.

Michalis' Wyvern shrieked at Minerva, a murderous threat to stay away. Minerva jumped back in shock. She tried to approach again when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She turned to see Palla behind her, the eldest Whitewing looked to be empathizing with Minerva, tears trailing down her cheek. Minerva turned back to where Michalis lay.

The black Wyvern managed to get its head under Michalis' broken body, and then lifted its head up, scooping its master up and letting him fall into the saddle. The creature looked at Minerva, if it had even a shred of warmth for Minerva or the red Wyvern, such feelings were gone now. Minerva looked into its eyes, and realized, the beast was crying. Trails of tears had come, going down the scales over what had happened to its master.

With a final shrill cry, the black beast took flight, taking its dying master, Iote's Shield still slung on his arm, away from the battlefield.

Minerva wanted to follow, no matter what Michalis' Wyvern thought, she wanted to help Michalis. She wanted to-

"_Minerva_!" She was caught off-guard by the sound of her name being shouted. She turned, the first thing her blurry vision noticed was that the battle was over. Macedon's army had been ripped apart. Then her eyes focused on the one who had just spoken.

"Maria…" Minerva began, weakly. She realized that Maria had seen everything, she had seen Minerva battle Michalis and wound him like that. In direct conflict of everything Maria had wanted Minerva to do.

"Don't talk to me!" Maria shouted, Minerva flinched at the raw anger in the young voice. "You… you barely tried to talk to him. You attacked him, you ripped him from the saddle and threw him to the ground. You… _wanted_ to kill him."

"I…" Minerva was too overwhelmed with grief to try and defend herself. These soul-wrenching accusations were the last thing she needed right now. "Maria, I-I tried-"

Maria turned away. "I said don't _talk_ to me!" She trembled with sorrow and anger. Est, no longer on her Pegasus, came up to Maria. Maria looked at her friend, she wouldn't have gone against Maria's wishes like this, she had no choice but to just follow Minerva's orders, no matter what they were. That was her belief, Est wouldn't have betrayed her.

"Maria…" Minerva tried to begin talking again, "Please, try to understand-"

"Stay away from me." Maria suddenly hissed, "Until Michalis is back with us, I don't want to talk to _you_."

Minerva's mouth opened, and it felt like her heart and soul had escaped out of it. Maria ran away in tears, and Minerva collapsed to her knees, her fists hammered into the dirt, as tears came unhindered from her clenched shut eyes.

* * *

><p>The battle was over, Macedon's army was in pieces. The entirety of the nation would likely follow suit in short order. Marth shook his head, just a minor gesture of displeasure that didn't do justice for what had happened today. He decided against trying to talk to Minerva or Maria right now, and moved to other duties. Aside from eliminating the threat that Macedon posed as a member of the Dolhr Alliance, especially with such a capable man at its helm, there was something else he had come here to do.<p>

The White Sage had told Marth that he dwelt in 'an old house not far from the castle.' He sent scouts, more accurately, Wolf and Sedgar, out to try and determine where Gotoh was. In time, they returned to him. They reported nothing conclusive, but offered one very strong possibility. Marth went there now, Wendell came with him, eager for the chance to see the White Sage again. Merric came at Wendell's request, and in turn, Linde.

The building was where Wolf and Sedgar said it would be. Marth held the bag that contained the two Spheres in his hand. He briefly contemplated what he would do if it wasn't Gotoh in that building, but shook his head. If he wasn't there, it was likely abandoned. The building looked like it hadn't been properly maintained for years. Marth wondered why the White Sage, who was likely used to some level of extravagance, lived in a building like this.

Marth approached, at the very least, the door seemed to have been used recently. Cautiously, he grabbed the knob with his free hand and opened it. He entered…

"Marth." A familiar voice spoke. The prince was on-guard at first, but slowly recognized the speaker. It did not have the ethereal tone it had when inside his head, but it was the voice of one certain person.

"White Sage." Marth said, stepping further in, and seeing the man in one of the larger rooms of the building.

Gotoh stood, an aged, elderly figure. More then just old, Marth looked at him, and he felt as though Gotoh stood outside of time altogether. At the same time, despite his obvious age, Marth could sense the White Sage's power. Seeming to waft off of him like an aura, and Marth was not attuned to magic. He could only imagine what it was like for his three companions.

Gotoh nodded in approval at Marth, then turned his head. "Wendell."

"White Sage." Wendell stepped forward, "It pleases me to see you again. For a long time, no one knew where you had gone after Gharnef's rebellion."

"And it is because of his rebellion that you have come to me now." Gotoh observed, he had orchestrated it such. Without him, more accurately, without Starlight, Gharnef would remain as untouchable as he had always been. He was well pleased to see that a face as familiar as Wendell's persisted. After looking at Wendell for a time, he turned his attention to the other wielders of magic.

"My student, Merric." Wendell identified the first, hoping that Merric's strength of magic was to Gotoh's liking. The White Sage's expression and body language conveyed neither disappointment or approval in the Altean mage. Wendell's heart briefly sank, but he immediately reprimanded himself. If Merric was not yet at the level that Gotoh felt defined someone as skilled, then Merric simply was not at that level yet. He would be in time.

"And… Linde. The daughter of Miloah." Wendell continued.

Gotoh turned to Linde. He wasn't surprised or shocked, not exactly. Yet the fact that this woman was the daughter of one of his students garnered his undivided attention. He looked at her, or through her.

"S-sir…" Linde began, feeling unnerved at how it felt like Gotoh already saw everything about her, body and soul, despite looking at her with closed eyes.

_Miloah was one of the finest wielders of magic that I had seen in my long life. _Thoughts of the training of Miloah, of his natural skill and fast growing expertise, and his great heart, briefly flooded the White Sage's mind, then dispersed. _Yet I see far more potential in his offspring._ Gotoh lingered on Linde a moment longer, then turned to Marth. "You… have brought the spheres, have you not?"

Marth held up the bag, "Yes, as you requested. The Starsphere and the Lightsphere."

Gotoh held a hand out, and the bag floated out of Marth's hand, the Starsphere and Lightsphere rose out of the bag, which fell empty to the ground. The two spheres fell into Gotoh's hands. He was pleased to feel the familiar things in him, filling him with the essence of familiar power.

"With these two spheres, I am now capable of creating that which can break the veil of Imhullu. I would like a little time to do so." Gotoh wasted no time, and began to chant in a tongue that Marth had never heard before. As he spoke in what Marth presumed was an ancient language, the spheres began to rise out of the White Sage's grip. They both began to glow, weakly at first, but soon they were bright enough that those present had to look away.

The chanting continued, light spawned from both spheres and joined together. The energy, holy and divine, conjoined in a blinding flash, the flash pulsed as something… physical, seemed to be birthed within it. Then… the light was gone, and a single, blue tome hovered in the air. Gotoh brought his hands forward, right beneath the tome, which floated gently down until it rested in his hands. The Starsphere and Lightsphere continued to hang in the air, and then the Starsphere suddenly cracked, letting loose a blinding array of energy that filled the house as though a small sun had been born. It looked as though it was on the verge of shattering. Then, both spheres vanished, out of sight.

"This… is hope." Gotoh said, his attention exclusively on the tome he now had in his hands. "The candle that holds the cloying shadows back. The one spot in which the will of darkness be denied. Take it, Marth, give it to someone you deem worthy, and may Gharnef's rule finally end." He extended his hands, Marth hesitated a moment, and then took the tome, being careful to not drop or damage it in anyway.

"Someone worthy…" Marth wondered aloud. Merric, Linde, Wendell, Boah, Etzel, all worthy users of the spell. Yet Gharnef was no fool, he wouldn't be defeated easily. It would be the best if he could determine who would be the best user of the spell. Too much would be lost, if the tome was lost.

Linde stepped forward. "Let me have it." She suddenly said. Marth turned to her with a shocked expression. Her expression showcased determination, but at the look of apprehension in Marth, her face and voice turned pleading. "Please, prince Marth. Gharnef robbed me of my father, I have every right to want revenge. The tome should go to me."

"Ah…" Gotoh turned to Linde. "I see only… smoldering hatred… in you."

"I have every right to want justice, White Sage. He killed my father, your treasured student, and… he…"

_She has the potential to far surpass her father._ Gotoh noted, looking at the magical energy moving through her. _Yet as long as she holds on to this hatred, she won't as much as match Miloah. She would only meet death if she faced Gharnef as she is now._

"As you are now, you do not possess the strength to face Gharnef, daughter of Miloah." Gotoh said flatly. Linde's head jerked back as though she was offended by the words. "Hatred offers no strength, no true resolve. Cling to it as your crutch, and you will become as empty and as insignificant as one of the corpses impaled on a pike in Dolhr. Rather, take strength from those who need you in their lives, let them guide you. If you cannot take such strength and mold it into a weapon against Gharnef, you will never be worthy of Starlight."

Linde looked away, not thinking for a second that she should let go of her grudge against Gharnef. Yet… she thought of those who needed her. Once, she would have thought of Nyna above anyone else. Now, she could only think of Merric and Roshea like that. People she needed… but, precious to her, they couldn't match her feelings of anger for Gharnef.

"Think long and hard, daughter of Miloah. You cannot fight Gharnef with hatred. Starlight is not to be wielded out of some misguided sense of vengeance or with burning hatred. The one who wields the tome must wield it with the desire to protect, a yearning to keep close those who have not been yet forced to relinquish their souls."

Linde stared straight at Gotoh, not able to say anything.

"Regardless of who takes Starlight, the time to face the wielder of Imhullu has come." Gotoh turned to the table and waved his hand. A pattern appeared on the wood. It took a few seconds, but Marth realized that he was staring at a map of the continent. It looked like it had been etched into the wooden table, but he knew it was simply the White Sage's magic. "Gharnef bides his time in the Temple of Thabes." One part of the map suddenly glowed, illuminating where Gharnef was. "It is far… so far away from Macedon. It would take months for the League to reach on foot. Furthermore, the path is nearly impassable, you would lose more troops on the treacherous path then you would in the battle against my erstwhile apprentice."

Marth looked at the map, seeing the marking that denoted mountains. Thick, tall, steep, where one misstep could send someone plummeting to his death, it was the bane of travelers. He gritted his teeth. "Is there another way to reach him? We need to give him as little time to react as possible."

"I can… bring you there." Gotoh said, waving his hand again, making the map disappear. "All of the Archanean League can be brought there. Merely tell me when you are ready, I can bring the entire League there all at once."

"When we're ready? We'll go right no-"

"No, Marth." Gotoh shook his head. "Not so soon after such a battle. Many of your soldiers are taxed and weakened after a battle like today's. Sending you there now would be sending walking dead to their graves. Take your time… see to your army's health, then return to me. The battle will be soon, but not today."

Marth took in a deep, calming breath. Gharnef stood between him and his sister, he'd charge there by himself if he could, but he recognized the wisdom in Gotoh's words. "When the League is ready for the battle… and not a moment later, White Sage."

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><p>For the time being, the decision had been made that nobody try to enter the castle of Macedon. Michalis had been beloved by the people, and the presence of the League could have instigated a riot in the castle town. Instead, the army made camp a healthy distance from the castle, and the town in front of it.<p>

One part of Marth was curious about the interior of the castle. He couldn't help but wonder how it compared and contrasted to Castle Altea. He would not be a human if he did not have those curiosities. Still, it was in the army's best interests that they not approach the structure.

He sat by himself in his own tent. Right now, he spent his time reflecting on the battle, and what had transpired today. Macedon had no further role in this war, just like Grust and Gra before it.

It was funny, not amusing, just… strange. As he spent his days in exile in Talys, he always dreamed of destroying the Dolhr Alliance. Those days, he painted the nations to be a loose collection of savage animals, good only to fight and kill. So much had changed since those days. So, so much. He would have never expected the Prime Minister of Gra to have opposed Jiol, or see himself become a friend of Macedon's two princesses, or discover the sort of honor that Camus of Grust upheld.

Now, Gharnef. There couldn't be anything redeemable or honorable about that man. Everything he did was out of spite. The Dark Pontifex was a man who was incapable of handling the fact that he was not Aura's successor. So… he himself had aided Dolhr in plunging the continent into its current nightmares, all out of a petty grudge and sense of victimization.

As he was thinking, the front of his tent suddenly pulled open. He immediately reached for his Rapier, in case a vengeful Macedonian had come. He turned to the entrance of the tent and saw a familiar figure.

"Minerva?" He blinked in surprise at this sudden visit. The royal Wyvern Rider of Macedon looked completely miserable. _Of course,_ he told himself. She had gone through something today that few would ever be forced to go through.

"Marth…" her voice cracked, revealing a previously unseen weakness. "Can I… come in?"

He nodded to offer permission as he sat back down. Minerva stepped in, Marth wondered what she was thinking. He wouldn't pretend that he understood what she was going through. He understood losing a sibling, yes, but he knew for a fact that his sister was alive. Michalis, it wasn't known if Minerva's brother still held onto life.

Minerva sat down next to him, crossing her arms and bowing her head. She sat like that for a long time, the minutes of silence stretching to the breadth of a full hour. Every few minutes her head slightly raised, as though she was readying herself to talk, but it would sink back down in time. Then, she suddenly spoke.

"I've torn my family apart." She said petulantly. Her words came slowly, as if speaking them physically pained her. "I could have fought differently, not hurt Michalis as bad, just, restrain him instead of doing what I did. He would be alive, maybe even with us. If he was here to see that he had been defeated, I'm sure he would have seen that he had nothing to lose by allying with us. Instead, I…" her words trailed off, her will to speak dying.

"I don't have the honor of a Dolhrian Manakete." She finally said, "I had always been the one most opposed to peaceful solutions. Now look at what my methods have resulted in. Maria's right to be so angry… I don't… deserve…"

"Minerva." Marth interrupted, placing a hand on the despairing princess' shoulder. She seemed suddenly intent on blaming herself for everything. "You did all you could…"

She didn't even have the will to clench her hands. "All I could do wasn't enough. Michalis is gone… probably dead. The throne falls to me, but… I don't deserve it. I don't…" She turned to Marth, the proud princess of Macedon had never looked this vulnerable before. At the moment, she was yearning for some measure of comfort, but Marth's face, sympathetic and calming though it was, wasn't enough.

Slowly, she stood back up and walked a few steps away. She knew the aftermath of fighting her brother would be beyond difficult to cope with, but never expected anything like this. She heard Marth stand up and place a hand on her shoulder. At any other point, she would have swatted the hand away. Yet, she just turned around, and saw that Marth seemed to want to help her.

Without thinking, she suddenly embraced him, holding him close, as if proximity with him was all she needed to be at peace. There was once a time she would have dismissed Marth as soft, but in this moment she thought of him as everything she was too pathetic to be. If only he could have stayed with her, to temper her aggression and let her know what the best path was. Her grip was tight, and she wouldn't let go. All she felt was the overwhelming belief that she had been in the wrong from the very beginning. How did she not see how things would go?

Reluctantly, she let go of Marth. She breathed calmly, knowing how pathetic she had to look right now. "I'll be ready for the next battle, Marth. I swear, I'll destroy Xemcel, for the decision he forced Michalis to make." She looked at Marth, then turned away, regaining a fraction of her old confidence and pride. "I'll continue to fight for the League until Dolhr is defeated. I know that people will think that I joined with the League just to steal the throne, because I'll have to take it when Medeus is defeated. I…" she nodded to no one in particular. "I'll do what I can, but I'm not Michalis."

"You'll do… fine, Minerva." Marth said. "There could be no good resolution to today, you just have to continue on, and try to make the best of what happened." He didn't talk of Maria, that's not a subject Minerva should have been forced to discuss right now. He believed that Maria still loved her sister, but… the royal family of Macedon was in a tense setting now, now that two siblings had attacked each other with the intent to kill. Any attempts to mediate it would require careful treading. "For now, we only have the rest of the war to focus on. We won't return to Macedon until Medeus is defeated."

Minerva made no reply.

* * *

><p>Marth wanted some fresh air, and opted to leave his tent after Minerva departed. He shook his head, and took in a deep gulp of the Macedon air. It seemed to honestly taste different then Altean air, or the salty Talys air. His cape blew gently from the weak Macedonian breeze.<p>

"Mar-Mar?"

His reaction was somewhere in between a cringe and a sigh. There was only one person who would address him with that title. He turned, "Yes, Tiki?"

"I was wondering what you were doing by yourself." Tiki cocked her head, "Aren't you scared of the dark?"

"Um…" He was momentarily tongue-tied. It was hard to believe that a Divine Dragon just said something like that. If there was one thing he could say about Tiki, she acted in the exact opposite manner of how Marth would have presumed a Divine Dragon would act. "No, Tiki, not particularly."

"Then… what are you doing?" Her eyes darted around nervously, and Marth realized that _she_ was probably scared of the dark.

"I was just… thinking." He sat down cross-legged, getting his head level with hers. "The defeat of Grust, and of Macedon, were much more bittersweet then I could have ever expected them to be. I never thought of our enemies as anything but monsters."

Tiki twisted her lips. "Aren't they the bad guys?"

"Well, yes. But it's not always that cut and dry." He groped for words, trying to come up with an explanation that would make sense for Tiki. "Not all evils are performed for evil purposes. And sometimes, cruel acts are done for the best. It can be difficult to sort out."

"How can a cruel act be for the best?"

"I…" he sighed. "Sometimes, even the worst acts can seem sane when one looks at them long after the fact, and consider what affects they had. Though I would never want to slaughter people just because they're associated with a group, maybe, at times…"

Tiki tried to understand what Marth was saying, but she couldn't wrap her youthful mind around it. "I… don't understand. Can't there be a simple explanation for everything? Some people are just good, and others are just bad?"

"I wish it could be like that." He shook his head. "Camus The Sable and King Michalis… weren't bad people, but they supported the wrong things. What happened to them… I can't bring myself to say that we did the 'right' thing to try and slay them, but I don't think anyone can say that we were in the wrong, either."

Tiki scratched at her head, now even more confused.

"Sometimes, the issue of good and evil is confusing. I'm not a God, I can't just say that someone is evil and be justified. However, I do know that some people _have_ to be killed. Like Gharnef, who we'll be fighting soon."

"Him…" Tiki trembled, "He's the one who left me all alone in the Fane, Mar-Mar."

He nodded. "He'll be our next enemy."

"When?"

Marth paused, he couldn't give a real estimate. It would depend upon when the League was ready to fight again. How long that would be was hard to gauge, most of the soldiers were completely exhausted right now. He turned to Tiki and told her the only thing that he believed he could say. "Soon. We'll fight him soon. Be sure to get your rest, Tiki. It won't be an easy fight."

She thought about resting, but… "I don't like sleeping." Marth did a double-take at the strange statement. "When I dream, I'm always alone. And… what if I slip into a years long sleep again?"

Marth managed a smile, and seemed surprised that he would manage one today. "If you get into a sleep like that, I'll wake you up, Tiki."

Tiki looked at Marth's honest eyes, and felt completely relieved. Slowly, she laid her head down near him, taking solace in Marth's presence. She was oblivious to another presence nearby.

Gotoh stared at the little Divine princess resting near Marth. _Naga's daughter. The last time I saw her, I was… _He shook his head, memories from many lifetimes ago flooded into him from just one glance at Tiki. He continued to look at her as a short sleep, short even by human standards, overtook the girl. It was hard to believe that so innocent a girl was the daughter of mankind's savior, Naga.

Still, no matter how innocent she was, as long as she held that Divinestone, she was among the strongest on the continent. Perhaps she could even stand up to Medeus on her own. If she was aided by Marth while he was wielding Falchion, Medeus would have little chance of victory.

But even a little chance was a chance. Gotoh disliked it, considering the stakes that would be in such a battle. Medeus was no fool, he would have likely prepared for such a contingency. The League, no, the continent itself needed an extra precaution taken to ensure that all would be well, come the day the fight was brought to Medeus' Keep.

Bringing his hand forward, he pointed a finger at Tiki. A small series of lights, looking almost like glitter, spawned in the air and slowly moved. It went straight for Tiki, going unnoticed by the sleeping girl and the only half-awake Altean prince. It entered Tiki's body through the back of her head, seeming to just pass through skin and muscle and bone.

Nothing happened, and for the time being, nothing would. In time, Gotoh's actions would bear fruit, and could very well be what allows the League to achieve victory at the very end. In time.

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><p><strong>I, personally, dislike the black and white nature of the whole MichalisMinerva issue in the game. I prefer to think that neither one is exactly in the 'right'. (Contrary to how the game seems to be saying that Minerva is complete 'right' and Michalis is completely 'wrong') I tried to figure that into this chapter.**

**Please review.**


	38. Holy Starlight, Foul Imhullu: vs Gharnef

**The fight with Gharnef now.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>"Are you ready?" Gotoh asked the full breadth of the League as they gathered before him on the grassy Macedon field. Everyone was present and accounted for. Even Minerva and Maria, Marth was almost surprised that both still planned to come. Though he could see that Maria had no intentions of speaking to her sister.<p>

"You will now enter the Temple of Thabes. The stronghold of Gharnef, known to many as the Dark Pontifex. Once, he was a shining example of practicality and judgment, now he is a madman good only to be killed. He has both the greatest of Khadein's mages and an army of assassins to aid him. Your enemy is mighty and numerous, but they have no light to aid them. Go… you who are the continent's only hope against Dolhr, and you, who hold Starlight, go and defeat my former apprentice. When Gharnef is defeated and his grip on life torn from his grasp, the path to Dolhr shall be clear."

Linde sighed. Starlight was not held in her hands. Marth had ruled that she would not wield the spell against Gharnef. A ruling, she suspected, was influenced by Nyna wanting to keep Linde out of harm's way. Regardless, Starlight was held firmly by Merric. She looked at him and sighed, Merric glanced guiltily at her, but Linde just shook her head. Merric couldn't argue against an order, even if it came from the mouth of a friend of his. Linde could, it would seem, only hope that she could be there to see Gharnef die. It wouldn't be the same as avenging her father with her own hands, but it would at least give her some closure.

"It is time." Gotoh said, spreading his arms out, and an arcane circle appeared around the League. Several worried murmurs came from the soldiers, but Gotoh silenced the concerns. "Do not fear, you will feel no pain. You will be brought straight to the interior of the Temple of Thabes. More, I cannot do. From the Temple, the defeat of Gharnef shall fall to you."

The ring around the League burned brightly, and then vanished, taking the League with it. Gotoh was left by himself, his only company being some lingering light from the spell. His eyes remained closed, and he was left to ponder… many things.

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><p>Gharnef clenched his fist, feeling the familiar energy of Imhullu coursing through him. He had long grown fond of the energy that offered near invincibility, more filling then pleasing meat, more succulent then the greatest drink. Such power eventually led to addiction and dependency, but he did not care. Gotoh would have said that he was a slave to his power, but Gharnef felt otherwise, he considered it enlightenment.<p>

He was powerful, but not yet omnipotent. Otherwise his desires would be achieved with mere thought, rather then cunning and martial might, yet, saliva built on his withered tongue at the idea of godhood. The idea of voices growing raw from hours of shouting his name was an intoxicating concept. As was the idea of merely gesturing with a finger and someone dying. Gotoh, the hated Gotoh, would be the first victim if he could attain such a power.

But, for the most part, he was content to plot from the shadows. He was content to know that his enemies thought that he was too much of a coward to take action publicly. And, he was content to know that the threads had been pulled… just right.

Camus and Michalis, news had reached him. Those two were gone. Though there was a chance that one, or even both, still clung to a thread of life, they were now impotent and beneath his concern. The nations they represented slowly fading to obscurity with their saviors gone. Gharnef contemplated taking either the Grust Castle or the Macedon Castle for himself, but quickly decided against such an act. The less power he reached for in public, the greater his arms would be in secret.

Yes, let Medeus think he's clever, letting everyone do every single task for him in Dolhr Keep. It was Gharnef who had advanced himself and manipulated things to his choosing, it was Gharnef who had led enemy and supposed ally to ruin to advance himself, and it was Gharnef, only Gharnef, who would attain all.

"Dark Pontifex." A cold, scornful voice spoke. Gharnef blinked out of his stupor of self-exaltation. Turning around, he noticed a cloaked figure.

"Xemcel, Hand of Medeus." Gharnef addressed with false sweetness. Unfeeling on the surface though he was, inwardly, Gharnef was shaken by how he had failed to notice Xemcel standing only a few feet from him. Had he been paying attention, he would have easily felt Xemcel entering the temple. He reminded himself that the Manaketes, no matter how lowly he thought of them, could not be underestimated. He could not war on Dolhr, not yet.

Nor could he defeat Xemcel right now. Curse him, but magic was nothing to him and his arcane scales, even Imhullu's magic. In fact, Xemcel could single-handedly face all of Gharnef's assassins, and all of Khadein's mages… and win. Medeus was the only Manakete of Dolhr that had even greater power then Xemcel. Xemcel, for all his power and position, was a mere bug to Medeus. And, for now, so was Gharnef.

"As you know, General Camus and King Michalis have both been felled by the hands of the Archanean League." Though both were well aware of that, Xemcel still paused as if letting the knowledge sink in. "They will approach you, next, Dark Pontifex. They will not march on Dolhr until they have the Falchion in their possession. As the one who has been given the blade for safe keeping, you will defend it from Anri's spawn. You will _not_ allow that blade to return to the bloodline it was bequeathed to."

Gharnef's lipless mouth didn't quirk into a confident grin or some deep knowing expression. Instead, it only moved when he deigned to speak. "A simple matter. He believes he will find hope when he comes. Instead, all he will find is death's suffocating hands closing on his soul."

"Your arrogance is…" Xemcel's words trailed off. Gharnef suspected that next word was supposed to be 'assuring', but Xemcel's next words were on a different subject. "You will slaughter the League down to the last. The Altean prince, the Aurelian prince, no mercy will be given. Not even to the Divine Dragon you once controlled."

"…I had wished them to…" he stopped himself before he finished. Before he accidentally alluded to the fact that facing and defeating the Divine Dragon was a way to test the League's still growing strength. Even he had not anticipated that they would break his control of the dragon. He shook his head, "They are no longer needed in this world. I shall offer them a way out of the sisyphean monotony of life."

Xemcel stood unimpressed. "Perhaps, Dark Pontifex. Or perhaps it is _you_ who is no longer needed in this world." With the words that, essentially, conveyed the message of 'go die', Xemcel turned, and it seemed as though his body turned to mist. He walked off in one direction, but seemed to just fade from sight.

Gharnef turned around and raised a hand, intending to clench it as if crushing Xemcel's heart in his hand. Instead, he noticed that his hand was shaking. He looked at it, and…

On some primal level, he was intimidated by Dolhr, even with Imhullu's protection shielding him. He could not fight Dolhr, not yet, but… after today's battle, things would turn in his favor. He knew how to wield Falchion… he knew how he could get someone to wield the holy blade for him.

"_Gharnef."_ An ethereal voice sprung up in Gharnef's head. His eyes widened in surprise at first, but they narrowed as realization struck him.

"You're a fool among fools to contact me directly, teacher." Gharnef met the voice of Gotoh with icy coldness. "What do you seek? To gloat over my enemy's approach?"

"_They approach, it is true, Gharnef." _The tone was not arrogant, Gotoh was simply stating the simple fact. Gharnef expected some form of arrogant remark to come, instead, Gotoh's next words were not what Gharnef could have ever expected.

"_You can still go back, Gharnef. You can atone for your crimes. Lay down Imhullu and surrender to the League. You were once a man of justice… remember what you once believed in."_

Gharnef stood in shock at first, but then the halls of the Temple echoed with his booming laughter. "You speak as though I am in the wrong, teacher. Why should I repent? It was you who forced me to do this. You gave that blessed tome to one so inferior. You and he didn't understand, that sometimes justice must be _forced_."

"_Miloah was worthy of the tome, that is all, Gharnef. He had strength, will, and a sense of justice, but above all, he cared and wanted the best for others. He did what was right, moral, even if it meant going against an established law. He was not a machine obsessed with duty, like you."_

Gharnef did not respond, only muttering a curse beneath his breath.

"_Why, Gharnef? Why did you choose this path?" _For a moment, the voice was almost pleading. _"I lead you to the gates of Heaven, yet you still fell to Hell."_

"That's not how I remember it." Gharnef retorted, "You let Miloah through the gates of Heaven, but locked me out. There was nothing I could do… save fall to the only place that could offer me any solace."

Gotoh's replied with no hesitation. _"Is that what you believe? Your pettiness has not changed since the days when you were my apprentice. The hour of justice is at hand, and you will have no choice but to pay for all the lives you've stolen, and the horrors you've sowed, Dark Pontifex." _He emphasized every syllable of Gharnef's title, treating the words with contempt. The title was blasphemous, contrasting with all that Khadein stood for, and Gotoh knew that Gharnef knew that. "_You crave power, they shall take it from you. You fear weakness, they shall force it upon you. No madman eludes the woes he has created forever, my former apprentice."_

Gharnef grinned. "We shall see, won't we?"

Gotoh's voice faded from his mind, like the scent of a breeze wafting away. At once, Gharnef turned to other, more immediate concerns.

"Eremiya." He called, the trainer of his assassins appeared, as if she had known about the summon ahead of time. "Mobilize your greatest assassins, and have the mages of Khadein ready themselves. The League will be at the Temple soon." He walked past her, holding Imhullu closer then usual. "There will be no margin for error this time, Eremiya. See to the League's destruction, while I make preparations for the Altean prince."

"Yes, Dark Pontifex." The woman bowed. She was set on redeeming herself for her failure in Khadein. Her assassins were capable, more then a match for the League, she was certain.

* * *

><p>Elice remained in her prison room. There was little for her to do, the only time-killer she truly had was to think about Altea and her brother. Sitting at the table in the white royal gown that she had lost all hope in cleaning or mending the tears of, she pondered the day the castle fell. At the very least, she knew Marth had eluded capture on that day, but all she knew beyond that was that he had appeared in Khadein at a later date. She wondered how he was, and what his turmoil had done to him. She did not presume him weak or easily cracked, but she <em>could<em> see him to have become a very different person. The stress he had to have gone through, being separated from his family, being robbed of his home, seeing people have to die to keep him safe, only a small percentage of people would continue on after that much the same.

As her thoughts focused on Marth, she turned to the window of her cell. It was wide open, but to scale down the tower from the outside was far beyond her capabilities. The walls were completely smooth, nothing to take hold of, and she took no particular pride in her physical strength. The window… it was like Gharnef was taunting her with the fact that Elice could never escape under her own power.

She knew full well what was going on. Ever since she had been captured, Gharnef had actively desired to break her sanity. To what end, she knew quite well, Gharnef wanted her to wield Aum. The staff that brought back the souls of the departed from the river of the dead they flowed in after life. Who Gharnef wanted her to revive, she didn't have the answer to that part of the puzzle just yet. Her first guess was that he wished to be revived from death should his life be claimed, but the more she thought of that, she more she doubted that explanation. Gharnef, at no point, acted as if his death was even a possibility. Furthermore, if he did, he would have made many roads back to life, ones that did not rely on the loyalty of another being. No, it made more sense that it was the Manaketes, not Gharnef, who wished her to use the staff.

As she continued to think, just as her thoughts were beginning to drift to Merric, the door opened. She turned as the man she could only describe as the incarnation of darkness, Gharnef, entered.

Once, every visit was christened by a question as to how she felt. Elice had known from the first day that the question was a way to gauge how much mental strength she still had, disguised in a sweet voice. The reservoir of her mental strength had never drained in any way. However, she could admit, only to herself, that fatigue and the despairing possibility that she would never escape, had entered into her mind long ago.

Gharnef had since stopped asking the question. In turn, his visits had become less frequent. She speculated that Gharnef reasoned that near total isolation would do far more to break her. Yet here he was now.

"Your brother is here." He spoke only four words, and it was enough to completely change Elice's outward demeanor.

She rose from her chair, her face conveyed shook at first, but then turned vicious. It was something that could make nearly anyone recoil. Gharnef simply smiled.

"Where?" She demanded, her tone was filled with anger, but with a touch of concern seeping in. "What have you done to him?"

"As of yet? Nothing." Gharnef responded coolly. He was able to find amusement in this. This seemed to be the only subject that got under Elice's skin so. He knew, and she knew, Marth's death would be more then enough to push Elice over the edge. "But don't worry, your reunion is not far off. Though he would nary be the person you remember."

Elice kept her distance, but her hands clenched into fists. It would not be out of character for her to bravely and foolishly try to tear at Gharnef with her weak arms. "If even one hair on his head is touched, then any chance of getting my cooperation in anything disappears."

"That's quaint." Gharnef shrugged. "If I so desire, you _will_ do as I will, princess. Your impressive resolve or no. Regardless, I am off to meet your brother. After this battle is over, he will never be the same person again."

Elice tried to move forward, but was buffeted by a sudden force of wind, knocking her to the ground. Gharnef only smiled. "Wait just a while longer, my princess. Perhaps I will bring him to you." He turned, a gleam more sinister then any Elice had seen before was in his eyes as he departed the room. Elice stood back up, feeling her heart suddenly pounding. Marth was here, but… did he have the means to fight Imhullu? There was a part of Marth that had always been emotional and reckless… and suddenly she feared the worst for him. It would be just like him to come here without the means of fighting Imhullu. With him… she wouldn't be surprised if he failed to realize the fact that Imhullu had made Gharnef an impervious nightmare. He would have come here thinking he could improvise a way past the magic…

* * *

><p>The energy that flowed through the Temple was a thing that all those who dwelt here were familiar with. Even those who were not attuned to, and not fit to wield, magic. It was, therefore, easy to sense when the energy suddenly distorted without clear cause. Such distortions were not unheard of, indeed, they were common. Such things happened every time a mage called upon his magical energy.<p>

But this distortion, this one was different. The size and scope was on a level that few in the Temple were familiar with. Perhaps, perhaps Gharnef was in the midst of a grand experiment. Even so…

Light suddenly sparked near the entrance of the Temple. Illuminating energy coming from an arcane ring of power, it flashed suddenly with a blindingly light, and then vanished. In its wake were several dozen people, all of which had never set foot in the Temple before. The strangers, armed and ready for a fight, immediately set out to familiarize themselves with their surroundings.

"The Temple of Thabes." Marth registered the surroundings around him. Thabes, no one with any understanding of history would fail to know this place. He remembered his sister reading about it aloud to him once. Thabes had come into existence at about the same time as the other great nations, Altea, Archanea, Aurelis, Grust, and Macedon. It had always been isolated from the other nations, and thus, the circumstances of its founding was a mystery. Likewise, the reason for its decay was unknown. All that was known was that it had played host to a civilization that was more advanced _then_, then any other nation was _now_.

The only thing that advanced now was the rot and decay. Something that only accelerated when Gharnef saw fit to place his foul heels on something that should have been allowed to rest in peace.

Marth reminded himself that the very sister who told him about this place was the person he was coming here to rescue… on top of retrieving Falchion. His sister had been stolen from the home she belonged in, and Falchion taken from the family it belonged to. The time to correct both injustices had come after far too much time. Now Marth was here… did he have the element of surprise? Perhaps he could-

A deep, menacing chuckle resonated through the air. Marth's eyes darted around, as did the eyes of every other soldier of the League. Slowly, Marth saw the shadows stretching across the formally silent halls seem to… stand up. The strange, flat, black things defied logic and rose from the ground. Then one of the shadows began to take on a clearer shape. Who and what it was became clear quickly. The forsaken robes, the degraded, almost demonic face, it could be only one person.

"Gharnef."

The chuckle continued for a second more, then ceased. "You came, little prince. Perchance, you came to be congratulated by me? I have been anticipating your arrival."

Marth postured, a sense of discomfort crossing his face. "Congratulate? Anticipate?"

"Yes." Gharnef responded plainly. "Yes, you have been of much help to me. Long did I seek Camus' and Michalis' demise. You have served me well." He smiled, "And… Hauteclere, Parthia, Mercurius, and Gradivus. Even Aura. You have done well to bring the greatest weapons of the continent to my waiting embrace. Yes, you have done all of this for me. I am in your debt, Altean prince."

Marth opened his mouth to speak, but for the first moment, nothing came out. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. All the League's victories, triumphs, they all figured perfectly into Gharnef's plan? They had tipped the scales completely and utterly in the Dark Pontifex's favor? A knife went through his heart at the words, and the hand on his Rapier began to shake with rage.

"You… cowardly _monster_." Words not nearly strong enough to summarize Gharnef, but it was all that came to Marth. All life was expendable to the Dark Pontifex, and he responded to the death of allies with glee, ready to appear and pilfer corpses for his own benefit. A monster who stood patiently in the shadows, a scavenger who would do nothing but take advantage of a conflict's aftermath. Death would be too good for him, no pain would be great enough for Marth to say that he had suffered enough. Gharnef had to pay, for all the lives he had stolen in this crisis.

Gharnef's grin didn't flicker. "Don't spoil the mood, little prince." He pointed a finger at Marth, and a small thread of arcane energy, unnoticed by all present, departed from Gharnef and entered Marth, to seemingly no effect. "You're about to do me one final favor. You will leave, and strike down Dolhr for me."

"Is that so?" Marth took a step forward, a confident smile on his face. "I'm planning something else."

Gharnef's shoulders raised, and he chuckled again. Marth watched the reaction, and realized something. Gharnef seemed unsettling aware of everything around him, but it seemed that there was something he _didn't_ know.

He didn't know that the League now had Starlight.

Gharnef's nonchalant arrogance only served to confirm that fact. "Is that your idea of a threat? Poor fool, the death of the Dark Pontifex standing before you would change nothing. My life will always elude you, you will never be rid of me."

Marth momentarily lost his rational and stabbed his Rapier at Gharnef. To his surprise, Imhullu did not stop the attack, and the blade seemed to sink into the Dark Pontifex with lethal effect. The man smiled, and his body seemed to disperse, returning to the ink black shadow it had been previously.

All the other shadows that were still inexplicably standing suddenly took shape and form. Marth gasped in disbelief at the sight of a score of Gharnefs standing before him.

"Fight. Fight these shadows, prince Marth." One single voice taunted as the various Gharnefs chuckled. "Yet Falchion is only with the real me. Can you find me? Can you _defeat_ me?"

Marth took in a deep breath as the various Gharnefs disappeared. The real one might have been among them, or maybe he wasn't. All he knew was that somewhere in the temple, Gharnef was lurking, and he _had_ to find him.

"Find him!" Marth suddenly called out. "We can't let him live through this battle! Take the Temple _now_!"

* * *

><p>It was not enough that they had a seeming army of Gharnefs to defeat. Those who swore loyalty to the Dark Pontifex swarmed the halls of the temple. Mages who forsook the ideals of Khadein in exchange for position, and others who served Gharnef with steel and iron.<p>

Wolf moved without needing to think. Both the mages and those equipped with more mundane weapons weren't worth a second thought. His sword cut easily through mage robes, and armor seemed only marginally more durable. His arrows pierced cloth and metal to reach their fleshy targets.

Elsewhere, Palla seemed to have a new confidence in herself as she met her enemies. Wolf was mildly surprised that she could seem so sure of herself right after what she and several other League soldiers had to go through in Macedon.

He returned himself to the battle, taking notice of those enemies that fought with steel. They went down easily enough, but as he fought them, he recalled something. His enemies… reminded him of those he encountered in Khadein. Those who died before they were able to tell Wolf who sent them.

Khadein had been ruled by Gharnef, and so was the Temple of Thabes. It was not peculiar that they would be here as well. At the same time, no information implied that Gharnef had more orthodox soldiers under his command. It was strange. Pushing the thought from his head, he returned his full attention to the battle. They were servants of Gharnef, and deserved only death.

* * *

><p>Gordin readied an arrow on his bowstring. The arrow pierced through a breastplate of one of Gharnef's soldiers who carried a sword. The Altean archer briefly wondered why there seemed to be so many wielders of swords, axes, and lances in Gharnef's army. He would have presumed that Gharnef considered such warriors beneath him.<p>

He turned to Norne as she fired off an arrow of her own. A part of him had come to wish Norne wasn't endangering herself on the battlefield, but he kept the thought to himself, for she wasn't voicing such a thought about him. He turned back to the front, and caught sight of an enemy archer. More relevantly, an enemy archer that had trained her, Gordin believed the figure he saw was female, aim on Norne.

Immediately he fired an arrow at the figure. The woman broke off from her attack and moved to dodge Gordin's arrow. The arrow bounced off of the stone wall, leaving the woman to glare at the enemy that had halted her attack.

Gordin took in a breath and returned the expression as he readied a new arrow. As far as he was concerned, this enemy had signed her death warrant when she aimed an attack at Norne.

Norne suddenly saw the enemy as well and moved alongside Gordin whilst reading an arrow. The woman in the distance sized them up, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the two archers, and slowly placed an arrow on her bowstring.

Gordin fired the first of all three. The woman dodged just by pivoting her body slightly, then fired at Gordin just as Norne fired. Gordin wasn't able to dodge, and the enemy's arrow sunk into his shoulder.

"Gor-"

"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth, removing the arrow slowly and returned his attention to the fight. The enemy stepped aside from Norne's attack with a cocky expression on her face.

Norne turned away from Gordin and his wound with a worried expression, then looked at the enemy. Trying to attack Gordin was enough for Norne to justify lethal force. She readied another arrow as Gordin emulated her, pained but unhindered by his shoulder. They both fired their attacks, both intending to kill.

The enemy tried to dodge, but two arrows were harder to dodge then one. She dodged Norne's arrow, but Gordin's managed to sink straight into her thigh.

She made no cry, but her eyes widened briefly with pain. She turned to her enemies with a scornful expression as she slowly pulled the arrow out, letting blood flow freely from her mangled flesh. Swiftly, she calmed herself, seemingly only now noticing she had no allies or any form of backup. Rather then have a repeat of her experience in Castle Macedon, she simply made another threatening look at her enemies before turning. The fact that Gordin's blow had managed to injure her seemed to be more a blow to her pride then her flesh. Rather then continue fighting, she slipped away, moving astonishingly quickly on her injured leg.

Gordin might have pursued, that enemy was skilled enough to warrant a very real concern, but Norne grabbed his hand. She pointed to an alcove, a place to wait for either allies or enemies, and, Gordin realized, a place where Norne could try to examine Gordin's wound. Without saying a word, Gordin nodded and began to lead the two of them.

* * *

><p>Tiki towered above her enemies in her true form. Her wings flapped briefly, though they were much too small to allow her to take flight. The white dragon breathed her white, holy breath upon her enemies, reducing several mages and assassins to unliving ash all at once. Turning, she saw Gharnef, <em>a<em> Gharnef. The Dark Pontifex readied his tome of Imhullu, and was then overwhelmed by the burning holy spark of Tiki's breath. The 'Gharnef' melted in the flame, returning to the shape of a lifeless shadow being cast by a pillar.

"Such… power…" A sickeningly familiar voice resonated through the air. Tiki moved her massive head around, and saw who the voice came from. A Gharnef… no, no, without knowing how she knew, Tiki knew this was _the_ Gharnef. Without hesitation, a growl escaped her mouth as the Dark Pontifex approached without the slightest look of fear in his face.

"A fearsome rage. What, I ask, fuels it? The fear of being left alone, perhaps?" Gharnef asked, grinning his lipless grin. Tiki visibly flinched at the question. "Why would you fear it? Is it not better for all involved that you stay away, locked up where no one could ever find you?"

"…what do you mean?" Tiki asked. The area above her eyes, where a human's eyebrows would be, quirked at Gharnef's confusing words.

Gharnef's words were smooth. "Manaketes are volatile creatures. You'll eventually lose control of yourself, your power will spiral out of your control. When that happens, those near you will be the first to fall to your breath. Fang shall cleave flesh, and breath shall reduce your friends and loved ones to clumps on the ground."

Tiki growled defensively. "That will never happen. I know I won't lose control. If I fall asleep again, Marth promised me-"

"That he would wake you up." Gharnef finished for her. Tiki, even in her imposing true form, took a cautious step back. There was something about Gharnef that could intimidate anyone. More then just his corrupt visage and his deep knowledge of all around him, there was something about him that just seemed so horribly _wrong_. "Tiki, allow me to show you what will inevitably happen."

With deliberate slowness, Gharnef swung his arm through the air. Tiki watched in awe and concern as the Temple of Thabes seemed to… melt, all around her, until she and Gharnef were standing in a pitch-black world.

"Listen, do you hear it?" Gharnef asked, holding a hand up to his ear. Tiki strained to listen for anything, but feared to hear something at the same time. Eventually, she heard a sound, like a distant sobbing. It was joined by a deep spurting sound, and slowly, slowly the black world Gharnef and Tiki were standing in took on color and form.

Tiki was standing in a city of some sort, everything was ablaze and red with blood. It was clear that a massacre had just occurred.

"Yes." Gharnef said, seeming to answer some unspoken question that the Divine Dragon had. "You caused this. All of it. Look upon all the living, now slain. Do you recognize anyone?"

Hesitantly, Tiki began to look around. She noticed a cloaked figure, and her lungs forgot how to function when she noticed that it was her guardian. It was Bantu.

"B-Ban-Ban?" Tiki's body began to glow white as shock coursed through her, she began to shrink and return to human form.

"Yes, your guardian." Gharnef said, adding a sympathetic tone to his voice as though he actually cared, which he did not. "That is not all. Continue to look. What do you see?" Gharnef made a point to gesture at the corpse of a little girl in a white royal gown. He smiled as Tiki reacted to Maria's remains, the little princess who had become a new friend to the Manakete.

"Stop… showing me this." Tiki said, her voice breaking as guilt for actions that had never happened flowed through her. "Please, stop."

Gharnef smiled. "You cannot look away from the inevitable future. This is your fate. To slay your friends and loved ones and free them from this life. There is nothing you can do to change that."

Tiki began to clutch at her head as it pounded and throbbed. Gharnef approached her, looking like an understanding voice. He gestured to another corpse. "Do you see that one? The one with the blue hair?"

"N-no…" Tiki shut her eyes, refusing to look at the next sight.

"They weren't entitled to look away when you ripped their viscera out, Tiki." Gharnef approached the girl still intent on keeping her eyes shut. Kneeling down, he whispered a name into Tiki's ear. The name of the one Tiki was becoming so attached to and fond of.

Marth.

"_No_!" The girl shrieked, finally, Gharnef began laughing.

"Beneath that innocent body, you are such a dangerous creature. You could very well be the end of the League, and the end of humanity. It's an eventuality that _will_ happen, not a possibility that _could_. Yet, return to me, and I shall keep you from such horrors. With my gentle embrace, my soft caress, you wouldn't need to fear such a thing-"

Tiki shrieked again.

Gharnef's eyes widened as the vision of the burning city distorted for a moment. Then, the setting they were in disappeared, and the two returned to the Temple of Thabes. Tiki suddenly collapsed on the floor.

"Divine Dragons. Their emotions alone can terminate the hallucinations I concoct." Gharnef shook his head, not bothering to hide his ire at something he still could not keep under his thumb. He contemplated slaying Tiki then and there as she clutched at her head on the ground, but decided against it. She still had some use. He pointed a finger at her, the same gesture he made at Marth when the League first appeared in the Temple. A bit of magic entered Tiki, its affects should be apparent soon, unless it was disrupted in some way.

The sounds of clicking metal was heard. Gharnef knew that the League was approaching. For now, he would retreat. For now. Turning, he left.

"Tiki!" Marth ran up to the little girl and knelt down. She looked up at him, and suddenly dove into his chest, desperately looking for the comfort of his presence. Her hands, now shaking, slowly wrapped around Marth's waist.

"G-Gharnef was here." Tiki stammered out, pushing her cheek into Marth's chest. "The real one. He… he showed me a world, w-where you were dead, Marth, and, and…"

"Shh." Marth grabbed her shoulders, not fully understanding what happened, but recognizing that Tiki had just undergone a traumatic experience. "I'm alive and well, Tiki." He continued to kneel down, letting the little Manakete continue to hold him. After a long moment, Marth turned to the League soldiers behind him. "If Gharnef is nearby, then it's time to fight him. Merric…"

The Wind Mage stepped forward, Starlight firmly in his hand. Throughout the battle in Thabes, he had opted to continue using Excalibur in the hopes that Gharnef was not yet aware that Starlight was in his possession. It was time to end that charade.

"I understand, prince Marth. This battle is unavoidable." Merric put away Excalibur and opened the tome of Starlight. The words across the pages would be undecipherable to many. Only those attuned to magic were formally taught how to read the archaic, ancient script. Merric muttered a few of the words of power contained in the pages, and began to slowly feel a new, foreign energy empowering him. He stopped speaking immediately, the frills of his robe were being tossed slightly by the energy now circling around him and coursing through him. The very air around him seemed to glow as a holy power permeated it.

He smiled. With this power, it would be too easy.

"Just in case I need some support…" He doubted he would, but he motioned at Linde, who stepped forward overeagerly. "I'll get rid of the Dark Pontifex. Linde will help me do that. You just need to focus on Gharnef's army."

Marth nodded, putting all his faith in Merric. Faith that Marth was sure was well-placed. Merric smiled and left, Linde followed him. Marth, with Tiki still clinging to him, turned around.

"Our objective at this point is two-fold. To destroy Gharnef's army, and to keep anyone from offering any kind of aid to Gharnef. Move out at once!"

* * *

><p>Ymir swung the Devil Axe, gritting his teeth and ignoring the fatigue that the weapon sent through him. He cleaved through those who stood before him. The last person he killed, who had been foolish enough to run up to him, had been cut into two equal halves.<p>

No other Archanean soldier was nearby. Ymir had been trusted to hold off what might have been nearly half of Gharnef's army by himself, among which had been several fake Gharnefs. He wasn't complaining, meeting enemy forces this big by himself felt like what he was born to do. He tore through these enemies with ease. One might wonder if his enemies simply wanted to die, so blindly they attacked and so quickly they fell.

After what Ymir guessed was a nearly a full hour, but could have been much more then that, enemies simply stopped coming. He wasn't even vaguely fatigued, arching his back he let loose a fierce roar of challenge.

Then something else came. Ymir turned to this new target. It clearly wasn't a League soldier, and looked remarkably different then the others he had just fought. A large, muscular, armored figure holding an axe, with a face hidden behind a mask. He approached without a word.

Ymir wasn't impressed. To others, the figure might have been foreboding, but to Ymir it was a man who was both bravely and foolishly trying to attack the ogre by himself. He allowed himself a smile, this would be too easy.

Then… more enemies started to appear. Ymir looked around with slight discomfort. He wasn't scared or intimidated, he was more interested at how all these men seemed so similar to each other. They walked with the same gait, bared their axes in the same way, and each wore an identical outfit. Right down to the tribal mask.

Ymir shrugged, clearly some kind of formal force of warriors. They were still nothing to him. He smirked, and, as if it was a cue of some sort, the axe men charged. Ymir met them easily enough, the identical axes of his enemies were easily knocked aside by Ymir's far superior Devil Axe. His cursed weapon sunk into the shoulder of one axe man, who fell to the floor without a sound. The others advanced, Ymir slew several as they tried to attack. Then one of his enemies surged forward and met his axe with Ymir's.

This one seemed somehow stronger then the others, Ymir grinned, not at all impressed. This one may have been able to meet and stop one attack, but he wouldn't be able to stop another. Ymir took a step back, disengaging from the struggle of his muscles pushing against his enemy's, and readied himself to swing again.

The Devil Axe made an eerie cry as it descended, and bit straight across the chest of its enemy. The masked man made no sound, but he was clearly reacting to the strong pain he now felt from the deep cut. Deep enough that his heart or his lungs were likely spared only by the fact that the Devil Axe's blade didn't extend an inch further.

The masked man grimaced for a second, and when he turned back to Ymir he was met by Ymir's head-sized fist ramming into his mask. The eyes behind the mask widened as the tribal shield of his face cracked.

He backed away, grasping at his mask. It was still intact, despite the damage inflicted. The man looked at Ymir, those others who seemed to be clones, for lack of a better word, of the man, returned to what Ymir believed was the leader. One by one, they glared at Ymir before turning away, seemingly understanding that they could not, even as a group, best Ymir. Ymir grinned fiercely, and roared in triumph as his enemy departed. Then he heard a sound from behind, turning, he readied himself to fight again.

* * *

><p>Gharnef, the real Gharnef, stood almost completely motionless. He knew an enemy was about to reveal himself, Marth had brought the League, fully expecting a fight with him. He could only wonder why the League thought themselves capable of fighting him, for as long as he held Imhullu, his defeat was something that not even a fevered madman could dream of. It did not matter to him, it would only make things simpler in the end.<p>

The clicking sounds of footsteps was heard, accompanied only by the sound of the burning torches on the wall. The door behind the Dark Pontifex opened, he smiled as he heard two sets of footprints approach. With one grotesque hand holding the Imhullu tome, he turned to those that had foolishly chosen to approach him.

"Ah." Gharnef took notice of both of those present. The first one, the same mage who had attempted to attack him with Excalibur back in Khadein. He would have imagined that the mage would have grown fearful of the idea of encountering Gharnef again, but he instead stood with an obvious confidence. He had clearly just swaggered into the room, believing without doubt in an a victory that was eventual rather then merely possible.

Next to him was the daughter of Miloah. He smiled, he longed to eliminate any trace of Miloah from the world. How thoughtful of the last trace to personally approach Gharnef like this.

"Two children who think they're mages." Gharnef addressed them both with contempt. "Truly, do you think you can defeat me? I have attained a power that no strength of arm, no strength of will, that _nothing_, could ever overcome. Yet you stand with such confidence… I wonder how long you can keep up the bravado."

Merric's smile didn't wane in the slightest. "I have something that just might give you pause." He spread his arms out, Linde stepped back. "I dare you to take all of this attack." He began to chant words of ancient power. Amused, Gharnef began to listen to the spoken words, then his smile faded at how… familiar, some of the words were. Blue lights started to appear around the mage, looking almost like shining stars.

Quickly, the actual attack came.

"_No_!" Gharnef spoke in a loud voice, throwing his arms up and creating a shield around him as the magic of Starlight charged forward. The blast became larger, stronger, purer, Gharnef disappeared under the energy.

Eventually, the energy vanished. Merric looked forward, expecting to see nothing but a clump of ash where Gharnef had been earlier. Instead, his eyebrow quirked and he gaped at what he was seeing. Gharnef still stood, with the shadowy veil dissolving all around him.

_Gotoh… how long shall you interfere with me? _Gharnef glared at Merric, and for the first time in ages, he seemed to lose his composure, gritting decayed teeth and clenching a rotten fist. "So, you have Starlight. The only light that can pierce Imhullu's shadowy veil. I see."

He raised a hand up in the air, shadows clumped to the open palm. "You have strength. Perhaps, for the first time since my fight with Miloah, I need actually call upon a fraction of my own." He clenched the hand, and the shadows departed from his fingers. The shadows collected in front of him, forming into a trio of ghastly skulls, each seeming to have three eye-sockets, the third in the forehead. Each skull yawned open and fired a sinister, shadow beam at Merric and Linde.

The two mages were shielded by Linde's Aura tome. Gharnef growled at the familiar holy energy as Imhullu's attack dispersed upon it. Swinging his arms, Gharnef created a giant wall in front of him, a wall that almost seemed to be made out of bones. It took the second blast of Starlight, and though the wall cracked somewhat, it succeeded in enduring one blast of the holy energy.

Gharnef did not like partaking in combat that he had even a slight chance of losing. Yet here he had the opportunity to destroy Starlight, eliminating his only weakness, and slay the last trace of Miloah all at once. It was too great of an opportunity for him to run from, and so, he persisted in this battle.

He felt Imhullu course through his body, then slowly seep out. The shadowy tendrils of forbidden power began to spread across the battlefield, blanketing it in darkness. To Merric and Linde, it seemed as though the Temple of Thabes vanished, replaced by an inky dark void.

Merric lifted his hand and tried to summon Starlight. It failed to pierce through the black shadows Gharnef had summoned. The world, as far as Merric and Linde were concerned, remained in pure black darkness.

"I have been perfecting my skill with Imhullu since I have acquired it. A time frame measured in years." Gharnef's voice taunted, seeming to come from all directions around the two mages. "How long have you held Starlight? You have no expertise, no skill or finesse in its usage. And in turn, you have no hope against me. So do me a favor, surrender your soul from your body, and may a potential wielder of Starlight vanish from my sight."

Merric continued to look around in concern. Then his eyes caught a strange purple light, he realized, two late, that it was one of the skulls of Imhullu. It opened a great, gaping mouth and fired a beam. Merric had no time to dodge, nor did he even choose to. Rather, he choose to keep himself in front of Linde, who was oblivious to the skull's presence, shielding her from the attack.

The blast hit, Merric didn't even yell at the pain, but fell down, leaving an unscathed Linde behind him.

The shadows dissipated, revealing the Temple once more. Gharnef looked down at those before him. The Wind Mage, the one who sought to wield Starlight, laying on the ground, shadowy burns all over his body.

"Mer-" Linde hadn't been able to see anything in the darkness, but now beheld Merric on the ground. She knelt down and, hesitated. The first thing that she noticed was just how similar the wounds were to what had been inflicted on her father the last she had seen him.

"Fool." Gharnef spoke, standing only a short distance away. Linde turned to Gharnef and, in a rage, tried to unleash Aura upon him. Gharnef only sighed as the holy energy was beaten back and diffused by the foul energy of Imhullu.

"I shall let you two live, but only so that you may suffer. Everything about the world as you know it will change after today. Let me tell you something, prince Marth will soon move to Dolhr, under _my_ orders."

"That… won't…" Merric tried to pick himself up, aided somewhat by Linde. "Prince… Marth, would… nev…er…"

"Right now, no, he wouldn't. However…" Gharnef grinned. "When he and I met face to face at the entrance of the Temple, I placed a little seed inside of him. It will take some more time for its effects to become apparent, but his memories will soon die and he will call _me_ his master. As the rightful heir of Falchion, he will wield it for me. Lead my army to Dolhr, and allow me to take all of Medeus' power from the Shadow Dragon. The little Divine Dragon has an identical seed waiting to sprout inside of her. Only the death of this body would disrupt the spell. Alas, we have seen that the chosen wielder of Starlight could not face me. Letting you live to see what Marth will become seems more delicious then killing you where you stand."

He turned away, chuckling. The daughter of Miloah may live for now, but despair would crush her in mere hours, when his seeds take root.

And, if the daughter should pursue, he would have a precaution. He had already sent his troops out to procure the other that the girl held dear.

"If he isn't stopped soon, the League is finished." Linde muttered, she looked at Merric. She didn't want to leave him, but Gharnef _had_ to be stopped. In his current condition, the person to stop Gharnef wasn't going to be Merric.

She was reluctant to leave him where he lay, but there was only one thing she could do. Slowly, she grabbed Starlight, still in his hands, his grip suddenly tightened.

"No, Linde…" Merric said, trying to hold onto the tome. His weak grip had no chance of keeping the tome, and Linde took it easily.

"I have to do this, Merric." Linde said slowly, brushing a hand across Merric's face. "Gharnef has to be stopped, and I'm the only one who can do that now. You just… lie down, and try to keep your strength up."

Merric tried to get up, but his strength left him. Guilt pulsed inside of Linde, but she ignored the feeling as best she could. Opening the tome of Starlight, she chanted briefly and felt the strength go through her. The energy was… very similar to Aura's, but far more powerful. She wondered if she could use the Tome in much the same way as Aura.

If so, perhaps…

* * *

><p>"What is this?" Marth stepped forward, unable to understand what he was seeing. As he had fought through the Temple, he had come to a deep room that was obviously important in some way. In front of him were several orbs of arcane energy, orbs big enough that nearly a hundred grown men could be fit into. Shadow energy swirled around them, and it seemed as though the energy inside of them was being siphoned and brought somewhere else. It was a strange sight, and for a few minutes, Marth wasn't sure how to respond.<p>

"Apparatus." Wendell slowly said from nearby. His eyes were wide open, and he seemed to scarcely believe what he was seeing. The size of the Apparatus defied logic, it was beyond anything that Gharnef himself could have created. Gotoh was the only one who could have created something even half as large as this.

Thabes had been a nation of magic, and far more advanced then Khadein had ever been. These Apparatus, they had to have been ancient beyond imagination. As he looked at them, he realized, their power was being drawn out of them. Suddenly, something fell perfectly into place. Gharnef's power, it wasn't just because of Imhullu, these Apparatus empowered him further, that was why Gharnef had always seemed so unmatchable. No matter where in the continent he was, Gharnef would be receiving this almost unlimited power. It would be almost impossible to slay him as he was now. Even with Starlight, he suddenly feared for Merric.

"Prince Marth." Wendell said slowly. "This is a great source of power for Gharnef. He is taking what the civilization of Thabes left behind, and empowering himself with it. His power is… Imhullu by itself did not grant him the power he has now. If we can shut this down, Gharnef's power will become only a fraction of what it is now."

Marth nodded, slowly understanding what Wendell was saying. Gharnef could have never gained the kind of power he currently wielded with Imhullu alone. If these arcane orbs with such power contained within attributed so much to Gharnef's strength, then the next course of action was simple.

"How do we destroy them?"

Wendell's mouth opened, and for a second, he seemed almost appalled. "An entire civilization worth of knowledge could be destroyed if we shut down the Apparatus."

"I… am sorry to hear that, but we need to preserve the civilizations that still exist. Even if that means the destruction of the relics of a dead civilization."

A moment of silence, and then Wendell nodded. "I understand, prince Marth. It's all to stop Gharnef. I shall begin immediately." He walked up to the Apparatus, raising his hand and letting the magic inside of him approach the constructs of magic, and begin to slowly dissolve the power contained within. It would take… some time, for the Apparatus to be shut down, but it would happen.

"Give me some time, prince. This will take longer then some might be comfortable with."

* * *

><p>Wolf looked around, he was walking through flowing blood at this point. Blood spilt from mages and assassins alike, none of it Wolf's own. He took in a breath, in the combat he had seemingly gotten separated from Palla, he imagined she was in a panic trying to find him. He only shook his head, nothing seemed to be appearing right now. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that the enemies were thinning. The battle was beginning to wrap up. The only thing that might be difficult would be defeating Gharnef himself. He, personally, did not have great faith in Merric.<p>

Wolf blinked once, visibility in this part of the temple seemed to be low. It might have been night now, but both sides of the conflict would have had faced difficulties fighting in this section of the Temple. Through the low light, Wolf sensed a nearby presence. His eyes darted to the side, he turned around with his sword in his hand, and the blade blocked an arrow. The arrow, bent from the impact, fell to the ground. He saw a distant archer near a pillar, his eyes saw the obviously female figure of the individual, and he sensed more enemies around him. Axe-men, each looking at him with a quiet, murderous glare from beneath their masks. For the most part they were silhouettes, but Wolf was able to see that one of them had a cracked mask and a large gash across the chest.

Looking at those around him, he could tell that these enemies had had encounters with other League soldiers, and had been beaten back. Wolf was unimpressed, as an elite of the League, he had little reason to feel intimidated by what was before him.

"Leave." Wolf ordered, holding his sword firmly in his hand. The axe-men responded to the command with a charge. Wolf ducked the storm of axes that seemed to come from all directions, and stabbed fatally into the gut of one who continued to have a perfectly intact mask. Wolf rolled away as more of them tried to slash him in half. He grabbed one of his enemies and positioned the man between himself and the archer, letting the arrow sink into the man's chest.

Kicking the wounded man away, Wolf spun away and took his bow out, placing two arrows on the bowstring, he took aim at the distant archer as she stalked around the pillars. The woman tried to dodge the arrows when Wolf fired, the fact that she was able to see the attack at all spoke well of the strength of her eyes. Yet she seemed to be disoriented by the way the arrows flew at her. The arrows flew in a controlled, but not seemingly entirely coherent way. One arrow sank into her shoulder, the other simply pierced into the pillar she was in front of, unnervingly close to her head.

The axe-men returned, one of them was crippled by an arrow to his knee, and two more were slashed down by Wolf's sword when they came close. The end result seemed obvious, but Wolf's enemies didn't seem content to leave. They were still trying to come at him, as if they thought that the end result was in question, or perhaps they, for whatever reason, simply could not retreat. A single good strike to Wolf would be all they would need, but it was painfully obvious that neither of them was capable of striking him.

Wolf readied himself for the next charge, and then heard a flapping sound. A familiar sound, Palla appeared, her lance harassing the archer as she was still grimacing from the arrow to her shoulder. The axe-men turned as their ally made a small cry of surprise. Several of them paid the ultimate price for turning their heads, Wolf's sword and arrows slew nearly half of them.

The archer rolled away from Palla, still clutching at the shoulder Wolf had wounded. Irritated, the archer knew that, with this development, any chance of victory was now gone. She signaled, then turned and left, the axe-men followed her cue, leaving the slain behind as they disappeared, leaving Palla to approach Wolf.

"Are you okay, Wolf?" Palla immediately asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her partner did not seem wounded, or even fatigued, but he had been fighting overwhelming odds by himself. She… disliked how Wolf kept meeting odds like that by himself.

"I am fine, Palla." He turned in the direction their enemies had fled, removing Palla's hand from his shoulder. "Those are part of the same group the two of us encountered in Khadein. The ones outside that building. I want to know who they are, should we encounter them again. We're tailing them, Palla."

"I…" Palla started to protest, but quickly shook her head. She didn't want to get into an argument. "Okay, let's follow them carefully. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Wolf glanced at Palla for a second, as if to accuse Palla of being strange. Palla wasn't sure how to respond to the peculiar expression, but Wolf eventually nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Gharnef stood patiently in one of the deepest rooms of the temple, only two elite mages were nearby. His victory had been assured. Marth and Tiki's loyalties would change, completely, in a single hour, he would have his commanders for his assault on Dolhr. After the League was slain, the precious weapons they had collected would go to worthy warriors and mages of his army.<p>

The continent would be in his hands. His rule would be indisputable. He would be as close to the gods as a mortal-born man could ever become. Gharnef smiled, then heard a sound.

Linde walked into the room. The two mages moved to intercept her, she waved her hand and let holy Starlight end the lives of Gharnef's loyalists. Gharnef turned around, regarding the sight in front of him.

"Daughter of Miloah." Gharnef said. "You pursued me."

"Didn't expect that?" Linde asked, a hint of both confidence and anger in her voice.

"Your arrogance blinds you. It is time you came face to face the full power of the Imhullu tome." He raised his hands, letting the shadows collect into his palms. He began to laugh. "I have waited a long time for this moment… my lovely friend." His laughter faded into a smirk. "I have the chance to eliminate Starlight, _and_ the last trace of Miloah, both at the same time. My friend birthed such a considerate daughter, did he not? At last, all who could threaten me will die, and all the power I've ever craved will be in _my_ hands."

"This day won't end like you expect it to. You're going to _die_, Gharnef."

"Oh, really?" Gharnef swung his arm, sending tendrils of Imhullu's shadowy energy toward Linde. The tentacles threatened to pierce her, but she made a single gesture with a finger and a shield of holy light surrounded her.

Aura was holy, so was Starlight. In Linde's hands, it was almost the same spell. Gharnef narrowed his eyes at this development. His eyes glanced to the second exit to the room, he suddenly began to almost fly there, but a blast of Starlight connected to the architecture above the door, blocking the exit with debris.

Gharnef turned to Linde, who wore an arrogant expression. "If you're so powerful, why are you trying to run?"

Shadows built in the room. "You will not be able to stop me. In only an hour, everything will have fallen into perfect place for me. Merely moan in the darkness over what you are helpless to stop." He stretched his arms out, blanketing the room with darkness. It was the same technique he had used to best Merric. Linde raised an arm up and let Starlight illuminate the room, Gharnef gaped as the room never disappeared in darkness.

"An hour is more then enough time to defeat you." Linde clenched a hand, "This is all for Merric, Gharnef. I'll make you regret what you just did to him."

Gharnef fell silent, simply gathering Imhullu's power once again. He summoned the dark skulls, they opened their mouths, opened them so wide that it seemed almost as though the jaws unhinged, and fired the now familiar beam. Linde didn't bother trying to dodge, Starlight protected her with its holy shield, the defense not faltering against Imhullu's power. Gharnef's eyes widened at how the full strength of Imhullu couldn't break through Starlight's power.

"You can't win. Imhullu won't protect you anymore. Your death is something that should have come a long time ago."

The Dark Pontifex growled in an animalistic fashion, a depth of anger he rarely exhibited so clearly. Then, he calmed, and smiled once more. "If I continue to fight like this, no, I won't win. However…" He flexed a finger, and the shadows of Imhullu sprang forth, seeming to devour the debris that had sealed off Gharnef's escape route. "I prepared even for the possibility of you being able to best me, daughter of Miloah. I had some of my men… drag off a certain soldier of the League. Now a close Aurelian friend of yours is just _dying_ to see you."

"Rosh-" Linde stopped, Gharnef took his chance and left through the exit he had just opened. Without a moment's hesitation, Linde followed.

* * *

><p>Linde realized she was at the top of the Temple. There was a throne nearby, the seat of a ruler, or perhaps it was used for some religious purpose. She didn't particularly care right now. She saw Gharnef standing nearby, and… yes, Roshea was right beside him, his hands bound together. He… must have been led into a trap, there's no way Roshea could have ever been defeated by any member of Gharnef's army.<p>

Roshea recognized Linde, but wasn't able to say anything. He glanced at Gharnef, who simply smiled as the two friends were examining each other.

"Do anything, and he dies." Gharnef warned, raising a hand into the air. Shadows appeared and fastened themselves around Roshea's neck, who briefly gagged as though a physical hand had wrapped around his throat. "Merely stand right there, and allow Imhullu to destroy you. If you fight back, the Aurelian dies. If you try to evade, the Aurelian dies. If you call for help, the Aurelian dies."

Roshea looked at Linde, and shook his head. A desperate attempt to tell Linde to not do as Gharnef wanted her to, and that his life was meaningless in the bigger picture. Linde… did exactly what Roshea expected her to do. Do what Gharnef told her to in order to protect her friend.

Gharnef began to laugh, letting the shadows disappear from Roshea's neck as Linde surrendered, just staring at the ground in defeat.

Summoning a demonic skull, Gharnef watched with glee as the beam slammed into Linde. Again and again, he tormented the daughter of his former friend with a torturous barrage. It would have been enough to make any sane person sick.

Roshea began to shake with rage, then turned to Gharnef, he had no weapon, his lance had been taken from him, but still tried to assault the man. He threw his bound arms into the man's head, but Imhullu rebuffed the attack. Gharnef turned to the Aurelian, he blew Roshea away with a force of shadow magic, blowing Roshea off the roof of the Temple. He fell to, both Gharnef and Linde could only presume was the Aurelian's death.

"_Roshea_!" Linde screamed out an anguished cry, Gharnef turned back to the woman just as a mighty blast of Starlight came at him. He raised his hand at once, just barely negating the attack with a quickly generated shield of Imhullu.

He thrust both his hands forward, unleashing the full might of his cursed tome. It was met by Starlight's holy stream. The two powers struggled with each other, neither seemed capable of pushing to the target.

"I am the Dark Pontifex!" Gharnef declared, "I am at the cusp of the realization of my plans. You won't stop me. The White Sage could not stop me, nor could Miloah. Both were so much more then you. Your fate is to fall and crumble upon the gro-" His words suddenly stopped as his hands, which Imhullu was channeling through, suddenly froze, then began to spasm.

"What?" Gharnef felt as though his power was draining away. "W…what's happening?"

* * *

><p>"It is done." Wendell finally said. The Apparatus that gave Gharnef such power now lay dormant, and would never be active again. Wendell was well pleased that Gharnef's end was now certain, but… only to himself would he admit that a part of him ached to know what he had just destroyed. The knowledge of civilization of Thabes, gone by his own hand.<p>

* * *

><p>"Power… wanes…" Gharnef felt more then half of his strength leave him. He… his chance of victory had disappeared. Starlight began to beat back Imhullu, reaching him and snuffing out the power coursing through his hands, then smothering him in its holy power. He could feel it ravaging the flesh that had come to enjoy the feel of Imhullu's foul magic. It took several long moments, but the light eventually dispersed, leaving a crippled and dying man behind.<p>

"The continent ruled by me… has been lost." He coughed, glaring at Linde. If only he had known of a daughter of Miloah ahead of time. He could have snuffed this threat out before it ripened, everything would have gone as he would have had it. Now, his victory had been snatched from his eager hands, too focused on the end result that he had allowed something to go unnoticed. He thought back to Xemcel's words from several hours ago. "Just like the Hand of Medeus said, my existence is no longer needed. But… though my body may die, my spirit will continue. My time in this world… does not end, today."

"You're _dead_, Gharnef."

"We'll meet again, daughter of Miloah." Gharnef continued, "Not beyond the veil, but… in this world. I look forward… to seeing you… again." Gharnef smiled as his very skin cracked, as if a thousand years passed in the span of mere moments for him. He collapsed, his body failing, rapidly turning to dust, so quickly that there was not a face to slam into the stone floor. All that was left was a tattered robe to be carried away by the wailing wind.

"…Roshea." Linde began to walk forward, Gharnef may have been killed, but her heart was too heavy. This victory had ended up being so painful, the fact that Gharnef's death had saved Marth and Tiki from… whatever it was the man had done, offered her no solace. Not when one of her friends was effectively broken somewhere in the Temple, and the other was likely dead. Stooping down, she slowly took the divine blade, Falchion, from the ground. The blade felt oddly warm, as if it was trying to soothe her. No comfort came to her, she doubted she could ever be comforted again.

She paid no attention to the dark colored sphere that had fallen from Gharnef's robe.

* * *

><p>"Prince… Marth…" Linde approached the Altean prince after the battle's conclusion. She held Falchion, but seemed to have no joy in being able to return the blade to the prince. "It… it's only thanks to Roshea, and his… sacrifice, that I can give this to you."<p>

Marth looked at the blade, taking it from Linde, feeling a chill go down his spine as he took the nostalgic weapon into his hand. He lifted it experimentally, then made a few swings, not used to a weapon that was more built for swinging then thrusting. Slowly, he put it away. "If it's because of Roshea that we were able to get it back, we should thank him."

Linde almost looked like she was on the verge of tears. "There… there'll only be a splatter to thank, prince Marth. Gharnef… threw him off the edge of the Temple. He's…"

"Had we found him any later, he probably would have died." Marth admitted. He waited for Linde to look at him again, her expression quizzical, but she also looked like she felt that Marth was making a cruel joke. "We're lucky that Father Wrys was the one who found him. Roshea is quite alive, Linde. It'll take some time before he's fighting again, but there's no threat to his life."

"I…" the sorrow drifted away from Linde's heart for a moment, and she suddenly grabbed Marth by the shoulders. "T-tell me that's not a joke. Roshea is alive?"

"And safe. Along with Merric. You can go see them." He gestured to the side at a small tent that had been erected within the temple.

"Please… tell me…" Linde swallowed, then began to move toward the tent. She hoped to see both of them well, but… just seeing a couple of corpses was a possibility that she could not chase out of her mind.

Marth took out Falchion again, focusing more on the weapon. It had been stolen from his father's corpse, now it was in his hands, returned to where it belonged. He felt like the weapon has placed a burden on him, like it was only know that he understood the fate that had been tossed at his feet. Marth assumed a battle posture and imagined a Manakete in front of him. He imagined striking across the Manakete's strong leg muscles and sinking it into the dragon's chest. He felt a shiver go down him, and felt the burden of destiny more so now then ever before.

Jagen stood nearby, looking at Marth's practice swings. As he looked at the sight, his skin prickled. Marth finally looked like a younger Cornelius. The swordplay perfectly mimicked Cornelius' own, and at the same time, was perhaps more refined, and greater. Jagen was well aware that some of Marth's earliest memories were of Cornelius' swordplay, which charmed Marth with the idea of becoming a swordsman himself.

As he watched it, it was as though the passing of years coursed through Jagen. He suddenly felt the weight of age, and felt so terribly old, having seen Marth since his first days of swordplay. Now the prince was one of the continent's elite.

One injustice had been corrected. Falchion was back with Marth. Now it was time to address another. He turned to Jagen. "Begin the search for Elice, my sister. The White Sage said she was here. I want her found, now."

Jagen nodded, returning his thoughts to the here and now. "All soldiers on duty will begin searching immediately. If she is here, we _will_ find her."

* * *

><p>Documents lined the walls of the room that Wolf and Palla found themselves in. They both took the time to read several of them before they stopped. Each paper was essentially the same. They were documentation of assassination orders. Gharnef had spent a great amount of time killing off potential rivals and replacing them with those more… in-line with his desires. Palla was clearly sickened by the words contained in these papers, Wolf began to look for any documents that looked out of place.<p>

There was never any word that Gharnef had assassins like this. He seemed to have even slipped such information past Aurelian scouts. Wolf didn't like it. He disliked being in the dark about anything. He continued to look, and found one document that looked noticeably different. Examining the contents, it was a very in-depth recording of some very early jobs, probably dating to back before Gharnef slew Miloah and took over Khadein. It seemed to have been penned by Gharnef himself.

Yet the most important thing to Wolf, was a name contained in the paper. Someone Gharnef was speaking of as if this person was the leader of the assassins.

"Eremiya." Wolf said once, recognizing it as the name that one of his enemies had half-spoken in Khadein. He sensed no one nearby, but got the undeniable sensation that he was being watched. Gharnef was gone, and his army of mages were decimated, his assassins, however, had fled. They were still out there, somewhere…

* * *

><p>"You two." Linde walked into the tent, seeing Merric sitting in a chair, no shadowy burns upon him, and clearly completely healthy. In the bed was Roshea, awake and smirking. It looked like the two might have been making bets as to how worried Linde must have been.<p>

The weight on her heart lifted, she took in a breath as her stomach began to calm. She slowly smiled as her apprehension wafted away.

"Took out Gharnef, did you?" Merric smirked, then shrugged. "There goes _my_ ticket to fame."

"Can't believe that happened." Roshea muttered. "I followed an enemy into a dead-end, I thought I had him cornered. I had been baited into a trap. Because of that, everything got more complicated for you then it needed to be. I'm… sorry, for that."

Linde took a seat near the bed, placing a hand on Roshea's forehead. "Both of you are alive and safe. I'm satisfied and happy." Some of her body was still numb from stress and worry, the feeling was starting to ebb, but some more time would pass before it would disappear entirely. She looked at both of them, and there was something she was compelled to say.

"When I fought Gharnef, I didn't think much of my father." Linde admitted. "A little, but… when I fought them, the most important thing to me was…" She took in a breath as she prepared to speak. She leaned back so she could be speaking to both of them at the same time. "You two. I just… wanted to keep you two safe. Nothing in all of the continent seemed more important then that. I didn't want Gharnef to lay a hand on either of you. Though, he came close to killing _both_ of you today."

"Close, but he didn't do it." Merric chimed in cheerfully. Roshea was silent, still bothered by the situation he had gotten into. A silence crept in, Linde seemed happy to again be in the company of those she could have lost forever, and didn't mind the moment without words.

Merric seemed to have forgotten, but Linde recalled Gharnef's words about the 'seed' he had put in Marth and Tiki. By killing Gharnef, she had saved both of them… and in turn, probably the entire League. She would keep that prideful fact to herself.

* * *

><p>"She's been found." Sedgar said to Marth, speaking of Elice. "Up in the tower. She's in a cell, she's being brought down by princess Minerva and Coyote, and she's-" He stopped talking as he noticed them coming. He stepped back while crossing his arms, letting Marth move ahead.<p>

"Elice!" Marth couldn't well define the emotion he felt when he saw his sister. She looked, her face looked unchanged from the day the castle fell. Yet her dress… she looked as though she was still wearing the same dress she wore on that day. Now it was tattered, torn, and looked completely unsanitary to wear. It was only a shame that Gharnef was now dead, and he didn't have a still living target to direct indignation toward.

"Marth." Elice let out a sight of peace at the familiar face, she walked forward and immediately embraced the brother who she had been separated from for far too long. "You're safe."

Standing only a few feet away, Minerva saw the reunion of the Altean siblings. A brother and a sister being happily reunited… it hurt her more then words could ever convey. Her thoughts drifted to Michalis, and she wished her reunion with Michalis could have been so joyous. Fate treated some families more pleasantly then others.

"Are you okay, Elice?" Marth looked at her. She seemed to have no physical wounds, but the fact that she had been held prisoner for so long seemed to have affected her. He could see wounds more… mental, on her.

"I am fine, Marth." She moved to calm any concerns or worries of Marth's. Releasing him, she stepped back and looked him over. "A ripped apart dress is all that's different about me, but look at you. A man and not a boy. You've grown into father's equal. The… Archanean League, they called it, has a fine leader." She pushed at one part of his hip, back in Castle Altea, the last time they had been face to face, this part of him had been wounded by a Gra soldier, it was fine now.

"I… guess." Marth felt a little uncomfortable at the praise. Elice complimenting him on his swordsmanship was nothing new, being complimented about his leadership skills, or what be matured into, however…

Elice smiled gently. "You've collected all those on the continent capable of fighting against Dolhr."

"If it was just Altea, I don't think I would have even made it to Aurelis. I've found trusted allies, and people I owe my life to several times over."

His sister nodded, she turned to Catria standing nearby. Clearly a bodyguard of Marth's. "I am indebted to anyone who had protected and sheltered my brother." She bowed her head, which seemed to only make Catria grow nervous. Elice turned to Minerva and Hardin, making the same gesture to both of them. After a moment, she turned back to Marth. "You are heading to Dolhr next, aren't you?"

"Yes. Falchion is with me now, and all of Dolhr's allies have been defeated. Now is the time to end the war."

Elice nodded, taking a moment to look at the sword Marth had in his holster, replacing his usual Rapier. "Tell me, Marth. Do you know about the staff of Aum?"

"Of course. You told me about it." He recalled, with slight exasperation, how much of a bookworm Elice was. "The staff can revive the dead. Even if they've been dead for years."

"It's in Dolhr." Elice said suddenly and plainly. "The staff of Aum was held by the Manaketes. I know the entire reason I was spared was because they wanted me to use it. The staff can only be used by women of royal blood. The idea of a descendent of Anri being the one to use the staff for Dolhr was probably an appealing idea to Medeus."

Marth understood entirely. "Dolhr must not continue to hold the staff, then. When we go there, we have to take the staff."

"Yes." Elice couldn't keep herself from smiling. Marth was so much more assertive then she remembered. He would be a fine guardian of the Altean people.

"We'll have to ready ourselves immediately." He looked at Elice. "Um… maybe you should…"

"Get myself ready." She walked past Marth, he clearly felt awkward to be outright commanding his older sister. "I'll be fine when the time comes."

* * *

><p>"Princess Caeda of Talys." Elice saw the woman in front of her, right by the Pegasus. "More then anyone else, I'm indebted to you, for sheltering Marth, and giving him support when I couldn't."<p>

Caeda smiled. "I remembered him from an old celebration between Altea, Talys, and Gra, but my father is more then one you should be thanking." It had been a long time since she thought about her father, her full attention having to always be on the war, and Marth's safety. For a moment, she wondered how things were like back in Talys.

"Of course." Elice looked at Caeda's face. "Before I forget, princess Caeda, I've only been with the League for an hour at best, but I've already heard about what's going on between you and Marth." She took a step forward, almost seeming to be studying Caeda's face, Elice's own face suddenly seemingly unfriendly.

_Uh-oh_. Caeda realized that she was being judged as to whether or not she was worthy of Marth. Elice, she suspected, was a very harsh judge when it came to which women would get close to Marth. Elice circled around her, seemingly taking note of everything about the island princess, her expression shifting randomly from being disappointed to being pacified.

"We'll see." Elice finally said after an unnerving silence. "For the time being, we have the final battle ahead of us to focus on."

"Of… course." Caeda said in a slightly rattled voice. "I'll do fine to protect and help Marth in the final battle."

* * *

><p>"It's almost hard to believe." Marth thought about it. Dolhr was all that was left in this war. When it first started, the Manakete nation had so many allies, but now… once it would have seemed laughable for things to turn around for Dolhr like this.<p>

So many lives had been cut brutally short. His parents among them, along with Nyna's, and so many peasants caught in the middle.

"We'll be fighting Dolhr soon. Hardin." The Aurelian prince gave Marth his undivided attention. "I know today's battle had been trying. Encourage everyone to rest. There's not much left to this war, but the most important battles are still ahead of us."

"Yes, Marth. Be sure to think long and hard about the burden destiny placed on you." Hardin turned away, knowing exactly what Marth was thinking. "We must all be ready, with all doubts pushed from our minds. The battle that will decide the fate of the continent is upon us."

Marth's thoughts drifted to his father. This was the battle that Cornelius had marched off to fight, but it would be his son who truly fought it. Moreso then fulfill his destiny, Marth felt the urge to make his father's spirit proud. With Falchion in hand, he intended to do just that.

* * *

><p><strong>As you can likely tell, the female archer is the KuraineKleine girl, and the masked axeman is Roro. My characterization of them is kind of a shot in the dark, and I may have made them OOC in some manner.**

**Anyway, off to the final battles in Dolhr. Please review.**


	39. The Tower

**I have a particular vision for the final battle. That vision will require Shadow Dragon's 24x to be done before 24.**

**Seeing as they have both Tiki and Falchion, I had to come up with a different way for them to go to the tower. Hopefully it doesn't come off as too clunky.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The land that rejected life. The ground that accepted only those who despised everything, the domain of the destroyers. The land of Dolhr, territory of the Manaketes. After so much time, the League was finally here.<p>

It was a lot more… serene, then Gordin would have ever expected. As the League readied themselves for the final battle, he took a chance to sit on the grass and examine the land of Dolhr. For the land ruled by the Manaketes, who despised everything about humans and the human nations, the land was remarkably peaceful looking. Between the tree line, the forests, the rivers, it was hauntingly similar to Altea. There were even blooming flowers. He took a certain solace in it, a part of him felt like he was back in Altea. At the same time, he knew just how different it was.

A line of corpses impaled on pikes near most of the permanent structures made that fact quite clear. The land itself may have been pleasant to look at, but those who controlled the land had made their brutal mark on it. Many of the permanent structures were apparently not maintained at all, and looked like they would crumble if anyone messed with them. Gordin suspected that many of the buildings has been built even before the ancient war between Anri and Medeus. By human slaves.

"Hey." Gordin's shoulders arched, he looked up to see Norne standing by him. "What are you doing?"

She sat down beside him. Gordin looked back at the land of Dolhr. "Just… thinking about where we are. In some ways, its just like what Altea was when it was beautiful, but… its different in a lot of ways too." He continued to look around, some parts of Dolhr really reminded him so much of Altea. He wasn't sure if he should be relaxed or chilled by that fact. This was the land of the enemy, and yet… it was so similar to his homeland. He wondered if any of the soldiers who hailed from different lands saw any similarities. "I never thought I would ever come here. There was once I time I thought I had no chance of escaping the castle when Gra betrayed us." His head sunk down as he reflected on that dark day, so long ago, but eternally fresh in his mind. "If I had hid in a different tower when Castle Altea fell, if prince Marth had used a different route to reach the harbor… if anything had been different, I'd have never come here. I'd have never… met you."

Norne turned to Gordin, who seemed to be offering a thankful prayer of how things had gone. It wasn't perfect, the amount of lives lost meant that things had not gone in a 'good' way, but things seemed to have turned out well enough in the end. Norne leaned over to him. "No, we'd have met no matter how things would have gone." One arm snaked around Gordin's hip, to his great discomfort. "You and I were meant to be together."

"Uh…" Gordin felt Norne start to push herself onto him. "I… don't like to feel as though we wouldn't have met." He had only known Norne for a small part of his life, but the idea of being separated from the girl was an… exceedingly unpleasant suggestion. But it was inevitable, wasn't it? After the war, he'd return to the castle as a knight, Norne would go back to her village. He didn't want to think about it, but it was an eventual fact. Even if Norne would be an honored war veteran, she wouldn't be able to just waltz into the castle.

Hesitantly, he put one arm around the girl who he likely would not see very much of after the war. "More then anything else, I want you to live past this battle."

She grabbed the arm trying to get around her and held it close. "The same. I couldn't go on if you died. That's why you need to live." They both looked at each other. Norne smiled. "We'll win, and we'll both survive. That's not me being optimistic, that's fact." Norne stood up. Gordin emulated her, looking as though Norne's confidence was inspiring confidence in him.

"Let's get ready for this." Gordin wondered if some of Norne's personality was rubbing off, but he felt uncharacteristically enthusiastic and fired up about this. A member of the army poised to bring an end to the entire war… he couldn't deny that he was honestly excited for this battle.

* * *

><p>Elice stood in a clean, white dress. Comfortably soft, reminiscent of what she used to wear. A big improvement over the tattered and torn remains of a dress that she was confined to as a prisoner in Thabes.<p>

They were waiting outside of Dolhr Keep, Elice hadn't handled the marching too well. Everyone else was used to moving like this, she wasn't accustomed to any kind of traveling that wasn't done by horseback. At the same time, she knew how important this was, and forced herself to keep going.

As she continued to move, a gentle breeze caressed her face and soothed her muscles. It was a familiar sensation of wind tickling her face, and she turned to her old friend.

"Merric." She looked at her old friend, the source of the pleasing wind, as he sauntered right next to her. Her breathing relaxed. "It's been too long."

"Last I saw you was months before the castle fell." Merric chimed, his cheerfulness was nostalgic for Elice, and a refreshing change from all the stoic faces of the League. At the very least, before they descended upon Dolhr, there was someone who was smiling.

Elice reached a hand out and laid it on Merric's shoulder. "You've been protecting Marth. I couldn't thank you enough for that."

Merric's grin grew wider. "Let me do you one better. Please stand back, I'll handle any Dolhrians before they get to you."

The Altean princess blinked at the vow of protection, then could not contain herself. She tried, and failed, to hold in her laughter.

"Hey… I was being quite serious."

Elice brought a hand up to her mouth and managed to silence her amusement. "S-sorry, it's just, I remember you best as a delicate thing. Remember how often I had to watch over you when you got yourself hurt?"

"That's not…" Merric's grin faded, he looked at Elice as she began to smirk. He began to wear a indignant, offended look, but conceded. "Yes, yes I do. I recall that you had to do the same with prince Marth a lot, too."

"Yes, you and him were really… something. It's like you two were in a lifelong competition to find the most illogical and unnecessarily difficult way to do everything."

Merric seethed quietly. He could recall Elice always trying to lecture him and Marth in a composed manner after such a misadventure, and promptly exploding when one of them invariably rolled his eyes. Elice's adult composure shattering to reveal a childish indignation, whilst Marth and Merric would smirk at each other at how easy getting Elice angry was.

"Now look at you, both of you. Assertive, intelligent, and heroes of the entire continent. Completely unlike the trouble-makers of the past." She smiled in hopes of placating Merric's obviously now annoyed demeanor. "But you don't have to pretend. It's not in Marth's character to slaughter, and it's not in yours to mow down enemies. And… I really prefer it that way."

Merric gulped as Elice moved closer to him. The princess' hand wrapped around Merric's, and they stood together for a long moment.

Standing not far away, Linde looked at the mage and the princess with a clear look of agitation. Her arms crossed, she was glaring at Elice as she held hands with Merric. They were standing in the land of the enemy, the ones who instigated this entire nightmare, and Linde was more fixated on Merric then on the Keep in the distance. Her friend seemed happy to be reunited with an old friend of his own, but the reunion only made Linde grow apprehensive at how… close, they seemed.

Roshea was standing right beside Linde, looking at the same sight without much concern. Honestly, he was pleased that his friend seemed to be happy. Linde uncrossed her arms and suddenly grabbed the Aurelian by the shoulder, as if Elice was some hungry animal, and Linde needed to state ownership of what she still had. Roshea grunted in discomfort at the grip, strong enough to hurt his shoulder through the armor. The plating on his shoulder might have even been cracking. The Aurelian looked at Merric and Elice again, and as he slowly started to sense why Linde had grabbed him, a strong feeling built in his gut.

…_is it, Merric, that she wants to be with?_

He blinked as the feeling suddenly spiked… and began to hurt. It felt like a mental punch to his stomach as he saw the reason for Linde's sudden jealousy of Elice. Roshea turned his head, looking in the direction of Dolhr Keep, and tried to shut everything out for a moment. Like so often before, Wolf's words of self-control and pushing feelings aside came back to him. They only consoled him enough to not make an outburst right then and there.

"Roshea?" Linde had turned back to Roshea with a cross expression, possibly about to say something, related to Merric, no doubt. She found the Aurelian looking away, and whatever words she had planned to say disappeared. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. Linde, with a hand already on Roshea's shoulder, turned him until he was looking at her.

"Nothing… is wrong." He muttered, not looking straight at Linde. Suddenly, Linde's fingers landed near Roshea's eyes. It took a force of will for him to not jerk back.

"Your face says otherwise." Linde looked over her shoulder at Elice and Merric, not forgetting about those two, but shaking her head and returned to the friend that was obviously troubled. "You look like you're ready to break down."

"I…" Roshea wasn't aware of how plain it was on his face. He wished he could be as impassive as Wolf. He looked at Linde and, no matter how sympathetic and worried she seemed, he could not tell _her_ what was troubling him. "I'll… I'll be fine for the battle with Dolhr. I can sort out my problem, after we defeat the Manaketes."

"We'll fight better if we can be focused entirely on the battle. Can you… tell me what's bothering you?"

The temptation to tell her was there, but he knew he shouldn't, he couldn't. It would only make their interaction grow awkward and cold, now that Roshea plainly saw who Linde favored. "Linde, it's… something I can only tell myself. I have to confront this by myself."

Linde didn't seem content with the reply, and actually looked slightly annoyed with the stubbornness. She sensed that Roshea was trying avoid a discussion. For now, she decided to concede. "Well, Roshea, if you change your mind before the battle starts, I'm all ears. For now, I… need to concentrate. All I have to ask is that you… don't die."

There was one small moment where Roshea thought he was about to be pulled into a hug, but Linde, her hands lingering for just a moment, let go. He felt relieved, but a subtle trace of disappointment was in the back of his mind as well, like a slow acting poison. Linde took a second to look at Merric and Elice again, their moment together had ended and Elice was walking off, for that Linde was soothed. At the very least, it was her, not Elice, that Merric would be fighting alongside of.

For this final battle, Linde wouldn't be using Aura. Though she had every intention to continue to honor her father by continuing to use the tome, for this battle she would use Starlight instead. It was, admittedly, much more viable a tome then Starlight was. After the battle with Gharnef the tome remained in her hands. Though its primary function had been to defeat Gharnef, it would prove a valuable asset against the Manaketes as well.

* * *

><p>His cape blew in the Dolhrian air, he could hardly believe where he was standing. Marth was now in Dolhr, the place where all the madness started. He was looking at Dolhr Keep, and somewhere inside was Medeus, the cause of all this devastation and chaos. Had Medeus not risen, Cornelius, his father, would still be alive, Minerva and Michalis wouldn't have needed to fight, Nyna's parents wouldn't have been hung…<p>

He had spoken little to Nyna since the battle with Camus. On the occasions that he had seen her, she looked haunted, like a priest whose faith had disappeared, like a person who would never smile again. Marth doubted that there would be any genuine smiles from the Archanean princess for a long time to come.

"Mar-Mar?" Tiki cocked her head with curiosity. "Are we going?"

"Yes, Tiki." He took in a slow breath, looking at the stronghold of the Shadow Dragon. A very intimidating structure, punctuated by intimidating rising spikes. It exuded an almost palpable malice, as though simply entering the structure could make someone go mad, and Marth had every intention of entering the Keep. Falchion rested untested in its sheath, waiting to be used for the purpose it was crafted for.

It was… smaller then he expected. The one that all this madness came from might as well have been hiding in a bunker. It was small, though surrounded by jagged mountains on all sides, and it couldn't possibly hold many troops. A very underwhelming sight, and somehow disconcerting. He almost felt like he was looking at the wrong structure. "The less chance we give Medeus to rally an army, the better. We should strike as soon as possible."

"I wouldn't worry about that." Hardin stepped forward, Gradivus in his hand. He looked at Dolhr, both the Keep in front of him, and all the land around him. There was one thing to take notice of, the land seemed devoid of both humans and Manaketes. It was like Dolhr was completely uninhabited. It was enough to make one wonder if _this_ was really where the instigators of the entire crisis dwelt. "Dolhr is not great in number, that is why the only place we have encountered them before was in the Archanean Palace and Castle Altea. They don't have the numbers to create a proper army, and no matter how much time we give them, they can't gather enough to create an army that could threaten us. Only the Manaketes, who are not great in number, pose a threat. To strike sooner is better, but there is little the enemy can do if we take the time to prepare."

Marth listened to all the words and nodded. They made sense, he saw no flaws in them. "Then we will strike sooner, Hardin. Not to risk making an error in judgment with rashness, but now that I'm here, my wish is to end this war now. A war that no one wanted in the first place."

"I understand completely, Marth." Hardin agreed. "The soldiers are ready to move at anytime. Merely give the order and we can bring all this to an end."

"So, when do we go, Mar-Mar?" Tiki asked innocently. "I'm read-" her words suddenly cut off. She stood erect, frozen in place.

"Is something wrong, Tiki?" Marth began to slowly turn to the girl, confused as to why she stopped talking so abruptly. He saw Tiki frozen in a neutral standing position. On reflex she moved to the girl and knelt down to get level.

"Tiki?" He placed a hand on the little girl's cheek, but she didn't move in response to the touch. The girl's eyes were like plain green orbs in her head. They did not dart in any direction with Tiki's usual curiosity.

For a brief moment, there was a flicker of movement in Tiki's lips. Slowly, she began to talk. "Nearby… Clan…" Words slowly came from her, they sounded forced, and the voice did not sound as youthful as it used to be.

"_The tower, Marth._" Gotoh's voice suddenly surged through the prince's mind.

"White Sage Gotoh?"

Hardin turned to Marth, then back to Tiki. "Marth, what's going on?"

"I don't…" Marth began before trailing off. "White Sage, what's happening?"

"_There was a… precaution, Marth._" Gotoh's voice spoke eloquently. What he had put into Tiki in Macedon had taken root. He was pleased, but kept what he did to himself. "_Something to tip the scales in humanity's balance. A final weapon against Dolhr. Tiki, in her current state, shall lead you to it._"

Marth looked at Tiki, the once childish exuberance gone, replaced by a coldly obedient vessel. For a moment, he was repulsed at how the little girl had been reduced to a pawn guide, but turned his attention back to Gotoh. The White Sage had humanity's best interests at heart, and it would serve no one for Marth to become indignant with the man. "This weapon… was kept in Dolhr?"

"_No._" Marth sensed that Gotoh shook his head. "_It is not in this world. It's in a space crafted by the Divine Clan, of which Tiki is a part of. She will lead the League to it, a realm that has been untouched by those of this world since its creation._"

"How will she-" Marth began to ask, and then a light appeared from Tiki. He turned his attention to the girl, a bright light began to sprout from her. Like a dome enlarging, it grew, enveloping Tiki and extending outward from her.

"_Do not be afraid. The light will bring you to your destination. Do not resist being taken._"

Something he was so unfamiliar with, it was understandable that Marth was apprehensive. Still, he did just as the White Sage instructed. Hardin looked at Marth, seeing that the Altean did not plan to flee, then held his ground as well. He placed his trust into the comrade who had a only marginally better understanding then he. The Aurelian prince exuded nothing but honest calmness as the light took over them both.

Slowly the light grew, there were several gasps throughout the camp, some tried to flee and were engulfed. Others stood in disbelief as the light covered them. Within only minutes, the entire Archanean League was within the light, and the light suddenly vanished. Every tree, blade of grass, rock and pebble was left as it were. The League, however, was gone, as though they had never been on the plains of Dolhr.

* * *

><p>"Hand." Medeus sat on his throne, calmly assessing the throne room, and the situation Dolhr was in. Gharnef was defeated now, and Falchion had returned to the spawn of Anri. Inconsequential. Though Falchion may be back in the hands of that bloodline, the end result would be the same. Despite the fact that many of the Manaketes felt they were in the midst of a crisis, Medeus remained calm, and his reassuring indifference was a great source of confidence for his Empire. He surveyed those present in the throne room, those ready to rise up, fight, and die for him. Necessary sacrifices to returning the world to its natural state, and he would not mourn necessary losses.<p>

Xemcel was in a kneeling posture, but his head raised at Medeus' summon. Khozen and Bulzark, to his left and right, were still in a bowed posture.

"Report. The League, where are they?"

The Mage Dragon looked slightly concerned for a moment. "Unknown status, Emperor. They vanished from the fields of Dolhr overlooking the Keep under what looked like a large sphere of light. What is happening, where they are now… I don't know."

The normally impassive and unshakable Xemcel held a slight bit of concern in his tone. Though he had proven competent enough to be entitled to many, many second chances with Medeus, he still feared failing the Emperor in any regard. Furthermore, he was not used to scouting operations resulting in unclear data, and that fact unsettled him greatly.

Medeus did not berate Xemcel, as the Mage Dragon feared. Rather, his long fingers scratched agitatedly at his golden throne, making easily visible marks on the armrests of the throne. Medeus' eyes twinkled with a deep knowing expression, but also with a glint of anger.

"I sense the hands of the Divine Clan." Medeus said, a subtle but powerful bite in his words. "Prepare yourself, my Hand. They will be back soon, perhaps stronger then before."

Xemcel bowed his head. "Yes, my Emperor."

"Rise." Medeus ordered in a commanding tone. Xemcel did as instructed. "Take the human pawns, stand ready for the League's return. Herd the spawn to me, and may we finally see the last wielder of Falchion perish."

* * *

><p>Marth's skin prickled as he slowly came to be able to see again. For a moment, he wondered if he had gone mad. He looked above him, energy swirled in indescribable ways, forming strange arcane clouds of power, as if Marth was looking into the source of all magic. Meanwhile, he noticed that he, and the rest of the League, was standing on a path of land, seemingly made of soft dirt but did not crumble under Marth's feet, that was suspended in the air. The ground continued, snaking its way to an intimidating tower of an architectural design Marth had never seen before.<p>

"Prince Marth, what's happening?" Malledus suddenly asked, looking over the edge, seeing what seemed to be chunks of buildings swirling beneath. They looked like pieces from castles, Malledus could pick out what looked like parts of chapels and what looked to be a mostly intact soldier barrack. Such large pieces intermingled with smaller, lesser objects swirling around. To the elderly tactician, it was as if they had fallen into a realm of madness.

"This… is all new territory for me." Marth told Malledus, entirely honest in his words. The words did not have the usual confidence in them. "However, it was the White Sage who sent us here. To find…" he looked to the distance. "A final weapon against Dolhr. Somewhere in that tower."

Malledus moved beside Marth and looked at the gestured at tower. It rose high, piercing through the strange swirling clouds of energy that blanketed the sky above. Malledus could not say for sure if he could see even half of the tower before the rest was obscured by the unnatural clouds.

Tiki walked forward, Marth slowly reached a hand out, then saw that she still had the same blank green eyes.

"_She will lead you, Marth. Follow the Divine Dragon._"

For a brief moment, Marth did not like the White Sage and his seeming indifference toward Tiki's right of free will, but nevertheless followed, doing as instructed. Signaling the rest of the League to follow, Marth stayed behind the seemingly emotionless Tiki, being careful to stay near the center of the path. He did not want to think about what would happen if he or anyone fell into that yawning void.

* * *

><p>The insides of the tower… were a lot more cold then Marth would have expected. His thought was that a place left behind by the Divine Clan would be flourished and formal, even if none had come here for scores, or even centuries worth of years. He expected to see clear signs of who had once been here. Rather then seeing the remains of old experiments and arcane artifacts everywhere, as he expected, he instead saw nothing but smooth gray walls. He couldn't describe the walls in detail, due to a lack of anything noteworthy on them. They were smooth and metal, and that was all.<p>

Elsewhere, the interior of the tower seemed just as cold. The only light came from the torches lining the walls, illuminating long metal passages just as featureless as the walls. As he saw how… uninteresting, the majority of the tower's interior was, he felt inclined to say that, if anything, the building was more like a…

"Storehouse." Hardin said at Marth's side, finishing Marth's thought for him. "Whatever we're being led to, it's… at the top of this storehouse tower?"

By Marth's best guess, that was the case. Somewhere at the top of the tower was what Gotoh wanted them to find. What this final weapon was… Marth wasn't sure if it was a sword, or a tome, or something else entirely.

Tiki, still warped by whatever had affected her, continued to walk. Marth began to follow her, not because she was his guide, but because Tiki's welfare was important to him. He would have continued to her shadow, but a sword suddenly swung through the air with lethal intent, and might have claimed his life if he hadn't jumped back at the last moment.

The assailant stepped out. Marth looked at the man in front of him. Clearly a human. Perhaps it was someone who had found and then gotten trapped in this… world. Or some kind of… world traveling thief. There were many possibilities as to who and what this person was…

Marth looked at the armor the man wore over a clearly bulky body and tried to determine the man's allegiance. As he tried to study and analyze what he was seeing, almost perfectly identical looking men were appearing and rallying to this one enemy. Suddenly Marth realized what these people were.

"Guards." He saw the gait they walked with, and a hint of refinement in their handles of their swords and lances.

"I do not recognize that insignia." Minerva said, straining her eyes and looking at a design on the chest of the figures. The strange emblem, it was like nothing she had ever seen. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that these enemies were completely unassociated with the conflict that had scarred every corner of the continent.

"They are the ones between us and the final weapon Gotoh described." Marth readied himself, and noticed that these guards had no eyes for Tiki. The girl was able to walk right past them, they even moved out of the way so she could pass. Tiki left the room, disappearing from Marth's view as she began to ascend up the tower. Marth took out Falchion, it would be his first true test with the weapon. The fang of Naga in the form of a sword was in the hands it belonged in, now those hands would understand what it was like to hold a weapon of legend. "If they're between us and whatever it is the White Sage wanted us to find, we have to take them down."

These guardians, they were just like those from the Fane of Raman, where Marth had found Tiki. They were servants of the Divine Clan, but that didn't mean that they weren't ready to kill the League, and the League wasn't ready to die.

Marth, holding the divine blade in hand, charged forward. Holy Falchion… simply tore through the armor of his enemies, with greater ease then his familiar Rapier ever did. He wondered if… for just a moment, recognition of the divine blade was in the eyes of this Divine guard. If they did recognize it, they gave no indication, and the ones in the room fell quickly, maybe Hardin or Jagen managed to kill one enemy before they all fell to Falchion's flash.

Marth held his sword, waiting for another enemy to show himself. None did. Marth relaxed his posture, remaining wary. A display like that would have had him breathing hard in the past, this one seemed to not exert him at all now. It was like Falchion was feeding him energy… that idea rattled him somewhat, but he simply sheathed the weapon of his bloodline as if nothing was wrong.

"Our objective is to find Tiki and reach the top of the tower. Our enemies are people who have been guarding this tower in this… world, since before any of us were born, most likely. Defeat them and scale the tower. Move now!"

* * *

><p>The League moved on Marth's order. The tower was very spacious, the entire League, which was certainly not small in number, could fit on the ground floor. Marth gave the order to move forward.<p>

A smaller force would have been able to scale this place much more quickly. Nevertheless, the League began to move, scaling staircases and upward slopes that snaked around the interior edge of the tower. Many of the rooms they came across were filled with the Guardians. The League met them in combat. The Guardians were skilled, those trusted by the Divine Clan to protect a weapon to use against Dolhr would be, Marth figured. Yet they seemed to be little match for the League, the way they fought, their formation, they seemed more built to stop lone agents from entering.

These Guardians, Marth realized, were likely here in the tower specifically to stop anyone loyal to Dolhr from ever reaching the top. The League wasn't Dolhr, but… this was necessary. He wasn't going to stop, not when the final weapon to use against Dolhr was ahead of him.

As they climbed higher up the tower, they caught no sign of Tiki. Instead, they met increasingly thick groups of Guardians, groups that seemed ready to meet more organized and militant intruders. Some of them were led by Manaketes, dragons that utilized fire in a bid to halt the League's advance. Occasionally they met what Marth presumed was a rarer breed, Manaketes that released magical energy, like the Manakete that had stolen the throne of Castle Altea.

Ferocious creatures, it was fortunate that they were few in number. At the same time, the League's encounters with the dragons had also been few in number. These enemies were nothing the League couldn't handle, and… they would provide some valuable experience for the next fight, on the plains of Dolhr. Though Marth had a thread of guilt in the back of his head for doing this, he was thankful for this opportunity.

Dragons fell, dozens of wounds across their scaly hides and softer underbellies. Arrows sunk in through the cracks that revealed soft flesh, swords and axes crushing their way through the scales to reach what would truly pain these creatures. The strong muscles that powered the dragon's legs failed, they collapsed on the ground, weapons lethally ripping through their skin until they fell motionless. Some died with less wounds then others, others were in a state of grotesque dismemberment. One, with a tongue protruding from its dead mouth, had almost had its head severed from the neck.

Marth looked above, they had climbed a considerable distance, the top of the tower shouldn't be far, though it was impossible to tell just how far he had climbed. It, at least _felt_ like he had traveled a great distance upward. The lack of windows of any sort made it impossible to determine exactly how far they had climbed.

* * *

><p>Tiki stood at the top of the tower, looking at a single slab of stone in the middle of the uppermost room. The stone… somewhat resembled a crypt. She remained almost emotionless, but… a look of something resembling apprehension started to crease her face.<p>

It only _resembled_ apprehension, in her condition she couldn't truly feel anything.

A ghostly hand appeared on her shoulder. "_Do not fear, Tiki._"Gotoh spoke from across a great distance. "_You shall come to no harm. Yet it is time to understand that you are not the owner of the last trace of your clan. There is another, your time with this other remnant will be brief, but…_" Gotoh nodded as a ghostly apparition of himself stood next to Tiki. Only a projection of the White Sage, he was not truly beside her. "_Marth will be here soon, Tiki. Then you will wake up. You still have a role to play in this conflict. You will be among the few that will stand against Medeus._"

The apparition began to disappear. The hand fell from Tiki's shoulder as the girl continued to stare blankly at the crypt.

* * *

><p>It was a long climb, and only now did Marth feel some small hint of fatigue. He took it as a sign that he was nearing the top of the tower. What he presumed to be the final guard appeared. Several human Guardians moved forward, seemingly on command of a Mage Dragon. Marth led the League to battle.<p>

As he dove upon his enemies, Jagen and Catria tried to fulfill their obligation to guard him. They couldn't keep up with the Altean prince as he charged through his enemies. He was already one of the greatest of the League, with Falchion in his hands he had become nearly untouchable. The rest of the League, including the army's mages, could not slay enemies swiftly enough to catch up to him. As the majority of the League was meeting the enemy with their swords and lances, and spilling the blood onto the smooth featureless metal floor, Marth met the Manakete.

The Mage Dragon took a step back, stamping the ground with its powerful talons. It roared in a threatening manner, then suddenly threw its massive head down and let loose a breath of pure magic. Marth nimbly moved to the side of the attack, then spun with the Falchion in his hand. The blade ripped through the Manakete's chest as though it was slashing through a wooden training dummy. The blood spurted forward in an unstoppable stream, the Manakete's attack stopped and it roared in pain, taking a step back as it looked down at the blood pumping out. The roar ceased in an instant when Marth swung Falchion again, this time slashing through the Manakete's neck. The head and neck were completely severed from the body, looking more like a giant snake as it fell on the ground. Life in the creature seemed to linger for a second longer, but then the head expired. The body collapsed, no longer receiving commands from the brain.

Marth took in a breath, then looked at the sword in his hand. Its strength against human enemies was impressive enough, but its performance against Manaketes was just amazing. As he examined the full length of the sword, only now did he realize the boon that Naga had gifted to Anri.

The sound of clanging metal interrupted Marth's thoughts. He tore his thoughts from the blade and looked ahead, seeing that the League was still engaged with the human Guardians. Without a second thought, Marth rushed forward to aid his allies.

He reentered the battle, fighting his way back to his army. Many of the Guardians turned to attack him, they went down against skills honed throughout the war and the strength of the Falchion. Marth felled the last enemy, nearly slashing the enemy's arm off with a cut of Falchion.

"Mar- _prince_ Marth." Catria breathed hard, looking less fatigued and more relieved. "Don't… rush off like that. Stay near me and Jagen."

Marth twisted his lips, and for a second Catria thought the prince was trying to hide amusement. He eventually nodded. "Sorry. With Falchion I just felt a little… invincible."

There was a moment where Catria looked ready to say something else, something chastising. She decided to hold herself back at the last moment, just shaking her head and looking at Marth. "Try to be a bit more calm. We'll lose everything if we lose you."

He nodded, somewhat amused, then any pretense of a smile faded as he turned to Jagen. One of Altea's finest knights looked… heated, completely drained, far more then he should have been after these fights. Marth suddenly recalled Jagen's sudden coughing fit in Gra Castle, and… he shook his head, not wanting to feel that there was something wrong with the health of a knight he relied on. Pushing the thought of Jagen's health away, he turned around. A door seemingly made of stained glass had been behind the enemies they had just slain. Compared to everything else in the tower, this door had a clear design, and that meant… something was probably behind it. Marth motioned with one finger for his army to stand down, to only follow if he commanded them to follow. Hardin came up beside the prince, watching as Marth slowly began to push the door open, both hopeful that they were at the end, and that there wasn't more ahead of them.

* * *

><p>"Tiki!" Marth saw the little girl standing in the room, no longer moving around. He went to her, crouching down and looking at her face. Tiki's eyes were still devoid of their usual color, her eyes didn't focus on anything and just looked blankly in the forward direction. Marth began to grow indignant for her sake, and wanting the old, innocent Tiki back.<p>

Hardin looked at the only thing of interest in the room apart from Tiki. A large slab of stone that, unlike the walls of the cold metal walls of the tower, were covered in inscriptions. He looked across them, there was nothing he understood, it was all in a long forgotten language. Maybe a Manakete language, or maybe a language both humans and Manaketes used long ago. In the end, it didn't matter, he nor anyone else in the League could read it.

"These markings…" Hardin gave the letters a second look. "They're just like the markings in the Fane of Raman."

Marth diverted his attention from Tiki for a moment. At first all he saw were the strange lines, circles, and scribbles of the ancient letters. For a moment he would have said that Hardin was mistaken, but he slowly recognized the designs. They were, indeed, very similar to the runes in the Fane. Were they the same…

"Clan… here…" Tiki suddenly spoke. The two princes looked at her, her mouth began to open, just as the stone tablet that seemed to be a crypt began to glow a solid white color. It looked as though some energy was… moving inside of it.

"Some kind of… trap." Marth stood up, getting between Tiki and the stone, his hand moving to Falchion. "A final test before we find-" His words were cut off as the light from the crypt shinned brighter. Bright enough that he had to both cover his eyes with an arm and shut them to keep himself from going blind. From behind him, he heard Tiki begin to groan, as if in pain, before collapsing on the floor.

Eventually the light died down. Marth looked again, Tiki was prone on the ground, his first movement was to go to her. It didn't take much time, he was already right beside her. She didn't seem hurt, Marth shook her slightly from her shoulder and she quickly stirred.

He was ridiculously pleased to see that her eyes were no longer blank. They moved around, studying the environment rather then just staring forward. She finally focused on Marth and smiled.

"Mar-Mar…?" She said. Previously the nickname was incredibly irksome, but Marth, in this instant, wouldn't have cared if everyone acted like it was his given name. Slowly, Tiki sat up, she looked around, taking in and studying this new and strange, but somehow… nostalgic place. "Where are we?"

Marth didn't have the most coherent answer to that question, and so just shook his head. The answer sounded vague in his own mind, it would be even more confusing to Tiki.

"Marth." Hardin addressed his friend and ally, he pointed toward the crypt that had given off such a bright light. Marth did not immediately see what Hardin was trying to draw attention to, but then he realized what Hardin had seen. There was someone, laying upon the stone. Marth turned to Hardin and the two princes nodded. Slowly, they went up to the crypt, Falchion in the hands of the Altean, Gradivus in the hands of the Aurelian, with a fearful apprehension creeping through them, they saw what was lying down.

At first, Marth blinked at what he was seeing. It was a woman who seemed to have taken to sleep, and he was sure she hadn't been there before the light had flashed. Her outfit seemed… far removed from any other culture he had ever known. No noble of any society would dress like this, as far as he knew. He looked to her head and noticed a strange ornament upon it, it looked vaguely familiar. It took a few moments, but Marth recognized it.

Turning his head, Marth looked at Tiki, the little girl was wearing the exact same head ornament. Returning to the woman lying on the crypt, he realized that the outfit was… very similar to Tiki's. More formal, more adult though it was, it still mirrored Tiki's clothes. As he continued to look her over, he blinked and realized something.

This woman was, honestly, beautiful. More so then even Caeda. Marth looked at her, her features exquisite, and slowly lost himself in the mature and perfect face he was seeing. After a long moment he managed to shake his head and remind himself why he was here.

"Is this person… the weapon the White Sage was talking about?"

Almost as if that was the cue for a response, the woman groaned, then opened her eyes. Marth took a step back as she started to pick herself up, for the first moment her eyes were as blank as Tiki's had been earlier. They quickly gained a more normal color, almost identical to Tiki's, but subtly different.

Slowly, she turned, looking around. At first she saw only the plain walls on one side of her. When she turned her head in the other direction, she saw Marth, and her eyes focused on him.

"Who… are you?" She asked, the voice was very slow, as though her lips and tongue had trouble wrapping themselves around the sounds, despite the fact that she knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Marth took in a breath, he didn't know this woman's origins. She could very well be another Guardian, but he somehow sensed she wasn't. The woman seemed slow, and not aware of her surroundings. Completely unlike those he had fought through to reach the top of the tower.

"My name is… Marth. Prince of Altea." The words came out a little awkward, as if he was nervous. Hardin looked at Marth, then back at the woman. Despite the ambiguity of the situation, the corner of his lips curled subtly. Despite everything that was happening, and about to happen, Marth still had the time to let his breath be stolen by a figure such as this. "Your name… my lady?"

She blinked, as though she didn't understand the question, or that she didn't have an answer. Her head bowed, letting some of her long hair drape over her shoulders. Then her eyes suddenly widened. "Nagi. I am… Nagi."

_Did she just say that her name was…_ Hardin wondered with widened eyes, nearly speaking aloud, but then his mind reprocessed the words it has heard. Nagi, not Naga. He walked forward, presuming that this woman was who and what they had come to find. "Nagi, does the word 'Dolhr', and the name 'Medeus', mean anything to you?"

"I…" Nagi thought for a second, her mind didn't seem completely intact. Then her words, however slowly spoken, suddenly gained strength. "They… they must be stopped. I must… stop…"

Marth looked down, and his eyes widened in shock at the realization that Nagi was holding a Divinestone in her hands.

"How do you have one of those?" He asked.

Nagi blinked her confusion, then turned her eyes down. Her mind registered it as a Divinestone… she wasn't even aware she was holding anything. Yet she knew what it was. "It… it's something I need, to fight the Earth Dragon prince… Medeus."

She wasn't aware that neither Marth or Hardin had ever heard Medeus being titled like that. She took a step toward Marth, reaching a hand out and putting it on the prince's shoulder. "You are fighting Dolhr? Take… me with you. I sense… this is something to finish that I… started. I think."

Marth opened his mouth, not to offer approval, but with the intention to ask questions. Did she have memories from before she awoke? Why was she opposed to Dolhr and Medeus? Was she of the Divine Clan, something that Tiki was supposed to be the only survivor of? The words he wanted to speak never came. Slowly, he nodded.

He might have expected Nagi to offer thanks with a smile, her face remained fairly blank. Turned her head, her eyes met with Tiki's, who was staring at the exchange curiously. A wealth of midnight black memories surfaced within Nagi, she couldn't see anything clearly in her mind, but Nagi, somehow, recognized the child.

"I don't…" She looked pained for a second, then looked at Tiki again. "T… T… Ti… ki…?" Whatever was making her head throb so painfully fell silent, and the adult Divine Dragon approached Tiki.

"Yes…?" Tiki cocked her head, curious in the face of Nagi's confusion. Nagi laid a hand on Tiki's shoulder, trying to steady herself, yet failing to understand much of what was around her.

"We'll be leaving soon." Marth cautioned to the two Divine Manaketes. "I'm sure the White Sage, Gotoh, will contact us soon."

Nagi turned to Marth. It seemed as though a memory had been triggered.

"Go…toh…"

* * *

><p>Xemcel walked slowly across the cold floor of the fort he was in. The morning sun was slowly transcending to a noon light, and it entered through the windows. Windows long since abandoned and derelict. He did not care, the status of these old forts was meaningless. He only had one purpose, and he was wholly dedicated to it.<p>

Scores of Manaketes were before him. The Manaketes of Dolhr. Those who were ready to bear fang and breath and slay those who threatened the regime and continued dominance of the Emperor. He was satisfied with what stood before him. The Manaketes that lived in the generation of the Emperor's return had been blessed with power, cunning, and perception. They were useful to the Emperor, and that was all they needed to be.

"Soon the battle to crush the spine of all resistance to our Emperor shall take place. We, rightful rulers of this world, shall descend upon those who oppose us. Broken bones, severed heads, hearts on pikes, that is what will be before us when today ends. Our enemies wield the greatest weapons on the continent, but they will be powerless against the true might of Dolhr. This land belongs to us… our victory is destined, and we shall never surrender it to human vermin."

He looked straight at the Manaketes in front of him. "Glory to Medeus."

The Manaketes before Xemcel, Khozen and Bulzark among them, raised their heads upward and repeated the words.

"Glory to Medeus!" "Glory to Medeus!" "Glory to Medeus!"

Xemcel did not smile, this was how they should have reacted. Fearless in the face of battle, and seeing their lives as nothing in the service of the Emperor. He slowly turned around. "The rumors of Dolhr being few in number have been highly exaggerated. Slaves… humans, give meaning to your pitiful lives. You shall strike for the pleasure of your masters. You will die for the glory of Emperor Medeus."

A human army stood in front of Xemcel. All Dolhrians, all fanatically loyal to their masters, who they had been trained to serve since birth. They stood attentively, none as much as twitching nervously on this eve of battle. They were fearless for the sake of their masters, merciless by the will of their lords, and murderous by the whim of their Emperor. Their numbers…

…were legion. Hundreds… no, thousands of humans stood before Xemcel, ready for the chance to offer their everything in service of the Emperor.

Xemcel stretched his arm out and clenched a fist. "Hail Medeus."

The humans raised their arms in the air and chanted.

"Hail Medeus! "Hail Medeus!" "Hail Medeus!"

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><p><strong>You know, I find Nagi to be a pretty interesting character, and, even though the aim of the writers seemed to be that Nagi was a reincarnation or avatar of Naga, I have my own fanon perceptions of her. Too bad that getting her requires giving up the Swarm tome that Gotoh has. Not to mention that there doesn't <em>seem<em> to be any particular difference between her and Tiki, base stat wise and growth wise. And the highest I've personally ever gotten her was level 28. Only reason I got her up to that level was because of the huge amount of enemies spawning in the bottom right of the final chapter.**

**Please review.**


	40. Servants of Madness: vs Dolhr's Army

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>A man, born a peasant, was said to have been gifted with a sword of light by Dragons from the Heavens. With blade in hand he reaped and cleansed the darkness and defeated the dark Emperor, giving the world the blessing of peace.<p>

Anri's journey sounded like the classic fairy tale of heroes. Once, in recent memory, there was no shortage of those who questioned the truth of the story. Or at least, questioned if Anri was as great a single man as the story painted him to be.

Now, there were no doubters. With Medeus returned to life and power, and his unbridled hatred for humans, the Alteans in particular, there was no doubt that Anri was every bit the man the stories heralded him as.

The fact that Medeus had been so humbled by Anri long ago did little to comfort those who suffered under Medeus' heel when he returned. For a long, long time the human race suffered under Medeus' Dolhr Empire. Only the citizens of the nations that allied to Dolhr were spared, the leaders of those nations characterized as monsters and traitors by the oppressed.

Now those leaders were no more. Some of their defeats were more bittersweet then expected for the Archanean League. Regardless, Dolhr was now devoid of allies. It had only its own leaders and troops to rely upon. Which were, by logical conclusion, very small in number.

Medeus was a self-righteous Manakete. In the war against Anri, and this war against the Archanean League that had risen to fight him, he had sworn time and again that his cause was righteous. The humans… deserved their fates, they deserved to be broken, on their knees with their viscera protruding out of their hacked open abdomens. They all deserved it… every last one of them.

That was what Medeus believed. Even as his power crumbled and his Keep was surrounded. So to, did he believe in his inevitable victory. He would reap both revenge and justice with the slaying of Anri's spawn. The Shadow Dragon sat on his throne, he could not abscond from the Keep and meet the spawn on the plains of Dolhr. His resurrection was… a curious thing, and it still was not yet complete. For now, his body was bonded with the Keep itself, and he could not depart it.

The Shadow Dragon waited, his only company being the sounds from the burning torches around the throne room. He had given leave to Xemcel to finally end this farce of distant protection. The League had done well in its given task, he noted that plainly. Now the League had one last service to do for him.

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><p>The door's to the keep were open, beckoning the spawn into its gaping maw.<p>

Marth did not take the bait, not immediately, anyway. He looked inside the door, and knew… he wanted to fight Medeus by _himself_.

He made that clear to the other leaders, those who had the firmest grasp on his ear. They looked at him as though he was suicidal. Minerva might have protested vocally, but she didn't have much of a heart after the battle in Macedon.

"You aren't invincible with Falchion, Marth." Hardin had said whilst shaking his head. "You cannot fight Medeus by yourself, even if we believe that's what Anri did. We also don't know how many soldiers of Dolhr may be with him in the Keep."

Marth had been indignant. "This is the duty of my family and blood, Hardin. And Falchion is one of the only things Medeus would fear. I _have_ to do this."

For a moment Hardin had fallen silent. Then his brows perked. "Falchion is just one of the things he fears, you just said that, didn't you, Marth? We have some of the only other things he would fear, Marth. The Divinestones carried by those two Manaketes…"

Marth's eyes narrowed at the half-spoken proposition. He didn't want to put Tiki in danger, even if the Divinestone had the power to challenge Medeus. And, Nagi… she was untested in combat. He didn't want to endanger her.

His first reflex was to balk at the suggestion, but Hardin continued talking. "You will not enter Dolhr Keep alone, Marth. We're taking that choice out of your hands. I will not have you marching cheerfully to a certain death. Perhaps not all of the League will accompany you, but someone _will_ join you."

Silence pervaded. Leader of the Archanean League though he was, Hardin had made the statement, and Caeda, Minerva, and Nyna were clearly rallying to him. He sighed, admitting defeat.

His mind returned to the entrance to the Keep. Nagi walked up beside him, her eyes and resolve seemed to be growing stronger and greater with every passing second. Marth turned to Nagi, her attention was not on him.

Nagi had been the focus of much confusion and interest when she came to the rest of the League, and not just due to the ambiguities surrounding her. Caeda and Minerva were by no means unattractive, but they didn't get second glances the way this Manakete did. Marth acknowledged that Nagi was an attractive figure, but shook his head and returned to the doors of the Keep. On the eve of a battle like this was no time to get distracted.

Tiki was already right beside him, she swallowed hard at what she was about to partake in. Medeus was in there, the Shadow Dragon and the greatest evil of _any_ generation. Because of her Divinestone she had a chance against him. Just like Nagi and Mar-Mar. Still… she clung to Marth's leg, not able to stop herself from trembling slightly.

"The Earth Dragon's Keep." Nagi said before slowly turning to Marth and Tiki. "He claims to be a savior. He is anything but. Those who put their faith in him… the fates they meet are… cold, and hollow. He is a… sinister will, less of a being and more of a thing. Everything will decay in a world ruled by him."

Marth nodded. "The three of us, then." He looked deeply at Nagi, then turned to Tiki. "We have to defeat him, the League represents our only chance at freeing the continent from him. We're going in n-"

"Wait!" A voice suddenly cut Marth off. He turned to see Caeda.

"Something I need to know, Caeda?"

Falling silent for a moment, Caeda approached him. "I won't let you go into the Keep without me."

"I…" Marth let out a breath, then shook his head. "You don't have anything that we believe will pose a threat to Medeus. Please stay with the League out here. You'll be safe-"

"But you won't!" Caeda stepped forward again. "You're about to fight the greatest foe we've faced yet in this war. And you want to do it with so little help. I… can't allow that. At the very least, let me go with you."

Marth shook his head, Caeda wasn't sure if he was denying her request or if it was an expression of exasperation. She dreaded the possibility that she would be denied, on the basis of him trying to protect her. Suddenly, Nagi grabbed Caeda by the shoulder.

"I sense… something." Nagi said slowly, looking into Caeda's eyes, and getting a glimpse of a strength of will behind them. "There is something… special, about this one." She turned her head to Marth. "Let her accompany us, I do not believe that we'll regret it."

Marth glanced at Nagi, then back at Caeda, who now had a more hopeful expression. Marth sighed and conceded, apparently this was not the day he'd be able to put his foot down and have his way on most matters. He nodded a reluctant approval, then turned. He wasn't going to allow any other to join him.

"We're going." Marth said before anything else could happen. "The four of us. We're to find Medeus and kill him. That will bring an end to this war." He started to walk forward, a hand going to the hilt of Falchion. The two Manaketes and Caeda followed behind. They entered into the Keep. The doors, with no apparent visible force upon them, began to move, creaking shut on their own.

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><p>Minerva's heart lurched slightly as Marth disappeared behind the doors. Breathing heavily, she tried to calm herself, but a voice inside of her was telling her that she would have been a far better ally and companion for Marth then Caeda. She turned her eyes through the ranks of the League that was still outside the Keep. She was searching for Maria, and though she knew full well that Maria didn't want to talk to Minerva right now, just the sight of her would be so… consoling.<p>

Maria was with Elice. Minerva was surprised by that, but reminded herself that it wasn't _really_ unusual. They both used staffs, they likely started a conversation on it. Elice was clearly a superior wielder of staffs, there was much Maria could learn from the Altean princess. Then Minerva saw that Maria seemed to be confiding into Elice about… something. She wasn't close enough to hear the words, but…

She blinked, then suddenly realized what Maria was doing. Disappointed in Minerva, she turned to another to confide in as an almost sister. Minerva didn't know if Maria did it for the purpose of hurting her sister over Michalis, but she looked away with a pained expression, returning to the gates of Dolhr. After a moment she turned to Hardin in a desperate attempt to get her mind off of Maria. "We should… try to find that staff Elice was talking about, Aum, before anything might happen."

The Aurelian nodded. He wondered if there was anyone to bring back. There were so many people that had lost their lives unfairly in this incident. Yet, Elice had described the staff to him, the staff could only bring one person back. The staff itself warped reality to bring the soul back, and it was a gross insult to the natural balance to use. It could not be used often, else the imbalance of energy could cause… extreme chaos, whatever that entailed. Only one person could be called back every several centuries.

He wondered why, if the staff could be used by anyone of royal blood, that Dolhr did not simply have Maria use it. Elice's theory was that the staff could complete Medeus' resurrection… Elice also theorized that the Manaketes simply wanted the poetic justice of a descendent of Anri to be the one to use it. That would be the only answer to the question Hardin was likely to ever get.

"Hmm?" Hardin's thoughts trailed off as he sensed something in the air. Hardin's skin suddenly prickled with the touch of the arcane.

"Minerva." He called out, she stopped at the call, and then a light illuminated the plains of Dolhr.

Hardin immediately called for the League, who were almost instantly ready for combat. The light died down, revealing three cloaked figures.

Xemcel stood in the middle of an arcane ring, that which had been used to bring himself in front of the League. The ring slowly dissolved into the air. Xemcel coldly eyed the League, already poised to attack. He relaxed himself, letting his arms fall to his side as he opened his mouth to speak.

"At last you've reached the end of the line, humans." He spoke coldly, giving into a smirk. "Fitting. You've come to the land of the masters, to serve us as corpses. You have been quite considerate to do all this for we."

Hardin's jaw strained at the sight he was seeing. "Xemcel."

The Mage Dragon looked at the Aurelian. "We meet again, prince of Aurelis. It's been too long since Castle Altea." Xemcel spoke sweetly, recalling the day he saw Hardin, and Marth, for the first time. It was right after Morzas had died. A death that held no meaning to him. He cared nothing for that crippling inferior. "And the Regalia in your hands… you're dying to use it, yes?"

Hardin held Gradivus in his hand, the holy lance of Archanea was ready to serve as a weapon of justice and strike down the Manaketes. Xemcel's eyes traced to it, and against all logic, smirked at the sight. Hardin saw the look of amusement in the Manakete's face and tensed slightly. "What do you mean the 'land of the masters'?"

"Well, that title should speak for itself." Xemcel stood impassively, then craned his neck to look at the land of Dolhr. "This… was our land. _Our_ continent. We ruled it before you humans even existed, our claims are more righteous and valid then yours will ever be. We lived as we should have, until… as some celestial joke, the Gods created your kind. You humans are beasts who lorded yourselves above us. We humbled you in due time. Then…"

Xemcel's face turned viciously hostile. "You, and your Divine Dragon allies, came to drive us away. We will never forget what you did, nor can we forgive it." The Hand of Medeus turned full body, exposing his back to Hardin while he continued to speak. "When Anri, that scum, slew the Emperor, we suffered such… indignities, and fell into obscurity and darkness. With thoughts of revenge our only solace, we stayed in Dolhr, biding our time, until finally the Emperor was returned to us. Now…" He turned back to Hardin, who had not sought to strike the Mage Dragon when his back was turned. Like an honorable, and foolish, human. "We will not let human feet sully this land of Manaketes. Finally, finally we end this charade."

Hardin smirked. "That's what you think. We've defied Dolhr every battle in this war. We'll defy them again."

"Defy?" Xemcel smiled as if he was inside on some joke. "What if I told you that this is everything that the Emperor wanted?" As he made the statement he made an elaborate sweep of his arm as his eyes twinkled in amusement.

For a moment, confusion was present on Hardin's face. The expression quickly hardened into determination. "Your attempts to rattle me will not succeed. We came to Dolhr to destroy those cowards who hid in the shadows and bring peace back to the continent."

Xemcel began to chuckle. "You are eager for blood, human prince. As am I. I shall indulge your wish."

Khozen to one side of Xemcel, and Bulzark to the other, clutched at their Firestones, they brimmed a dark red color before they each assumed their true form.

"So all we have to do is destroy the Manaketes?" Minerva looked at those before her, not impressed. "Easy enough."

"Destroy us…" Xemcel mused, "And destroy the puppets of Dolhr." He raised a hand, and human soldiers appeared as if from thin air. They were all ready, with bodies honed from the Dolhr way of life, of 'kill or be killed'. Quite possibly one of the largest and most formidable forces that would ever exist. "The Archanean League against the full power of Dolhr… even the Emperor would not be able to restrain himself from laughter."

Hardin looked around. Far more enemies then he ever expected to find… the League was completely boxed in. He looked past Xemcel, toward Dolhr Keep. _Of course_, the wielder of Falchion would have left, taking the Divine Dragons with him, before the League as a whole met a force like this.

"We'll plow straight through you." Hardin taunted, fearless in the face of this development. "The only thing I see is the path ahead. You have the misfortune to be blocking the way for me."

Xemcel smirked, then clutched at his Magestone. "There is no destination on the path ahead for you. Your journey has come to an end, and finally, you humans, who have forever boasted of your courage in the face of Dolhr…" Energy crafted of ancient magic seeped out of the Magestone and intertwined with Xemcel's very being, enveloping him in a growing light. The light slowly dispersed, and where there was once the intimidating personage of Medeus' right hand, was the horrifying figure of the Mage Dragon, Xemcel. "…it is time you learned, the true meaning… of _fear_."

"The final battle." Hardin readied Gradivus. "I won't be there to see Medeus die, but I can take solace in _your_ death, Xemcel."

"Boldly stated." Xemcel responded, "But there is nothing can avert the outcome of today's battle. Dolhr's victory is destined, predetermined, much like your fate." He looked at the League. Raising a massive foot, he pointed a talon at them.

Immediately, the Dolhrian humans, and the surrounding Manaketes, save for Bulzark and Khozen, savagely descended upon the League.

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><p>The League organized and quickly tried to counter Dolhr's offense. Though out numbered by what had to be a fifty to one margin, the League met this cripplingly overwhelming assault. Seeming thousands of swords met the mere scores of swords the League had. For a moment, the League seemed helplessly boxed in.<p>

Yet the League persisted. Hauteclere slashed straight through a human enemy's chest before Minerva swung her arm back to silence an enemy behind her. Her Wyvern lashed out with its talons and fangs, ripping apart those who sought to sneak up on its master.

Next to Minerva, Hardin thrust Gradivus through both human and dragon foes. The holy lance served well, Hardin, on the saddle of his horse, issued orders of attack and defense in succession. The orders came so fast that it almost seemed as though he was trying to correct mistaken orders, but every order he made intentionally. Every order corresponded to the chaotic, fast-paced nature of this battle. They could not defend indefinitely against this enemy, but they couldn't push aggression too far either. It was difficult to judge when to do anything, but…

He tried to distance himself from the fighting so he could survey the battlefield and issue orders more efficiently. Dolhr was intent on not giving him a chance to do that. Seeming to understand that he was the ultimate head of operations with Marth gone, there was no shortage of enemy troops charging toward him specifically. Many were slain by other League soldiers as they approached the Aurelian, others were killed personally by Hardin.

Frustrated, but not enough to impair his judgment, Hardin focused on the task at hand, his skill with the lance made those who came at him drop lifeless to the ground. He looked around, wasting one precious second to admire the skill of the League. Particularly his four men. Wolf's arrows sank through human breastplates and Manakete necks alike. He was pleased, Wolf would always be his best, his most reliable knight. In Wolf, he also saw hope in mending ties between Aurelis and Macedon. He had grown to work well with Palla of Macedon. Though, who was the better combatant of the two wasn't in question, and he felt a touch of pride.

Elsewhere, Vyland and Sedgar continued to fight with all the ferocity they did when Macedon had occupied Aurelis. Sedgar's skill was not as great as Wolf's, and there were better combatants in the army then Vyland, but both did far more then would have been expected of a single soldier. From slaves abducted from their families in infancy had come some of the continent's elite warriors.

And Roshea, Hardin had noticed Roshea's friendship with some of the League's mages. He was close to the two. He was their shield, keeping the Dolhrian weapons away from the unarmored skin of the mages.

Everyone seemed to be pushing themselves to the limit. Even people like Matthis, who one could never honestly consider to be skilled, was putting up a viable effort against his enemies. Est, who lacked proper training, almost seemed to be among the elite soldiers of the League as she fought alongside Abel.

Hardin took note of Jagen and Catria. They both looked… out of their element. They couldn't, at this point, be used to fighting without protecting Marth. Catria seemed to be the more lost of the two, and though she was still fighting, her mind was elsewhere.

She wasn't the only person who's mind seemed to be elsewhere. Hardin looked back at Roshea, he was fighting at his limit, but there was something subtly… off, about how the knight fought.

The Regalia would prove to be a great tide-turner in this battle. Gradivus in Hardin's hand, Parthia in Jeorge's, and Mercurius in Abel's. Each weapon laid waste to dozens of enemies. Corpses were everywhere, some League troops were now fighting on top of mountains of slain humans and Manaketes. It seemed that… even with all these numbers and obvious strengths, Dolhr could very well be routed on this day.

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><p>"They fight with much enthusiasm." Bulzark noted, looking at the League fighting off the army of Dolhr. He felt that if things continued like this, the end result might not be in Dolhr's favor. "Allow me to crush their martial might."<p>

"No." Xemcel rejected that notion. "Let the lesser do that for us, Bulzark. The end of the Archanean League shall come in due time."

The Hand of Medeus looked forward, watching with something akin to joy as Minerva and her Wyvern soared high, and then both were struck by the energy of a Thunder tome. They plummeted.

"No matter how vigorous their resolve is, they are, in the end, humans led by humans. With no Divine Dragon to act as their pillar, their only fate is to die on the plains of the land they sought to invade." Xemcel watched, the Aurelian prince was still issuing orders, but the situation was, slowly but surely, turning against the Archanean League.

The tip of the sword of one Dolhr soldier sliced thinly across Norne's hip. The soldier who did that was killed immediately by Gordin's arrow as he rushed to the cringing Norne. Elsewhere, Roshea raised his sword to block an overwhelming number of blows. So many that he had no chance to counterattack, he could only fall back, and back. Others began to feel both the strain of exhaustion, and the bite of Dolhrian weapons.

"Go, Khozen." Xemcel ordered the Fire Dragon. "Bring an end to this. Redeem yourself for your failure upon the Archanean grass."

The Fire Dragon visibly flinched at the memory that Xemcel's words brought back. He'd never forget what happened, and now Xemcel would let him have a chance to redeem himself…

"Smoking flesh and boiling blood, that is all that will be left of them. Mark my words." His giant body began to lumber toward the League, his primary target was not Hardin. He remembered the long haired Swordmaster. The one who scarred his neck and nearly killed him. There was none he desired to kill more then that man.

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><p>Hardin stabbed through another enemy. Things had gone terribly wrong in mere moments, but he kept going. Rather then give into the tempting allure of panic, he continued to issue orders to try and get the situation back under control. Slowly, the League solidified a defense around the wounded, and the soldiers of Dolhr began to lose ground again. Elice, and others who held Staffs, immediately acted. It was a good sign, and Hardin permitted himself a sigh of relief. They had come too far to face a sick joke of defeat, here, of all places.<p>

Then a shadow covered him, Hardin turned. Standing behind him was another Manakete, this one clearly more powerful then the others they had encountered today. Setting it apart from the others they had encountered was the large scar on its neck. Hardin realized in an instant who this was.

Khozen snorted, a bit of flame came from his nostrils. The Dolhrian humans stepped back to make way for one of their many masters, and what other Manaketes were present respectfully bowed out. Khozen snarled at those present. He had never stopped hating how he had been bested by mere humans in Archanea. All of the League would suffer for his greatest shame.

"The Archanean League. A coalition of resistances and individual fools. _You_ are the great army that dares oppose the Dolhr Empire? You oppose the Emperor, who gives meaning to life?" The disdain in Khozen's voice almost had its own aura. The heat of fire built in his throat. "Foolishness. You will not live to serve your lords or your people. You will remain here, what's left of you serving _us_ as an example of what happens to the fools who betray the true masters of this land."

Raising his head, Khozen took in a gulp of air. Hardin immediately turned, yelling a single word order.

"Run!"

The flame burst from Khozen's mouth in what was nearly a solid stream, smothering everything before him in the burning tongues of flame. The white hot flames continued for quite some time… and were then suddenly cut off.

The magic of Starlight from Linde effectively punched Khozen in the neck, right in the sensitive spot where it had been scarred. He moved a step back, gagging a moment, then looked forward. The grass was gone, ash taking its place, the rocks and boulders had melted under the intense heat. Yet it did not seem that a single League soldier had been claimed by his blaze.

Abel shook his head as he tried to determine where he was in relation to the enemy. He felt like he was on the ground, and so tried to get up, only to feel as if something else pulled him up.

"You're in good hands with your student, Abel." A voice said. Abel blinked, then realized he wasn't on his horse. Turning to the side, he saw his horse standing, the saddle somewhat torn, and he realized he had fallen. Looking up, he realized that Est, also off of her saddle, was holding him.

Ignoring the tease that Est was in the mood to offer even in the heat of this battle, Abel nodded a thanks, unclear as to what exactly had happened to him when Khozen attacked. The Mercurius was still in his hand, the intensity and panic of the moment seemed to have made him hold the hilt of the weapon hard enough that it had become sweaty.

Abel returned to his horse as Est got back on her Pegasus, he mounted it and sat in the now somewhat abnormal saddle. Elsewhere, he saw that Khozen's attack had thrown the League into disarray. Most of the soldiers were starting to regroup, waiting for either an order to attack, or simply Khozen's next move.

Linde's Starlight moved through the air again, a beam of the holy energy slammed into the side of Khozen's head. He was pushed back at first, then his head rushed against Starlight's power. His head moved forward, and he roared.

Starlight dispersed. The holy energy seemingly dispelled by Khozen's mighty roar. He turned at Linde, sniffed dismissively, and turned away. A powerful tome that mage had… but greater threats was Khozen concerned with.

One greater threat came at him immediately. A holy arrow fired from Parthia shot through the air, landing and piercing into his shoulder. Such a small thing was a mere nuisance to him, worthy only of a small narrowing of his eyes, but more arrows were coming. Some pierced into his back, others into the muscles of his leg.

In him, they were the equivalent of splinters in human skin. Annoying, slightly painful, but not enough to kill him. He turned up to more holy arrows coming down at him, he turned them to ash in the air with a stream of fiery breath.

Khozen looked through the ranks of the League. He was searching for Hardin first and foremost. It would be simplicity itself to break the League, he need only rip apart the Aurelian prince who was the head of command for those out here.

Then he saw someone. His blood briefly chilled… then boiled with the most unbridled anger.

Navarre looked at the Manakete, and he knew he had the dragon's undivided attention. A look of annoyance flickered on Navarre's normally impassive face at the sight of the scar on the Manakete's neck. His attack… it had been meant to kill, and never before did an attack from Navarre that was intended to kill fail to do as it intended.

"Should we help him?" Minerva asked, looking at the unfolding encounter. She had little love for Navarre, an unfeeling and cold swordsman who was, inexplicably, a seeming favorite of Caeda's. It seemed almost inaccurate to call him human. At the same time, he was an ally, a soldier of the League. She could not just leave him there to die.

"No." Hardin shook his head. "I would choose to help him, but…" He looked at his hand, clenching it for a moment, then let it fall to his side. "I feel this is his battle. Let him finish what he started in Archanea. I'm sure he wants to correct his mistake himself."

"No amount of pain suffered by you would satisfy me, human." Khozen raised his head, as if he wanted Navarre to see the source of the anger, the scar. "Death will be too good for you, but I will have to settle with what I can do. It would be pleasing for you to writhe in agony for as long as possible before I kill you."

He reared his head back, shutting his mouth as flame filled the inside of him. Slowly, he lowered his head and released the incinerating breath. Navarre rushed forward, almost looking like he was going to foolishly run straight into Khozen's attack. He spun to the left at the last moment, letting the flame jet past him. The flame could have very well been hot enough to melt the armor of a knight, but Navarre ran right beside it without the slightest sense of discomfort.

Khozen cut his attack short as Navarre came up to him. Khozen raised one great limb as Navarre had attempted to slash across it. Immediately, the Manakete attempted to slam it back down upon the Swordmaster. Navarre darted underneath the Manakete and, from his position, slashed a deep injury into Khozen's gut.

Immediately, the dragon's body sank. Not from pain, the Manakete was attempting to crush the human under its bulky body. Navarre got out as the massive weight came down. Khozen growled, knowing his attack failed, then reacted to the feeling of something landing on his back. Navarre had scaled up a leg, and then plunged the Killing Edge into the strong scales that protected Khozen's flesh.

Turning his head until he could see his back out of the corner of his eye, Khozen released a blaze. Navarre, either in reaction or as a precaution, leapt from the Manakete's back. Khozen turned around, looking straight at Navarre.

"No matter how much you scurry, you cannot defeat me. Not here, when I am to redeem myself for my failure in Archanea." He glared at Navarre, who seemed thoroughly unimpressed. "Your head shall be the capstone of my redemption. Come to me. I'll rip your flesh off and toss you into the fire."

Navarre sprinted forward, lowering himself to the ground as he ran. Khozen took in another gulp of air, far more air then he had ever used previously. Looking at Navarre, he let loose the flame, stronger, larger, wider, purer then any he had unleashed before. As the flame raced hungrily through the air, Khozen did not see Navarre dodge to the side.

The thought that he had finally slain the hated Swordmaster made glee build in Khozen… his shame would dissolve once all that was left of the man was an unliving, melted stain. He was pleased, and then he saw Navarre suddenly appear once more.

He seemed to have ducked and rolled under the flame. Now he was in the perfect, opportune position. Before Khozen could halt the flame and raise his head up, Navarre leapt, the Killing Edge opened the scar it had left on the dragon back in Archanea. It cut deep, far deeper then it did last time.

Khozen gagged as his throat was torn open. He was…

He would not be entitled to a third chance in the Empire. So instead, he looked at Navarre, then at Hardin who looked upon him from a distance.

"It's useless." Khozen muttered in a voice that, while weak and with an inconsistent tone, was heard by everybody. "Human resolve alone, will never crush the… Empire." He raised his head up, his neck trembling from the pain, blood spurting freely, pouring from his neck like a weak waterfall. "To think… I would die only moments before victory would be attained, but…" something that could be roughly defined as a smile was on the dying Manakete. "To die… in service of the Emperor. There could be… no… greater honor…!" With those words, Khozen fell. He rolled onto his side, his eyes were glazed and unmoving, unblinking and open.

Navarre swiped the Killing Edge through the air and then sheathed the bloodied blade. He had redeemed himself from his failure to slay the Manakete in Archanea. Nothing he sought to kill could ever escape him.

* * *

><p>"Xemcel." Bulzark said, seeing the death of Khozen. He responded to the death without the slightest bit of feeling, and simply turned to the Hand. "It is time we rethought our strategy."<p>

Xemcel turned his massive head toward Bulzark. "Cowardice does not become a servant of the Emperor, Bulzark. They shall come to us, now."

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><p>The army of Dolhr charged at the League once again in the wake of Khozen's death. Hardin had no more time for games, he brought the League forward. His intention was to go straight to Xemcel, cutting the head of the army off, rather then cutting the body out from beneath the head.<p>

"The Hand of Medeus." Hardin addressed the Mage Dragon as the League approached.

"…you have defeated a lesser Manakete, one that would never escape the shame of facing defeat at human hands in Archanea. I do not applaud you. A mere child could have done what you just did. Yet a Manakete that the Emperor himself values is what now stands before you. Do you choose to prolong this pointless struggle with continued resistance?"

Hardin held Gradivus firmly in his hand, his resolve not wavering in the slightest. "Yes, I will continue this 'pointless struggle'. I'd rather continue to fight a futile battle then obey lords like the Dolhrian Manaketes. I don't intend to lose, either. You will be sprawled out across this grass. No amount of resistance from you will change that. We came this far, we wont meet defeat at the end."

Xemcel raised his massive chin. "Yes, you have come far. You cut your teeth against so many, overcame so much, and now you stand before we of Dolhr. Now is the time you've outlived your usefulness."

"Our… usefulness?" A moment of confusion swept through Hardin.

"Did I not tell you? This is all that the Emperor wanted. You have come, the greatest of the continent, with the greatest of the weapons, some given to your kind by the Divine Dragons. Yes, _that_ is what the Emperor wanted, for all potential threats to come to him. All your struggles, they fit into Dolhr's machinations perfectly. Now your one last act of service for us is to die."

Hardin's eyes narrowed. "Did you just say…" He began to raise Gradivus in the air. "Everything we've gone through, all the suffering and triumphs, was what you wanted?"

"Shall I explain the full scope of the Emperor's plan?" Xemcel asked, though he seemed to be pondering out loud rather then asking Hardin a question. "Humans frequently need the comfort of understanding when the end comes. An end that is now, swift, and painful. Perhaps, when the League is slaughtered, when there is only you, prince of Aurelis, I shall let you know the truth in your final moments." He turned his massive head, looking at Dolhr Keep. "By now, Anri's spawn is likely whispering the names of family and friends… with his last breath."

At that comment, Hardin lost his composure. Raising his hand, he pointed at Xemcel. "Kill him! Now!"

Immediately, a bombardment began. The beam of Starlight went through the air, the blades of Excalibur blurred into existence. Arrows of Parthia were flying, as were a number of Javelins and arrows. Fire came from what other mages were present in the League, and some small axes flew.

Seemingly everything struck Xemcel. He was briefly obscured by smoke as the magic struck him. Slowly, the smoke dispersed, revealing the Hand of Medeus…

Completely uninjured.

The massive head swerved back to those before him.

"Weak." He said plainly. "Very weak."

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><p><strong>Xemcel isn't dead yet. There's a reason why this chapter is 'vs Dolhr's Army' rather then 'vs Xemcel'. You'll see where I'm going with this.<strong>

**Please review.**


	41. The Waning of Hope: vs Medeus

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>The torches and braziers lined the interior of Dolhr Keep as Marth marched on. The flickering light illuminated his path, the crackling of the embers being the only noise to accompany the footsteps he and his allies made on the stone floor. Passages snaked off in every direction, yet seemed to eventually reconnect. Doors to lesser rooms were everywhere, what lay past the doors were likely things no sane person would like to know about.<p>

Marth could feel the thumping of his heart as he walked through the halls of the Keep. The idea had been simple, to meet Medeus with the Falchion in his hand, and he had been brimming with enthusiasm when he entered the Keep. Yet the reality slowly came to feel very different. Marth, who had met enemy armies and regiments time after time without any sign of hesitation or fear, was now nervous. He was walking in the footsteps of Anri now, ready to wield the Divine Blade, Falchion, and meet Emperor Medeus, the Shadow Dragon, with it. This was bigger, grander, more meaningful then any battle before it. Retribution for Gra's betrayal, slaying Gharnef, none of it matched the scope of what was about to happen.

As they wandered through the Keep, Marth grew disconcerted at how devoid of presence the Keep was. Not a single human soldier or Manakete were in these halls. The structure was obviously very well-kept, the walls and floor were clean, it was clearly very orderly kept. Yet, Marth looked at it how absent of actual life it was and frowned.

Something was wrong. He suddenly felt like a horse with a carrot hanging in front. It was like he was being led somewhere. A trap, perhaps. An ambush of Dolhrian soldiers could have been waiting, ready to slaughter an enemy trying to reach their Emperor. When he had entered the Keep he had imagined having to fight through endless hordes of Dolhrian troops in his attempt to reach Medeus. They would have just been fodder, but Medeus would have likely been eager to wear the prince out before their battle. Instead, there was no one here, and as he and his allies moved deeper into the Keep, no trap was sprung.

Eventually, they came to a room of obvious importance. It was not as decorated as the throne room of a human castle, but it still stood out from the rest of the Keep with an ornate design. Marth wondered… if the throne was beyond this door.

As he looked at the door, something inside of him suddenly wavered. He became glued to the spot. Falchion's presence in his hand should have encouraged him, but a sense of dread was building in him for the moment he had previously been excited for. At this moment, there was nothing he feared quite as much as failing to match Anri.

A hand gripped his bicep, he turned to see Nagi. The woman returned the look, her hand slipping down his arm until she was holding his hand in her own. Maybe it was her presence, or perhaps it was the contact, but something about Nagi had a calming effect on Marth.

"You were… chosen, Marth." Nagi said. Marth wasn't sure of what Nagi was implying. He was about to ask, but she elaborated without needing it to be requested. "You have gone from being a child torn from his home, to the Gods' chosen vessel to save both the continent and the world from Medeus' shadow. The destiny Anri's blood laid out for you, and now the road the heavens want you to walk."

"I intend to walk that road." Marth declared. "Unflinchingly. I won't stop until Medeus is chained back into the shadows that Anri bound him in. You, all of you. Help me in this final battle. The only thing standing between us and peace."

Nagi squeezed Marth's hand, and nodded. "All of us will serve and aid you, Prince of Light."

Marth turned his head, Tiki looked a little nervous, but was ready. Caeda seemed completely fretful on the saddle of her Pegasus. It had been a simple matter to come and try to aid Marth, but the idea of facing Medeus was only just now registering on her. Her Wing Spear was not a weapon of legend, and was nothing Medeus would fear. How much assistance could she really provide?

"Medeus is close." Marth said, "The one all this originated from. He might be through this door, or maybe he's deeper in, but he's in this Keep, somewhere. I don't need to tell you that the outcome of this war will be decided entirely on the outcome of this battle. We'll leave as either heroes, or we'll fail the entire continent."

"We won't." Caeda spoke up. "We'll come out victorious, there's won't even be a possibility of failure."

They all nodded, perhaps a little optimism wouldn't hurt right now. Marth took in another deep breath, then slowly opened the door. The room on the other side of the door was pitch black. With no hesitation, Marth entered.

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><p>As they walked further into the room, braziers lit up along the edges of the room. They seemed to light up as soon as Marth walked by them… slowly the room became illuminated. As he came to be able to see, Marth realized that the room he was in was huge, it could have housed dozens of Manaketes in their true forms. There was a large, black emblem embedded in the center of the room's floor, Marth couldn't make out the insignia on it.<p>

Marth was about to ask the others what they thought… and then Caeda suddenly pointed forward. Marth followed the finger and saw a lone figure standing only a few feet away, his back turned to Marth. He did not wear a hooded robe like the Manaketes… the meaning of that was unclear, but Marth was sure that this was a figure of no small standing in Dolhr. Without any hesitation, Marth darted forward, Falchion in hand, ready to sink the blade into this being and kill him.

He leapt up, and brought the divine blade down. The figure suddenly turned and raised an arm in defense.

Falchion cut through the fabric of the sleeve, but failed to penetrate the skin beneath.

"We meet at last…" A cold, hateful voice came from the lips of this being as those sunken eyes saw the prince. "Spawn of Anri." The words slowly went through Marth, and his eyes widened in realization. The being suddenly swung its arm, throwing Marth back.

Landing on his feet, he began to skid back to his allies. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Marth looked onward toward his enemy.

"Medeus."

The Shadow Dragon turned until his entire body pointed toward his enemies. The light from the braziers illuminated his face, revealing the figure of the nightmare who had returned. He exuded malice, and even as he just stood at a distance, he seemed overwhelmingly imposing. "You've reached the seat of power of Dolhr. You've defeated and dismantled the Dolhr Alliance one by one, collecting the greatest weapons of the continent, assembling the most able warriors and forming one of the most formidable armies the continent has known. You are most certainly the descendent of that man. I ought to commend you, but…" His cold eyes glinted as they looked over Marth, examining ever facet and detail about the spawn. "You are… simply an impudent boy. You do not appear to be the warrior that Anri was. Fool though he was, one must acknowledge his skill. You…?"

Marth wasn't interested in being compared to Anri. "Medeus, we're here to kill you. There's no need for further words." Marth raised the Falchion proudly in Dolhr Keep. "I'll speak with this."

Medeus' eyes narrowed on the blade. "The Falchion is a weapon forged of Naga's tooth, a weapon of the Divine Clan. For all of humanity's bluster that they are independent, they can do naught but cling to the protection of divinity. Ridiculous, is it not?"

"What do you want, Shadow Dragon?"

Medeus' expression was impassive, as if the answer to Marth's question should have been obvious. "Returning humans to their former, proper role. Complete subjugation, crawling at the feet of their masters. An ambition and desire that contains nothing in the way of tyranny. It is merely the natural way, the natural order. Then, upon the soil of a world returned to its proper order, Dolhr shall create a shining future."

"And those who defy this natural order and future?"

"They shall meet the fate that all who oppose truth shall meet." Medeus breathed slowly, "My cause is righteous. You are the ones who oppose the way things have always been, the way things should be. Your 'justice' is hypocrisy, your 'resolve' is lies. There is nothing about your cause that is redeemable or worth preserving."

Marth postured. "And everything about your cause is? You've done nothing but slaughter people who had nothing to do with the imaginary crimes your kind suffered."

"Food for the hatred you humans sowed." Medeus dismissed, completely apathetic to the suffering that had transpired. "Our anger has long burned, here within Dolhr. It has taken much time, but… Dolhr is poised to usher the world back to its proper path. It is vengeance and justice all at once."

"You call murderous vindication 'justice'?"

"Revenge is the basis of your precious 'justice' system, is it not? One does something wrong, and so shall suffer as a result. Everything Dolhr has done is a righteous act, whether you view it as such or not. After what we have gone through…"

The Shadow Dragon stretched an arm out, then slowly clenched the fist. "The pain and agony, we have endured and struggled through so much, when Naga turned his back on his own species, we suffered deep. We were cast aside, stripped of our power, our place in this world. Now… the world shall quake with our rage. The human kingdoms shall tremble before Dolhr's justice."

Slowly, he began to take something out. A fist-sized green orb, and held it firmly with both hands.

Nagi's eyes widened in recognition. "Earthstone…!"

"At long last, humanity shall break." The orb began to shimmer, the energy growing. Not a white ball of light as Dragonstones usually made. It was sickly green in color as it enveloped Medeus and continued to grow. "And all remnants of human society shall burn… under the shadow of the Dolhr Empire."

The green energy expanded, covering nearly half the room, then condensed onto Medeus' human form, covering him like an ethereal moss. Suddenly, it expanded again as though something within it exploded. Marth covered his eyes before the green blinded him.

The green energy disappeared, revealing a towering dragon, whose appearance contrasted with any Manakete seen before. Tiki's eyes widened at the sight, and it took a force of will for her to hold her ground.

"You believe that this world of humans controlling themselves deserves to be saved." Medeus muttered from his new mouth with his new voice. "But you know that such short-lived creatures can never hold control. They wither away… dust, to dust. The Manaketes shall live as the humans crumble. All who pose a threat, such as you, shall writhe in the fires of the inferno. You shall regret this resistance, all the way down to the pit of Hell. All you can do from now to the end of eternity is regret the foolishness of opposing me."

"No." Nagi stepped forward, looking at Medeus' true form without a speck of fear. "No, these humans are not meant to crumble before you. They weren't born to serve the Manaketes. They're determined to find their own paths… not simply serve those who came before." Nagi didn't seem to know what her next word would be as she spoke, but she continued. "Both humans and Manaketes came into existence by the will of beings that even the Divine Clan can not understand. One species cannot lord itself over the other, the species are more like siblings, then master and servant."

Medeus turned to the woman. "I have… heard those ridiculous words before. Who are…" He looked at Nagi deeply, then his teeth suddenly grinded. "_You_… I remember _you_…" He raised his head and roared, the roar resonating throughout all of the Keep. "Those words are unchanged since the last time we met, when you aided that fool, Anri." He looked at Nagi, and then smiled at what he was seeing. "Ah, but I have been returned to full strength, while you lack even a fraction of what you once had. Before, you merited some concern by yourself. Now you are as insignificant as grain upon the beach."

He swerved his massive head, then looked at the other Manakete. "I sense the flesh of Naga in this child. Where is the hole these last remnants of the Divine Clan keep crawling out of?" He looked at Tiki, and felt the hate inside of him awakening. "It is fortunate that Naga's daughter would seek me out. I shall destroy his bloodline, his flesh and blood, I shall keep her severed head as a trophy, a symbol of my victory over the Divine Clan."

Tiki visibly shuddered, but held her ground.

Medeus again turned his head, passing over Caeda completely. He knew who that was, the daughter of the man who had offered shelter to the spawn. She had no weapon that was his concern, she was nothing. Less then nothing. To his proud earthen skin, it was like she wasn't even there. A sad joke unworthy of his attention. He focused on Marth again.

"Spawn of Anri, the time has come. Swing that sword as though you believe it can affect the outcome of this war. Let your blood and soul be sacrificed for the service of Dolhr, the remains of the last wielder of Falchion shall anoint the new world, returned to the state it should have always been in."

Marth wasn't impressed by the threat, and slowly assumed a fighting stance. "For all your claims of righting wrongs and being in the right, you're just full of sick desires. That ends now. I will defeat you, just like Anri did before me. You're going back to whatever realm Anri sent you to!"

"Come, then, loathsome spawn." Medeus challenged. "I'll strip you of that Divine Blade and sever you from the realm of the living forever!"

"Tiki." Nagi called to the girl. The older Manakete held her Divinestone out. Tiki looked and nodded, taking her own out. They both harnessed the power of the stones and assumed their true form.

Medeus growled in the back of his throat. The Divine Clan was again before him, though what was in front of him could have very well been the last wielders of Divinestones that still existed. He prepared himself for this, every powerful dragon muscle tensed. "No matter how many weapons and powers you have, there is only one fate for those who dare oppose the masters."

Medeus' head raised as air was sucked into his gaping maw. The energy began to develop within his throat. Marth was already running up to him, before releasing his breath, Medeus swiped a razor-sharp talon. It cleaved easily through the floor, shredding what had once been perfectly made metal. Marth immediately jumped away from the lethal swipe of the Earth Dragon's claw. Medeus eyed him for a moment, then returned to the two Divine Dragons.

At once, Tiki and Nagi released their white breath. Medeus countered, releasing a dark colored energy that met and… effortlessly pushed back the attack of the Divine Dragons. Tiki and Nagi had to disengage from their attack and dodge.

Medeus was pleased as the Divine Dragons dispersed to evade such a weak attack. Naga had been full capable of meeting Medeus single-handedly, these two were not. They hadn't even a fraction of Naga's power. He returned to Anri's descendent.

Marth was right up on Medeus' talons, and slashed the Falchion across one of Medeus' legs. Medeus grunted in pain as he moved back.

"I feel…" Medeus muttered slowly as a small bit of blood oozed freely from his leg. "I remember… this pain." He looked at Marth, seeing Anri in the movement of the spawn, recalling the agony he once felt as Falchion once carved through him. "You're pain shall be ten-fold for that cut."

Caeda suddenly flew in, becoming the sole focus of Medeus as she darted by his head. She attempted to rip the Wing Spear through Medeus' skin, right up his long neck. The lance tore no hole, but rather simply bounced off of the dragon skin. She sailed up Medeus' neck without inflicting any manner of wound.

"Insect." Medeus muttered as he watched Caeda closely. Rather then waste his earthen breath, he swung his massive head. Like a giant club, Medeus' head smashed into Caeda and her Pegasus, knocking them through the air and to the floor, with no sign that they were getting back up anytime soon.

"Watch, but do not interfere." Medeus warned the woman. "Your weapon is negligible, and your presence, irrelevant. I am only interested in…" A saliva that seemed to be made of a shadowy energy dripped from his mouth, falling on the floor and bubbling like acid. He turned to Marth. "…the one who wields the last remnant of Naga as his weapon."

He immediately breathed his breath toward Marth. If the attack hit, the spawn would be no more. Nagi crouched, extending a wing of her dragon form and letting it cover and shield Marth. Medeus' breath scorched Nagi's wing, and though the woman was clearly strained, she did not fail to keep Marth protected from the attack.

Tiki appeared near Medeus and released her own breath. Medeus roared as he felt pain on a level he was not used to coursing through him. He turned to Tiki and slashed a talon across her dragon chest. Tiki shrieked and took a step back.

Nagi began to lift her wing, burnt and damaged, but still intact. As it began to rise, Marth grabbed some of the webbing of the wing, letting himself be pulled up with it. As he rose up into the air, Marth threw the Falchion.

The holy blade spun through the air as Medeus began to turn back to Marth and Nagi. His eyes widened in realization as the Falchion came to him. It plunged straight into his left eye, he roared in the deepest pain as the blade slowly slipped out of the sliced eye. Blood trickled freely from the wound as his entire head shuddered.

"You… will pay for that." Medeus swung his massive head around in pain, then the movement calmed as he began to breath slowly. His head raised back up, and it seemed as though the wound to his left eye no longer bothered him.

Tiki attempted to attack again. Medeus turned to her and released his breath, forcing Tiki back into a wall of the Keep's throne room. He continued to breath, keeping Tiki pinned down, and sending incomprehensible pain through her.

Nagi rushed forward and gashed Medeus' neck with a claw. Medeus relented from his attack, Tiki slumped down the wall and toppled over, possibly unconscious. Medeus turned to Nagi and immediately sank his teeth into her shoulder. Medeus might have wondered if he could dare to pull back and tear Nagi's arm off, but then his eyes saw the spawn.

Marth recollected Falchion before turning back to the battle. Medeus, with his mouth, threw Nagi away and refocused himself on the spawn. Marth readied himself for further combat, and saw, with a sense of relief, that Caeda was getting back up. He leapt away from Medeus' slashing talons until his back was pressed against the wall. Medeus swiped again, Marth rolled to the side, the talon carved through the wall behind him, Marth rose and stabbed into Medeus' massive leg.

The Shadow Dragon grunted, then opened his mouth, readying himself to slay Marth in an instant. Suddenly Caeda attempted to stab him with her Wing Spear. It was a futile attack, but Medeus did disengage from his attack on Marth and turned toward the Talys princess. He was met by Nagi, who breathed her breath upon him.

He roared and backed off. His head shook, and he growled at his enemies. They were proving to be tenacious foes, at the same time, Medeus had yet to have received a truly meaningful injury. He was unhindered even by the damage to his eye. He released his breath, it quickly beat back Nagi's own and forced the Divine Dragon back.

Caeda tried to swoop in, Medeus dismissed the girl as a mere distraction and returned to the spawn. He did not see him at first, then looked down. Marth darted beneath the Shadow Dragon and gashed Medeus' underside. Medeus grunted and began to move away with surprising swiftness. He looked at Marth.

He did not have power the likes of which Anri laid claim to, but in Medeus' eyes, he had the same tenacity. It mattered little. Medeus raised himself proud, and looked at his enemies. They had all been weakened in one way or another, he still stood strong.

The Divine Dragons approached, seemingly looking to tear him apart with their claws. Medeus readied his breath, they both moved their massive bodies out of the way of the attack. Medeus raised a talon and slashed Tiki as she tried to lunge. The girl backed away and hunched down in pain, Medeus approached her and ripped a talon through her again. His intention seemed to be to gut her when she was down.

Nagi's teeth sank into Medeus' neck and she pulled him back. She didn't let go, trying to bite harder, then turned to Marth. The prince came up to Medeus and plunged the Falchion into the Shadow Dragon's chest. He began to carve a large gash open.

Medeus roared and began to move his neck, uncaring of the fact that it would only deepen the tear Nagi was making. His neck ripped free of Nagi's teeth, blood flowed freely from a neck almost ripped free of scales and skin, but not for a moment did Medeus as much as seem pained. He swiped a talon at Marth, the prince tried to jump away, but the tip of Medeus' claw managed to scrape a deep cut into Marth's leg. He turned to Nagi and released his dark breath upon her, forcing her away. He looked at Tiki, she was still down.

Caeda swooped in, possibly attempting to tend to Tiki in some manner. Medeus saw fit to intercept the woman. He swung a massive talon, the claw did not catch her, but the giant foot did. Caeda was flung into the wall, she and her Pegasus fell.

Medeus turned to Nagi, the Divine Dragon lunged at him, and managed to rip a claw across his shoulder. Medeus rammed his head into Nagi's chest, then raised his head at the unbalanced, stumbling Divine Dragon and released an inferno of his breath. Nagi slammed into a wall and fell down.

He turned to the prince, who seemed preoccupied with the small wound to his leg. "You may try a thousand different ways to attack me, spawn, and still I shall live and stand strong. Your crusade is over. Now simply surrender your soul to Dolhr. Seek atonement for the foolishness of your ancestor."

"Your weakening, Medeus." Marth countered, "You're getting slower. You won't last much longer at the rate you're going. You'll go back to whatever world Anri sent you to."

Medeus chuckled. "You don't have the strength to do what your ancestor did. Not on your own, not even with Falchion. The wise man would cower in fear. The fool tries to fight fate, and is consumed."

"It's not fate." Marth said. "You were never the one who was to decide that. The Divine Clan never sought to have humans fight fate. They gave humans a chance to shake off a tyranny that they never deserved to suffer through." He took his hand off of the deep cut Medeus had inflicted on his leg. "Nagi said it… though you Manaketes may have come first, our species are more like brothers then anything else. You have no right to lord yourself or your species over the humans."

"We came first. You just said so yourself." Medeus reminded the spawn. "It was our land. You humans never had any right to it. Yet it wasn't enough to simply take what was never yours. You treated us like beasts and monsters, made a mockery of us. Then we rose and broke your kingdoms. It was vindictive, but it was also righteous, we were in the right, as we are now. The suffering that humans have felt, is not enough to placate we who once suffered under them."

The blood from the wounds that Nagi had inflicted had stopped flowing. Medeus looked at Marth. "Spawn of Anri, it is time our relationship came to an end. The struggle that began with your ancestor ends with your death." He rushed forward, Marth rolled to the side of the charge. Medeus turned his head and bathed the ground before him with his lethal breath. Marth evaded the attack and readied himself for combat.

He darted at Medeus. The Shadow Dragon lowered his massive head in an attempt to gore Marth upon his teeth, crunch the bones in his mouth and turn the potential savior of humanity to torn apart meat in his gut. Marth moved to the side and gashed Medeus across the face, cutting beneath his now blind left eye. Medeus roared, then turned to Marth, who was coming at him again. Medeus raised a massive foot and attempted to crush Marth beneath, the foot came down with earth shattering force, but Marth was not caught beneath it.

Medeus attempted to sweep the foot across the floor and catch the spawn, Marth managed to roll under it, then got back up and stabbed into Medeus' side. Medeus grimaced, then looked at the resourceful gnat. Marth was raising Falchion again, attempting to slash deeper into the Shadow Dragon. Medeus swung a talon, it caught the blade of Falchion and tore the sword out of Marth's hand.

Marth looked to Falchion as it began to spin through the air, eventually imbedding itself into the stone wall of the Keep's throne room. There was no way he could climb up there and retrieve it. He looked back at Medeus as a talon came down on him.

He was forced to the ground and pinned under one massive claw, completely unable to move. He tried to rise up as far as he could, Medeus' claw was on his chest, threatening to push down harder at any moment.

"You came so far, and still you do not understand the truth." Medeus chided, he moved his massive head, unbothered by his great amount of injuries. "Human rule shall end, hope for salvation from Dolhr's control shall wane and die."

Marth looked at Falchion, still in the wall. He turned to Medeus, who seemed ready to push his talon in and puncture Marth's heart. "Dolhr _will_ be defeated."

Medeus shook his massive head. "No, spawn of Anri. It is the Archanean League that will be defeated. Look around you, spawn." He swerved his massive head. Princess Caeda and her Pegasus were still unconscious. The two Divine Dragons were laid out on the ground, beaten and battered, and unconscious. "Your allies are defeated, the Holy Blade torn from your hands, and still I stand. Outside, my Hand, Xemcel, is routing the rest of your League. Now, at the end, you see, you have come to Dolhr, and…"

A moment. A moment to savor this moment, this victory.

"…you, have lost."

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	42. The War's Conclusion

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>"<em>My Emperor, this plan has its risks." Xemcel noted, a hint of caution in his voice. "Though I doubt the humans would be of much threat even if they reached such a level, even a little threat is a threat."<em>

_Medeus did not deny that, but he looked remarkably unimpressed. He and his Hand were in the throne room of the Keep, the leaders of the Dolhr Alliance had departed. The Spawn of Anri had been found, he had reappeared in Aurelis after two long years. Now the time to prepare had come, but Medeus was opting to wait, and watch._

"_Humans amount to little. Now that the Divine Clan that they fearfully clung to is gone, they haven't the strength to stand against us. No matter how much power they attain… no, it is better that they find and hold power, then die."_

_Xemcel cocked his head._

"_If the spawn dies while still weak even in the eyes of humans, it will mean nothing. Should he, instead, gain powerful allies, acquire the greatest weapons, and make his way here, and only _then_ die…"_

_Understanding registered in Xemcel's eyes. Medeus was pleased that he did not have to elaborate further. His Hand did not have the brutal cunning that the Emperor had, but he at least understand Medeus' plans well enough._

"_You understand what is to be done, Xemcel?"_

_The Hand nodded._

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><p>Xemcel looked onward.<p>

The League was running afoul of Dolhr's army, just a few meters away from him. He watched as the leaders of the League struggled to rally themselves as the servants of Dolhr fell crashing down upon them. He was pleased to end this charade, a part of him had always been concerned at how close they were letting the League come to Dolhr, but that silent, nagging concern turned out to have been unfounded.

The League had progressed well, Xemcel was honestly impressed by how far the humans had come, and how fiercely they were pushing themselves. Yet, against Dolhr they were pitifully outnumbered and outmaneuvered on such a grand scale. For the League, this was not a battle. It was not a _winnable_ battle. Yet they persisted, they continued to strike down their enemies as if it would actually change the outcome of the final battle.

Wolf sunk an arrow into a charging Dolhr soldier's breastplate. He was calm, even in the middle of such a rapidly unraveling situation. Then two Dolhrian arms wrapped around him from behind, pinning his arms to his side.

The hulking Dolhrian behind him grinned, Wolf looked forward to see another charging enemy. He saw what the enemy was trying to do, but he was not fool enough to be killed in such a simple way. He jumped up, raising just enough into the air for the charging enemy's sword to sail under him and into the gut of the second Dolhrian.

The strong-armed Dolhrian's strength left him, his grip on Wolf weakened enough for the Aurelian to break free. His sword killed the charging Dolhrian with one thrust, he left the strong-armed enemy on his knees to bleed to death.

More enemies came at him. Wolf forwent the use of his bow in this situation, and met the incoming rush with his sword. He dodged an attack and killed the first overeager enemy with one slash, wrestled briefly with a second before shoving his sword into his enemy's chest, and slew many attackers with a variety of cuts.

Wolf readied himself to continue fighting, then a lance came down and silenced the lives of at least a score of his enemies. Wolf glanced at Palla as she began to rise back up to a safe distance. He shook his head, then thrust his sword out and killed a rising enemy without even looking.

Minerva's Hauteclere ripped through the enemies that settled on her as a target. Her Wyvern helped with both claws and fangs, goring the Dolhrians that Minerva never even saw. She fought not far from Hardin, it seemed that the power of both the Hauteclere and Gradivus were starting to show their limits. Hardin thrust the weapon through the chest of one enemy, then heaved the impaled target over his head and threw the soon to be dead enemy at other foes.

Hardin looked to the side, Minerva was trying to kill enemies as fast as possible. The effective method of chopping off limbs seemed practical for her. She rose to the air on occasion, but never ascended very high, the threat of arrows would be everywhere, and she would be an obvious target. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Iote's Shield, which would have protected her from arrows, and she momentarily wondered how this fight would have been going if Michalis was here. Whether fighting for them, or…

Catria fought her hardest. She was still fighting for Marth's sake, even from a distance. She had to do all she could for him. She dove down to slay a Dolhrian. It was the first time for a while she could move relatively freely around the battlefield. She didn't feel particularly comfortable with it. There was a little voice in her head, it kept saying that she would have done a much better job at supporting Marth then Caeda would. She believed it, but just continued to fight.

Elsewhere, Marth's other bodyguard, Jagen, was… faltering. Jagen breathed hard, and realized that his vision was blurring. As he pulled the Silver Lance from the neck of a now deceased Manakete, he held his hand out, the gauntlet seemed to morph into a metallic blob. He inhaled deeply, wiping a hand over his eyes, his vision did not become any clearer. His entire body ached, and he felt… hot. He simply shook his head and tried to ignore this strange development and returned to the battle. He could still easily see who was his enemy.

Xemcel looked at the battle, then turned to Bulzark. "Go and put an end to their foolishness. Now."

The Fire Dragon nodded, happy to receive such an order. He lumbered off. Xemcel turned in another direction, to an old Temple not far from Dolhr Keep, but far enough that he had to strain his eyes to see it. He looked, and his eyes widened at the sight of some League troops converging upon the Temple, which housed something… very precious to Dolhr. He could not depart from overseeing this battle… and so directed an exceptional regiment of Dolhrian soldiers toward the Temple.

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><p>Abel took in several deep breaths, the battle had become more then he ever expected. Though he did not presume that this would be a simple battle, Dolhr's placement of its troops throughout this war had led him to believe that the hadn't even a tenth of this number.<p>

Under Hardin's orders, Abel led a small group to one of the select few structures in Dolhr besides the Keep that seemed to be well kept. If things went from bad to worse, the ability to establish themselves in a defendable structure could be just the thing the League would need.

Est and a number of other soldiers accompanied him. They were able to cut down what enemy guards were in their way simply enough and entered the structure without injury. There were no attendants or guards to speak of inside the building, it seemed the human Dolhrians were prohibited from entering. Whatever the reason for that, it made things easier for him, and then he heard battle cries. Dolhrian cries.

He turned, seeing that an advancing regiment was ready to tear them apart for entering the structure, undoubtedly sacred to Dolhr. Abel tensed his muscles and prepared himself and the Mercurius for combat, and then Elice placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Do not worry." The Altean princess said frankly. "They won't make it in." She turned to the side. A dragon roar was heard, such a roar had become a common backdrop in today's battle. The Dolhrians did not slow their charge… and then Bantu's foot landed in front of them. The enemy advance stopped cold in an instant. The Dolhrians stared in horror, and had to remind themselves that _this_ Manakete was an enemy, and they had to fight the trained reflex to cower before a dragon.

Bantu had no need to wait to sort out any feelings. Taking in one massive gulp, he released a blast of fire before the Dolhrians could ready themselves to face this foe. The Dolhrians were turned to ash in an instant, nearly a full twenty men died immediately.

"What is in here?" Abel turned as Bantu began to watch the entrance. The entire building seemed very plain, the only thing of notice was a raised pedestal with a single chest upon it. The architecture of the building seemed entirely centered around this one chest. The support pillars even seemed to lean toward it, it was something of obviously deep meaning to Dolhr.

A part of him felt it incorrect to violate something that might have been holy, but this was Dolhr, how righteous was anything here? He turned to Julian. "Can you…?"

Julian gave the knight a thumbs up and quickly darted forward. There was an upward slope that one would use to reach the raised chest, Julian did not use it, instead he chose to simply climb up the large stand. Scaling up to the chest was nothing to him, the smooth stand was nothing to a man who had made a former career out of scaling things that seemed impossible to climb, to get things he had no right to. The chest he saw was far more ornate then anything the man had seen since the Archanean Castle, a shrug was the only reaction he gave to that fact.

With a movement, perhaps just a slight of his hand, the intimidating lock was broken with a childish ease. He opened the chest with a fairly muted expression, and his eyebrows quirked at what he saw. He did not define himself as a thief anymore, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't perk up at the thought of finding treasure. Instead, he only saw…

"A staff." Julian muttered whilst shaking his head. "Nothing spectacular."

"A what?" Elice moved forward, walked upon the orthodox upward slant toward the chest, rather then just scaling up the stand as Julian had done. She reached the chest and quickly inhaled. "It's the Staff of Aum." She reached unsure hands down and gripped the unusual Staff, picking it up carefully, as though she thought that Aum would crumble to dust if mishandled.

"This staff can take hold of a departed soul and bring it back to this plane of existence." Elice said, continuing to speak as she descended back to the floor. "Yet, such an act is a gross insult to the natural order. We cannot… if anyone is brought back, our need to bring that person back should be dire, and that person's life precious to the entire continent."

"…princess." Abel began, fidgeting slightly, a war brewing in his head. "Can you… can you try to bring Frey back?" Elice gave him a look. "Frey… sacrificed himself so we could get prince Marth safely out of Altea. He set himself up as a decoy to lure Gra and the betrayer, Jiol, away. He… probably perished. He was a good friend to Cain and me, can you…"

Pragmatically, the answer to that should have been 'no'. No matter how honorable and selfless that sacrifice was, Frey's life just wasn't that important. He was just one knight. The staff would have been better used to save a member of the Altean royal family, or the Archanean royal family. If either of those lineages died out, it would grievously hurt the continent.

And yet… Elice couldn't ignore the debt she owed to anyone who had saved and protected Marth. Against all logic, Elice took Aum in hand and began to focus. She wasn't sure what to expect…

It suddenly felt like her conscious was sucked out of her body, pulled into whatever great beyond a soul goes to when it died. She knew her soul was still safe in her own body, Aum was only giving her a link to the next world.

The world her mind had gone to defied coherent description, and she couldn't ever hope to process what she was seeing. It wasn't the burning agony of the underworld, but not the bliss of a happier afterlife, either. It seemed to be a transition, perhaps a purgatory of some sort. Rather then try to understand anything, she pushed forward, looking for who she had come for. She spent a long time in this strange, ethereal world, but…

After a time, her conscious shifted back to her body. She hunched forward slightly, exhausted from what she had gone through, and the sights that would take a hundred lifetimes to understand. Slowly she stood back up and turned to Abel.

"Frey…" She began slowly. "Wasn't there. He… isn't dead."

Abel's eyes widened at the news. His mouth hung open at what Elice said, which seemed impossible, and he became slightly wary. "Are you sure? That doesn't seem…"

"He was not there." Elice said plainly while shaking her head. "I don't know where he walks, but his soul has not departed this world." She looked at Aum in her hand. "For now, there is no one of pressing need to return."

Abel nodded, accepting the story, however difficult to believe. "Then, let's hope that we don't end up having a pressing need to use it before the day is over. There's still a lot that can go wrong today." He turned his head. "The Temple is secure. We'll leave some guards, most of us are returning to the battle."

* * *

><p>The rumbling of battle continued, and the Keep itself shuddered. Medeus felt the rumbling, pleased by the feeling. He looked at the spawn, who couldn't move without risking Medeus' talon tearing his chest open.<p>

"Do you hear it, wretched spawn?" Medeus asked. "Your army is falling apart, the will of your soldiers slowly saps away. You are on the cusp of being consumed by the Empire you sought to destroy."

Marth raised his head, one of the precious few movements he could make in his current situation. "Even if you _do_ kill me, more will rise up."

"No, spawn." Medeus raised his massive head. "Do you realize the scope of your rebellion? The kind of power you held? The only worthy wielder of Falchion left in this world shall die, and the world shall see that even those equipped with the Regalia are no match for Dolhr's might. Look at you, Spawn of Anri, even with the Falchion in hand, even with the aid of the last wielders of Divinestones, you still fell." He managed a weak, humorless laugh whilst watching Marth for any sign of an attempt to rise. He made sure to keep the greatest threat pinned down. "The death of you after you've acquired so much will serve as a great example to others who dare to rebel. The people will see that even those with such power, who claimed that they knew what they were up against, couldn't match the Empire."

He looked up. "Do you know… how easily we could have killed you? I had the entirety of the Dolhr Alliance I could have poured into Aurelis when you reappeared. I declined, because I saw fit to make an example of you. This war between Dolhr and the League masked another war, one of symbolism. If Dolhr ripped you apart when you were weak, it would mean nothing. Your sacrifice would have only inspired others. Yet if you grew stronger, became some of the greatest, most formidable warriors of the continent, then your defeat would illustrate a point. That Dolhr cannot _be_ defeated."

"You even broke the Dolhr Alliance. Macedon and Grust laid claim to armies that could have conceivably challenged the Empire, and might have even merited concern if they joined together to oppose me. You destroyed the spine of their armies, and when the Archanean League is torn apart, no army that could challenge Dolhr will be left. The greatest remaining warriors of this human generation will die with that last hope. It was by your hand that those who could challenge me shall come to die, and it was by your will that the Archanean League marched to Dolhr, to meet its fate. You have my gratitude."

Marth looked at Medeus' face, his own twisting into a wrathful expression as the Manakete stood triumphant.

"We observed your strength closely. Letting you grow in skill, grow enough but never too much. We considered every possibility that could come out of your attack on this day. You never became anything worthy of more then contempt. By the standards of most, you may be formidable, but against Dolhr, you are simply weak, powerless, and you will die, just as those outside are in the midst of doing."

Medeus smiled, pleased in his victory. There had been but one unforeseen element. No one expected there to be a second Divine Dragon, but in the end it hadn't been a cause for true concern. The spawn had not even an ounce of the strength the original vermin had, even with such allies he amounted to so little. Medeus could have ended it all with one little push… let the talon enter the skin and puncture the heart, but that would not do. He'd rather let the spawn see, feel, and understand how utterly he had been defeated before he felt death.

As the Shadow Dragon kept Marth down, a distant figure began to stir. Caeda slowly began to get up, her head throbbing as pain crawled through her skull. Her eyes darted to and fro, registering the area she was in.

She reminded herself that she was in Dolhr Keep. The final battle, where she had to support Marth with everything she had. She looked around and saw Medeus' towering figure. The mortal enemy, he was still standing, many wounds were across him, but he still stood as strong as ever.

She reminded herself of Marth, and… she looked around, despairing for a moment when she didn't immediately see him. Then she saw Marth's familiar figure, pinned under one of Medeus' talons. She gasped, but kept herself from making a louder sound.

Her first impulse was to get over there, but even her frantic mind took notice of the fact that Marth didn't have the Falchion. Her eyes traced around, looking for the Divine Blade. She saw both Tiki and Nagi prone on the ground and shuddered at the sight. She took in a calming breath and thought, if those two were down, then they needed Falchion to have any chance for victory. She looked, the blade seemed to be nowhere. Finally, she looked straight up and saw the sword embedded in the wall above her. She looked at Medeus again, and steeled herself with a quick intake of air.

She patted her Pegasus on its neck. It slowly managed to get itself onto its feet, doing it as quietly as possible. Caeda leaned forward to whisper. "Get me up in the air, get me to the Falchion." She kept her voice as quiet as possible, hoping that Medeus' ears wouldn't be able to hear. The Pegasus began to flap its wings, ascending as quietly as it could.

Not all sound could be eliminated, and trying to be as quiet as possible resulted in an astonishingly slow ascent. She glanced nervously at Medeus, if he as much as turned his head, he would see her. Perhaps all that it would take for them to be defeated was for that to happen… she blocked out thoughts of defeat and focused her eyes entirely on the Falchion. For a brief moment, victory or defeat in potentially the entire war was falling entirely to Caeda. That fact never registered on her, she was thinking entirely of Marth.

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><p>Fire seared through the plains of Dolhr. So many Manaketes had released their molten breath, some of their corpses now stewed in their own blaze. Yet no fire was burning quite as fiercely as Bulzark's.<p>

The Manakete raised his head and roared, his head lowered, letting the deep bellow be heard throughout the entire battlefield. Arrows dared to come at him, but they failed to as much as discomfort him. With attacks bouncing weakly off his scaled armor, he turned to a group of League troops and belched out fire, consuming the land all around him in waves of flesh burning light.

The Fire Dragon seemed more like a demon as the fire illuminated him. Eyes already blood red were made even more menacing by the dancing lights. He turned to the League.

"Don't be proud of your progress today." Bulzark warned, a bit of flame coming from his nostrils. "Khozen pales in comparison to me. Let this flame scorch your soul more then your flesh, and be what sets beating hearts aflame."

Jeorge began to worry about his supply of arrows, but nonetheless placed three enchanted arrows onto his bowstring and let all three of them fly. They all pierced into Bulzark's front left thigh. The dragon's expression conveyed discomfort for but a moment at an attack most likely intended to cripple him. It ignored the irritations on its skin and turned to the direction the arrows came from. Jeorge immediately jumped down from his perch on a boulder as the flame came.

As he landed on the grass beneath him, he could feel the heat of Bulzark's fiery breath passing above him. Looking up, he saw that the boulder he had been on top of a moment ago was now melting. Bulzark began to move forward, planning on tearing what remained of the boulder aside and slaying the Archer, then felt wind slice his face. Hissing, he turned to Merric, the Wind Mage was already readying another spell. Bulzark wasted no time, his mouth yawned open and released a massive fireball. Merric dodged with a roll, landing a safe distance from where the blaze struck.

Bulzark eyed the cut on his face. It wasn't even a deep cut. He turned back to those around him. The League was watching him closely, even the more impetuous were not willing to approach without a plan.

"Stronger then the one Navarre killed." Hardin observed, looking at this Dragon. Bulzark lumbered around, roaring his challenge at the League. Hardin turned his head slightly, focusing his eyes on Xemcel. The Hand of Medeus could have interjected in this conflict at any point, and Hardin wasn't sure if the League would be capable of withstanding both Bulzark and Xemcel at the same time.

But Xemcel apparently had no interest in joining this battle himself. He seemed to, Hardin suspected, feel that being part of this fight was beneath him. At that note Hardin, despite everything that had happened so far, relaxed a bit of the tension within him. At the very least, the most dangerous enemy outside the Keep didn't seem interested in stepping in at the moment.

"Prince Hardin." Hardin turned, seeing Abel coming up on his horse. "That Temple housed the Staff of Aum, but otherwise seemed to have little worth. Just a few soldiers, and Bantu, are guarding it from Dolhr's army. I imagine Bantu is making an ash pile as we speak."

The Aurelian prince smirked for just one second and nodded at the good news regarding the Temple, then turned back to Bulzark. "This enemy might be the strongest Manakete we've yet encountered. In order to defeat it, we may…" He looked back at Abel, and his eyes were drawn to the Mercurius in the knight's hand. A plan quickly formed. "We can't afford to spend anytime with this Manakete, not when a stronger Mage Dragon is waiting. We have to take it out immediately, you will be the critical component of such a quick attempt to kill it."

Abel nodded. "Whatever you wish. I'll lay down my life for the prince's war."

As the words left him, Abel's thoughts drifted to what had become of Marth inside the Keep. There was no telling what was happening in there. Marth must have at least found Medeus by now, whether he was edging toward victory or defeat was another question.

No. Abel knew Marth's skill. He couldn't have been attaining anything besides victory. He refocused himself on Hardin. "What should I do?"

Hardin turned back to Bulzark. Flame puffed out of the dragon's mouth as he opened it, waiting for the chance to try and incinerate some soldiers of the League. He might get his chance if an attempt to attack him failed. "The Manakete will feel it the most if we can attack his head or his neck. We need to find a way to get him to lower his head." Hardin stroked his chin. "The only way he'll do that of his own accord is if he's breathing fire. Someone will have to goad him into…"

"Prince Hardin." Hardin stopped, then turned to one of the Whitewings. Est sat in the saddle of her Pegasus. After interrupting Hardin's thoughts Est looked a little unsure of herself, but continued. "Maybe we can attack him from above? I can just bring Abel above him and let him drop down. I don't think he'd expect that."

"That's…" Hardin let the information toss in his mind for a moment. It was a bold notion, and one that Hardin saw merit in. Surely few Manaketes were used to enemies dropping down on them like that. He nodded after a few seconds of thought. "This Manakete will be distracted by a land force. Abel, you'll be dropping in from above. You are to strike the neck with the intent to kill."

Abel blinked once, then nodded. Not the sort of role he was expecting, but he dismounted from his steed. He glanced at Hardin. "Who will-"

"Sedgar and Vyland will handle preoccupying the Manakete. Don't worry about that. You just focus on your attack."

"Right." Abel looked at Est, not able to deny some apprehension in him. Est scooted forward to allow him some space on the saddle, a strange grin on her face that the knight didn't like the look of. Abel took in a deep breath.

* * *

><p>Bulzark looked around, all that was around him was in flames. His eyes remained clear, watching and taking note of every little ember, searching for any distortion, any sign of a human's movement.<p>

Then an arrow struck him, right beneath the eye. It didn't pierce the scale, he whirled. Smoke was already puffing out of his mouth as he looked to where the arrow would have had to have come from.

Sedgar put his bow down and smirked. Vyland was beside him, they seemed… unnaturally cocky, considering their current position. Bulzark turned to them. "Impudent humans. Do you really think you can kill me?"

Sedgar continued to smile, then shrugged. "Maybe. We'll never know when you die."

Bulzark paused at the strange words. "What? What… do you…"

* * *

><p>"Ready?" Est asked with a ready expression, Abel fidgeted somewhat behind her in the saddle. "Just jump down and cut his neck open as you fall."<p>

"Yes…" Abel tensed slightly. His voice lacked any usual enthusiasm and readiness. Est turned to him.

"You're not… scared of heights, or anything, are you?"

Abel inhaled. "No, not that. Just… this isn't what I had in mind."

Est shrugged. "Now or never, Abel. Get used to it." They were in position, so she decided to take the initiative. She placed one hand firmly on Abel's shoulder, and then pushed him over.

He grunted, possibly cursing as he suddenly began to fall, the Mercurius in his hands. He quickly cleared his head and focused. Bulzark was directly beneath him.

* * *

><p>"Your arrogance is surpassed only by your stupidity, humans." Bulzark said, raising his massive head up to look down upon them. "You think the two of you, <em>you<em>, could make a difference?" He looked down and saw an arrow, one of the Parthia's blessed arrows. It was bent and broken, snapped in half. "Your resistance is as feeble as this holy arrow. You may be chosen by deities, even by fate, but still you shall not triumph over Dolhr. To the last, each one of you shall be-"

_Something_ suddenly fell down from the air. Bulzark's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. When it opened, it had been for the purpose of demanding to know what had just happened, instead the only sound from his mouth was an anguished cry.

He felt his blood effectively bursting out of a torn open neck. The wound, the deep wound went from his head all the way to the base of his neck. His head thrashed around, then the movement suddenly stopped, he was too pained to continue. His head turned weakly to the human who had wounded him. He didn't understand how the human had gotten so high in the air, but…

His desire was to take one last moment to slay the human, rip him in half with a fierce swipe of a talon. He made a movement, but the pain he was feeling was too great, and he fell.

"Abel!" Est came down. The Altean had done his job well, and had slashed open the Manakete's neck with ease. The wound had been so deep that the Manakete's head might as well have been cleanly cut off. Such a viciously powerful enemy would be done away with in moments from now. She turned to another priority, finding the knight who killed the dragon. She found him, struggling to stand up. She dismounted from her Pegasus and approached him. "Abel, are you alright?"

"I think I…" Abel groaned in pain, clutching at a leg. "I… landed on my foot wrong." He had raised to a hunched position, but then fell. Est caught him, letting him lean on her before he fell onto his face.

Est grew nervous as Abel's weight was on her. She slowly took air in to speak. "Come on, Abel." She wasn't used to supporting other people's weight, but put Abel's arm over her shoulder while wrapping an arm of her own around the Altean. She would at least get him to her Pegasus, rather then leave him near a still somewhat alive Manakete.

"X-Xemcel…!" Bulzark suddenly cried as Abel was getting away from him. Trying and failing to stand, the Manakete beseeched the aid of his superior. "Xemcel, come… to me… help… me…"

A shadow crossed over Bulzark. He looked up weakly to see the lanky form of the Hand's true draconic appearance. "Help me, get me… some-"

Xemcel raised a massive talon, letting it hover directly over Bulzark's head.

"Manaketes that beg for aid…" Xemcel began slowly, emphasizing every syllable. "Are too weak to deserve any." The massive talon came down, Bulzark could not even whimper. His entire head was crushed under Xemcel's mighty foot. The Fire Dragon's entire body shuddered, and seemed to spasm for the first moment it was devoid of its head. Then it slowed, and fell motionless.

"Foolish, worthless pawn." Xemcel said, slowly scraping his foot across the ground, spreading what remained of Bulzark's head around. "You were always too weak to be of any true aid to our Emperor." His head suddenly turned, he looked straight at Hardin. "A cunning tactic, to attack from the air. But can you truly deny your foolishness? Your chances of victory rest firmly at zero."

Hardin shook his head. "So you say. I doubt you expected us to be able to last this long."

"Perhaps." Xemcel admitted. "Prince of men, your kind have such a limited life. You cannot anticipate or prepare in ways a being like me can. I, and the Emperor, considered so many scenarios, so many outcomes to you marching here. In every situation, we reigned while the League was utterly defeated. Choose one course of action or another, Aurelian. The end result will be the same."

Hardin readied himself for battle. "We've come too far to be defeated. You will die, just like your Emperor will."

Xemcel's face contorted with offense for a moment at the threat to Medeus' life, then loosened with an amused expression. "No weapon you wield is capable of letting you reap victory on this day. As you come to lie, writhing in pain, all you can do is reflect on the false hope you inspired in this continent. Reflect, and then die." Xemcel raised his head, his mouth slowly opened, blue arcane smoke seeped out and drifted skyward. Immediately, his head lurched forward, bathing all before him with his mystic breath.

He did not precisely see Hardin dodge the attack, but he knew the prince still lived and could fight. He cut his attack short, inhaling again in preparation for further combat. "Come, humans. I am strongest under the Emperor. Let me show you that you are not the champions of fate, but are attempting to fight it. Let me bring you to the end of all who dare fight fate's current."

A gnat suddenly dared to fly by his head. Xemcel eyed the flying Pegasus and its rider. A lance made of Steel was beneath his concern, but, better to deal with pests now. He lashed his head forward with all the quickness of a lunging snake. His fangs caught Palla and gashed a fierce wound onto her gut.

He did not pull the woman into his mouth as he wished, but he was satisfied. Palla clutched at her hip and, slowly, began to lean to the side and eventually fell from her Pegasus.

Catria and Est both looked at their falling elder sister. Minerva watched as the most reliable and calm of her Whitewings was plummeting fast to her death. She looked ready to hit the ground with a fatal result, and then something intercepted her descent.

Wolf held Palla with one arm, stopping for a moment to examine her. Palla's eyes were closed, her teeth were clenched as her hands grasped at her wound. Wolf felt a feeling of anger in him, a depth normally reserved for when someone injured Coyote or Roshea.

Several Dolhr soldiers surrounded Wolf and Palla. Wolf took his sword out, he was outnumbered, and handicapped by having to hold Palla, but he wouldn't die so simply, nor allow a comrade to die like this. With sword in hand, he let his enemies approach him.

"There is nothing you or anyone can do." Xemcel whispered, looking at Hardin. "You shall be as insignificant as Cornelius when he expired on his way to Dolhr. A man too easily slain by the simple trick of deceit."

Hardin's muscles tensed. "I won't have you mocking the memory of Marth's father. I _will_ make you regret saying that, for Marth's sake."

Xemcel smirked. "Still bound by honor, are you? Open your eyes, there is no need for honor. The only thing this world needs, has ever needed, is veneration and worship of our ruler, the Emperor Medeus. That is reality. Choose to fight it and your death will be on your own head."

Jeorge saw fit to take advantage of Xemcel's interest in talking. He readied his arrows on Parthia and let them fly. Xemcel turned impassively toward the arrows, letting them all sink into him. One into the side of his face, another into his neck, and the third in his chest. Xemcel's expression creased only slightly with discomfort. The pain was no more pressing for the Mage Dragon as an insect's bite was for a human.

He casually ignored the Mages. The lesson they should have learned from Morzas in Castle Altea was that magic was useless against his breed. Yet still, blades of wind spawned in the air. Xemcel's eyelids drooped in annoyance, the blades tried to cut at his face, his neck, everything on him, but nothing hurt him. He looked at the Altean Wind Mage and just shook his head. The Mage wasn't worth bothering with, not now.

Mundane weapons came at him. Arrows flew through the air, as did smaller hand axes. He was woefully unimpressed, the weapons struck him, leaving no meaningful damage. Then another arrow went into him, straight into his chin from beneath. It simply bounced off, he looked down at where the attack would have had to have come from.

Gordin and Norne saw that Gordin's arrow had done no damage. Xemcel began to raise his foot, then brought it down, looking to crush both of the archers underfoot.

His foot suddenly stopped. Xemcel cocked his head, knowing that his foot hadn't landed on solid ground. Suddenly his foot began to get forced up by… _something_. He knew full well that the young archers could not have possibly had that kind of strength of arm.

Ymir growled as he held Xemcel's foot up. His arms shook with fatigue. Even for a man as powerful as him, he couldn't withstand the weight of a Manakete easily. After several moments, he growled and managed to force Xemcel's foot away.

"What-" Xemcel began, feeling unbalanced by the sudden, forced movement. Ymir took his Devil Axe in hand and poured all his strength into his arms. Taking a step forward, he swung the weapon across Xemcel's chest.

Xemcel roared, backing away, his head flailing to the side. Blood erupted from his chest, and for the first time since Medeus' return, the Hand of Medeus was in pain.

"Little… whelp." The Mage Dragon growled out, not caring about what now flowed swiftly and freely from his chest region. More pressing to him was the sense that something _besides_ just blood was leaking out. Ymir held the Devil Axe and roared a challenge out, a roar that seemed full capable of putting a Manakete's cry to shame. Xemcel examined the build of this human, and was honestly impressed. For all the trials the humans of Dolhr were put through, they never gained physical strength like this. Certainly, the strongest of them would not have been capable of throwing off a Manakete's foot like that.

It would almost be a shame to kill this behemoth of a man, but there would always be those ready to serve. The loss of one human, however great his potential, would be ultimately negligible. Xemcel shifted his attention from the man and to the weapon he had been attacked with.

"…the Devil Axe?" Xemcel cocked his massive head, then understood why it felt like blood and flesh wasn't all that he had lost in the attack. "I see. That was why my scales offered so little resistance to that attack. I don't know how that artifact came into your possession, human, but a cursed power alone cannot quell my life."

Ymir just charged forward. Xemcel shook his head at the blind charge. His breath went out, tendrils of power reached out for the sole purpose of ending Ymir. The ogre moved past them easily enough, running to rip the Axe against Xemcel again.

"Pitiful savage." Xemcel said. He swiped a talon at Ymir. The giant raised his axe to block, but the cursed weapon ended up being torn straight out of his hands. Xemcel moved his claws again, Ymir grabbed the sharp nails without losing any stride and forced them to a stop mid-swing. Unimpressed, Xemcel lifted his foot, picking Ymir up, and then slammed it into the ground.

He pushed down harder, driving Ymir into the ground. Xemcel's dragon lips curled in delight, and then he heard beating leather wings. Raising his head up, he saw the appearance of a lesser scaled creature, a Wyvern. More notable was the axe its rider held. Being more notable compared to the Wyvern didn't mean it was threatening, Minerva made a weak slice on Xemcel's face, he only sighed at the insignificant wound.

"Cain." Abel said between heavy breathing. He was standing up only due to Est's physical support. He turned to the other Altean knight, his old friend. He held the Mercurius in his hand. "Can you… throw this at Xemcel? It _will_ hurt him. We need to inflict all the damage we possibly can."

Cain looked at the Regalia and nodded, slowly taking the sword from Abel. Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the Mage Dragon. Xemcel was focused entirely on Minerva, and Cain could see that he was ready to swipe the Macedonian from the air.

"Go on." Abel said. "It might be all we need."

Cain nodded, and with a mighty overhead heave he let the sword fly through the air. As Xemcel was paying attention to Minerva, the Mercurius spun past and slashed his thin neck. The Mage Dragon gagged as blood suddenly spurted from his neck, and his head bowed forward.

"You have lasted longer in this battle then I presumed you would." Xemcel admitted, feeling his own wounds. The Devil Axe slashed more then the flesh, much more, and the cut to his now trembling neck was no less pressing. "But there can be only one fateful outcome to this battle. I shall present your ashes to the Emperor." Xemcel took in a breath, letting himself be filled with the magical energy that sheared flesh from bones. The air moving through his torn neck sent pain through him, but he did not relent. He released it, fully intending to slay Hardin at once. The arcane energy swept through the battlefield, consuming what little greenery that wasn't set aflame. He continued to release his breath until at last his lungs protested the lack of air.

The energy dispersed, he surveyed what lay before him. A tortured wasteland devoid of all life. His eyes traced around, carefully analyzing what was before him. The sounds of battle were still heard, made by those oblivious to what had just happened. Finally he chuckled lightly. "There is only ashes before me. Watch from wherever you are now, Hardin, prince of Aurelis. With the Manaketes in control, the world is returning to its rightful way. You shall-"

Gradivus suddenly flew through the air, going straight into Xemcel's head. Entering from the side of his head, it pierced through his temple. The words he was speaking died away, giving way to a gasping sound.

"It's rightful way isn't something that you can decide on your own. May you come to understand that from wherever _you_ go." Xemcel looked toward the direction the voice came from. There was Hardin, standing with several other League soldiers. "I believe _you_ will be the one who turns to ash."

Xemcel growled, the sound slowly transcended into a groan. The pain was absolute, and his legs lost the strength to keep him standing. His long neck and head collapsed on the floor. Hardin approached cautiously, Xemcel watched calmly, not having the strength to do anything more, as the Aurelian removed the Gradivus from Xemcel's head. It was coated with the Manakete's blood, Hardin took a moment to wipe it off with his hand.

"Use…" Xemcel began talking weakly, then chuckled in spite of his pain. His eyes widened as he looked at Hardin, making him look almost manic. "It's… useless… victory shall… never be… yours…"

Hardin simply kicked the Manakete's neck. "We'll see."

"I shall… be waiting…" Xemcel whispered. "Waiting… in the pit of Hell, for when… Medeus, sends you to me." He laughed in anticipation for a quick reunion, even as death began to take him over. His eyes were open, staring unblinkingly at Hardin.

A blue flame sprouted on Morzas' body, racing hungrily across his scales and skin, consuming him. He seemed to smile as his body crumbled, becoming ash and dust to be carried off by the wind.

Hardin did not relax. By his own hands their greatest foe aside from Medeus was defeated. He felt a rush of pride… but pushed it down immediately. Xemcel might have been dead, but the army of Dolhr was still here. The battle was going to continue… and only Medeus' defeat could stop it.

There was no time to celebrate the death of the enemy's commander. He motioned with his hand for the League soldiers present to follow him to further battle. They would be fighting until the battle inside Dolhr Keep was over.

* * *

><p>Nagi's eyes began to slowly open. At first, her mind was as blank as it had been when she woke in the tower. Memories, what few she had made since waking, flooded back to her. She recalled the deep sense that she had to see Medeus be defeated, and do it herself if necessary, and scanned the area in front of her.<p>

Her vision seemed impaired, and everything was a blur at first. She quickly noticed a large, hulking figure across the room, and recognized it as Medeus. She tried to rise… but barely moved. The slightest physical movement sent shots of incomprehensible pain through her. She looked at Medeus, and saw Marth under a talon.

_Prince of… Light… _She looked, then slowly closed her eyes. _Remember… what this is about. This war, your species… if I cannot rise up, then you must. Get… up…_

Marth carefully watched Medeus. His hands were slowly clenching, he was ready for any sudden action from the mortal enemy, the Shadow Dragon. Medeus' head moved swiftly, like a snake's, he was watched Marth with his one good eye, his left could no longer see thanks to the Altean prince. Marth kept his eyes locked on Medeus'… and then suddenly a new color filled the prince's eyes.

His eyes no longer saw Medeus. He saw only a dark void, then light suddenly filled his vision, and he saw a battlefield. The first thing he noticed was a great hulking dragon, which he instantly realized was Medeus. Across from him was a blue haired warrior. Marth quirked an eyebrow, having an immediate suspicion to the man's identity, but said nothing.

"_Look, Prince of Light."_

Marth blinked. "Gotoh?" He recognized the White Sage's voice, even as the greater part of his attention was on the Medeus of this strange vision.

Gotoh's voice briefly vanished, then returned. _"Look at the struggles of your ancestor, Anri."_

Anri. Just as Marth thought. He looked at his distant ancestor, the one whose exploits were legendary. He fought against the great dragon, Medeus. The Falchion seemed almost a part of him, a blade he had likely grown completely accustomed to well before he met the Manakete in battle.

Marth's eyes widened as the sword jammed into the base of Medeus' neck. The Shadow Dragon roared in utter anguish and fell. His head slammed into the ground, his lifeless tongue protruding out his mouth. Anri raised his sword in triumph, victory had come to him and the human race. Despite his look of exuberance, Anri looked like he was ready to fall over dead. His wounds were life threatening, and he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion. He had attained victory by the skin of his teeth.

"_Look at what he overcame. What you must now overcome."_ Gotoh continued.

"I don't think he got pinned under a claw." Marth said. He noticed he seemed to have full motor control in this strange vision Gotoh was seeing fit to give him.

"_Think, Altean prince. Think of all the people who had to die in this war. All who had to die before you were given the chance to fight yourself."_

Everything Marth saw seemed to melt. Marth saw Anri seem to become his direct father, Cornelius. He was fighting for his life, Marth saw clearly who his enemies were. He saw Grust's Sable Order, and the army of Gra. Both Camus The Sable and King Jiol were clearly visible.

Cornelius was able to outmatch Jiol easily, forcing the armored traitor King and his Gra soldiers away, then turned to Camus. They were fighting approximately evenly, Cornelius even seemed to, for a moment, attain the upper hand. That was something not even Marth could have single-handedly managed against the Grustian General.

Then Jiol returned, his lance ready. Marth flinched, and watched as Jiol's lance stabbed into Cornelius from behind, spearing out the front of the Altean King. Marth instantly remembered Jiol in the Gra Castle, with Cornelius' blood, long since dry, still on the lance.

Camus seemed upset at the sneak attack, but said nothing. The objective to slay the Altean King had been achieved. The Grust General had no further words to say.

Marth felt the old familiar anger over the murder all over, but the scene faded away before he could say or do anything. It flashed through many things that had occurred. Elice staying behind to distract the Gra troop. Frey facing brutality at Gra's hands, Caeda and Mostyn giving him shelter in Talys, so many things… Marth saw the connecting thread in this collection of visions. It was all of people who made sacrifices of varying lengths for his sake.

"_You cannot fail. Everything that has happened since Medeus' return, it was all so you could rise up to walk your path of destiny. Think of what Anri accomplished, what you _must_ accomplish."_ Gotoh continued. Marth felt a strange energy filling him. It was not some emotion, nor an adrenaline or a drive. Whatever it was, it made him feel… energized, powerful.

All the fatigue and pain he had suffered was vanishing. He suddenly felt ready to face anything single-handedly. It wasn't an adrenaline… it felt like what he felt when he held the Falchion. The energy was, perhaps, Holy? The same energy Tiki and Nagi filled themselves with?

"_Everything falls to you, Prince of Light. You, who the Gods chose to vanquish the ones who threatens the balance of all." _Gotoh's voice turned imploring. _"Rise up. There is still one last battle. At this final stage, in this last exchange of Blade and Fang, you are the continent's… the _world's_ only hope."_

Marth snapped back to reality, again seeing Medeus hovering over him. His hands clenched. Medeus' expression subtly changed, noticing a strange difference in Marth.

In the distance, Caeda slowly pulled Falchion from the wall. As she clutched the hilt, she felt something… _wrong_, entering into her body. Whatever failsafe that Naga had made to prevent anyone but Anri's bloodline from wielding the sword was trying to harm her. In this moment, she didn't care what contaminating magic was entering her.

The sword slid soundlessly out of the wall. She turned to the Shadow Dragon. The time for silence had come to an end.

"Marth!" She yelled, she threw the Falchion as Medeus turned to the princess' cry. He saw the sword spin in the air dangerously close to his face. He saw the sword be caught by the prince's hand, which had already been reaching out for the weapon. Before Medeus could respond to anything, the Divine Blade was sunk into his foot.

He roared, his foot raised up, his talon rising from Marth's chest. Marth immediately rolled to the side as Medeus attempted to bring his foot back down. The floor of the Throne Room cracked under the force that Medeus brought crashing down.

Caeda watched the unfolding of the final battle. She felt faint, her eyes starting to close. She desperately wished to aid Marth directly, but she could do no more then what she had already done. She started to lean forward, her Pegasus began to carefully descend back to the floor. Its eyes were focused entirely on this unfolding battle.

"Medeus." Marth said, his voice was chillingly quiet, but the words were heard clearly by the Manakete. "You speak about natural orders, and how you're trying to maintain them. Let me show you… exactly where in the natural order _you_ belong."

The Shadow Dragon's eyes narrowed. Persistent, pretentious, and self-righteous was the Spawn. In every way was he the descendent of Anri. "Very well, lowly spawn. Let us see who is entitled to decide what is right for this world."

"I don't know what's right for this world." Marth said, bowing his head, then raising it, looking even more determined then previously. "What I do know is that no one wants a world ruled by you."

Medeus bared his talons and took in a gulp of air. The Spawn was too resourceful, he couldn't be allowed to live any longer. His continued life now threatened to send Medeus' rule spiraling out of control. The time to settle this had come. "Come. Let us finish this blood feud. Once and for all!"

Marth brought the Falchion to his side and dashed forward. Medeus braced himself. Marth leapt up in the air and brought the Falchion down, Medeus moved his body with surprising quickness, the Falchion just landed on the ground.

Medeus' head lunged forward, Marth turned and swung the Falchion, slashing Medeus across the face. The Shadow Dragon reared back in a roar of pain, then his eyes widened to an extent that made him look manic. He turned his head back to Marth and released a wave of his breath. Marth dodged the attack easily, then focused himself on the charging Manakete.

Marth moved to the side of one slashing talon, and prevented a second attack by slashing across the leg as it came near him. Medeus' eyes narrowed, and swiped with the now wounded leg.

The claws sliced across Marth's chest and preferred arm. The prince cried out for a moment, then blocked the pain out of his mind.

"You will… scream more." Medeus said, shaking his head, ridding himself of the sensation of pain. "I'll have your carcass on display at the end of this. Either that… or your ashes." Medeus charged again, Marth leapt back, dodging Medeus' claws. Medeus immediately released his foul breath, letting it smother the air. Marth evaded the attack and made his approach toward Medeus.

The Shadow Dragon raised a foot and attempted to smash Marth under it. Marth was already past the falling foot when it finally landed, and took the chance to slice open Medeus' underside.

Medeus roared before falling onto his side. Some blood spurted from his abdomen, he rose in an instant. Raw anger was pushing any pain he was feeling away. He bathed the ground around him with his breath, his sole intention being to create distance between him and the spawn.

Taking a few moments to think, Medeus eventually lumbered through the residue of his own foul breath. He approached Marth, who was at the wall, and tried to snap at him. Marth leapt to the side, Medeus' teeth caught nothing as his head smashed into and cracked the wall of the Throne Room. Unharmed by the trauma to his head, he turned to his enemy, growling.

Marth assumed a battle stance, knees bent and holding the Falchion in his hand. Medeus saw that Marth had no interest in fleeing. The Manakete saw fit to end the fight. He lowered his head and moved forward, intending on goring Marth with his teeth, grinding him as slowly as possible within his mouth. When he opened his mouth to begin, Marth thrust forward with the Falchion.

Medeus' eyes widened as his head suddenly stopped moving. The Falchion…

…The Falchion…

…had been sunk right into his head. Right in between his eyes. Medeus raised his head up, the Falchion still embedded in him, and roared in the deepest pain. His mighty head flailed around and his giant body lumbered across the throne room as he uttered his pained cries. He felt Naga's tooth seeming to sink further in, sending deeper and deeper pain through him.

His movement slowed, and his breathing followed suit. He turned his head to Marth. "Lowly… spawn…" He grunted at first. "Is this… defeat? Shall I taste it… a second time?" He breathed slowly, then looked at Marth. "Spawn of Anri… _Marth_…" It was the first time he had ever referred to the Spawn with his proper name. Simply speaking the name sent a shiver of rage through his body and filled his mouth with an unpleasant bile. "Know this… the light that surrounds you is temporary, and the peace you have won is only a meager respite until the next conflict. Know that I shall return… and I shall slake my blood thirst with either you or your descendents."

"You're dead, Medeus." Marth said. As the realization that the fight was over started to hit him more deeply, he realized just how exhausted he was. He wanted to collapse and close his eyes, but not as long as Medeus was still in front of him. "This is the end for you _and_ Dolhr."

The Shadow Dragon shook his head. "I returned from my death against your ancestor. I shall return from this one as well. And, it is not by my hand or Dolhr's wish that I can return, it is by human will. Know this, for as long… as there is, _darkness_… in the hearts of men, I cannot… be… destroyed!" Medeus grimaced, then raised his head as high as it could go and roared, the sound seeming to cause the entire Keep to shudder violently. His entire body blackened, becoming as black as midnight, then slowly seemed to disintegrate. His feet disappearing first as his entire body slowly vanished, going to whatever void Anri had sent him to long ago. As the Shadow Dragon's head ceased to be a solid object, the Falchion fell, falling freely and uncontrolled to the ground, landing with a pleasing clinking sound upon the floor of the Throne Room.

Finally, the protests of Marth's body were heard. He submitted to the desires of himself, and fell. His back landed on the cold ground, and sleep conquered his mind.

One of the Divine Dragons across the room glowed white and began to move in her human form. Nagi half walked, half stumbled forward until she came upon Marth. She sank to her knees and slid her arms under the Altean prince and slowly lifted him up. He was limp in her arms, his head rolled to the side. He looked very peaceful… Nagi didn't know why, but the sight of Marth like this somehow amused her.

Caeda came up on her Pegasus. She couldn't even sit up straight on her white steed. She looked at Marth and managed to weakly smile. He was wounded and unconscious, but there was no threat to his life. She turned to the Falchion, resting on the ground. It was hard to believe that the Shadow Dragon had been right there a moment ago. A shiver ran down Caeda's spine, and she suddenly realized, the war was over. Medeus, _Medeus_, the Shadow Dragon, was gone, sent back to whatever dark realm he had been chained in since Anri's time. All their enemies had been defeated, there was no more need to war. No more need to continue this conflict that had been going on for three years now.

Before she could make some sign of joy, she turned and looked at Tiki. The Divine Dragon princess was still unconscious, and had seemed to have gone back to her human form. She was just lying on the floor. Caeda sighed, her happiness would likely wait until Tiki woke up.

Nagi held Marth with one arm, then brushed her other hand across Marth's face. The prince slowly stirred. His eyes opened, and he saw Nagi over him. Her face creasing with fatigue and pain, but gave way to relief at Marth's awakening.

Her gentle face seemed to disarm him. She began to pull him up to a standing position. "Prince… of Light. You are truly the descendent of Naga's champion." Marth looked at the Manakete's beautiful female face, then found himself up on his feet again. He could stand on his own two feet without any difficulty. Nagi seemed to have no such strength, and threatened to topple over.

She grabbed Marth. At first it looked like an embrace, but she seemed to hang onto Marth more then anything else. She looked into Marth's eyes. "This war is over… Medeus is sealed away." She raised a hand and placed it on Marth's cheek. "You will live your life as you decide. I… shall return… to where I must."

Marth cocked his head at Nagi's strange words. Before he could begin to ask, Nagi's entire body sparkled, and then turned translucent.

"Nagi!" He tried to grab her, but his hand went through Nagi's body as though all that was in front of him was just empty air. Nagi's own hand on Marth's cheek seemed to slip inside of the prince's head before she slowly pulled it back.

"You… want me… to stay?" Nagi asked, her appearance seeming to continue to fade and become harder to see every moment. She felt a strange warmth in her chest, and longing. Despite their little time together, Nagi felt as though she was drawn to Marth. She felt… the slightest feeling of pain as she was forced to disappear upon the victory over Medeus.

Marth swallowed, understanding what had to happen. He looked at Nagi, hoping to be looking straight at Nagi's face in this moment. "Nagi, will I… see you again?"

Nagi's mouth opened, but it was several moments before words came. "I… do not know. We might. I would… want to see you… again." She smiled in a painful way, then looked past Marth. "The Divine Princess… take her from here." Marth looked over his shoulder and saw Tiki slumbering peacefully, oblivious to how everything was over. "She will have a special role. Maybe in this lifetime, maybe in a thousand lifetimes hence, but…"

"Prince Marth. Prince… of Light." Nagi said, slowly. "If my memory should be cleared again, I hope… I don't forget you. You… I-" She had already faded to the point of being nearly impossible to see. Finally, she disappeared from sight altogether, leaving only some residual energy that would vanish in time.

Marth inhaled, feeling his heart sink as Nagi vanished. "I never… managed to thank her for coming with us." He turned to Caeda, the Talys princess managed to smile. Marth slowly returned the expression, then walked to the Falchion.

The weapon of legend. Stolen by unworthy hands, held unjustly by the Dark Pontifex for… so long. It had finally been taken from Gharnef, and finally returned to the bloodline that it has been gifted to. Marth felt as though a burden was lifted from him. The path of destiny set for him to walk… he had reached the end of it. He sheathed the Falchion and turned to Tiki.

* * *

><p>The battle was still continuing outside the Keep. The loss of a familiar figure, Xemcel, did nothing to break the enemy's resolve. If anything, it only made it stronger, the desire for vengeance made that much more potent by the loss of the one that the Emperor valued the skills of. Hardin took in the scenario and readied himself to keep fighting, this sudden rush of fighting rage had allowed Dolhr to achieve a seemingly insurmountable upper hand.<p>

He looked back at the Keep, he could only hope that Marth had achieved, or was close to achieving, victory. Otherwise, Hardin and the rest of the League could have very well succeeded only in pointlessly attempting to stave off their own painful deaths.

Then everything suddenly shuddered. Hardin looked up, and it was like the sky had cracked open, the clouds were parting to make way for a shimmering ball of light. The Aurelian prince wasn't the only one who took notice of it, the battle stopped for a precious moment.

The ball, which was roughly the size of a grown human, vanished a few meters from the ground, leaving behind the figure of… none other then the White Sage.

Gotoh landed gently upon the ground, his face toward the Dolhrians. His eyes were closed, yet he was aware of everything around him. His lips slowly moved. "The Shadow Dragon is dead. The descendent of Anri has fulfilled the purpose he was born for. Now all that is left is you." His hands swayed slowly through the air, releasing what seemed to be a glitter. Hardin was suddenly buffeted by an energy released from Gotoh. He raised an arm to shield his face from a strange wind, he had no understanding of what Gotoh was doing.

The Dolhr soldiers hesitated, then one suddenly raised a hand in the air and released a war cry. The old man would have to die for simply implying that Medeus had been defeated, they all charged in unison.

"Be gone." Gotoh said calmly. Energy went out from his hands, racing forward and consuming the Dolhrian army. A few might have dared to try and stop their charge and run away from the overwhelming walls of power, but none were spared. Dolhr's army, perhaps more then half of the able-bodies humans and Manaketes of the nation, perished. Gotoh looked ahead as the magic dispersed, seeing limp and discarded bodies everywhere. Without a hint of feeling, he turned around. "This continent looks to a new dawn. Free of Dolhr, free of the Shadow Dragon. This is how history was all those years ago, and how it is again."

Hardin stared at the White Sage. His first question was why Gotoh did not see fit to lend such aid earlier, then he felt something wet pelting him from above. His eyes drifted up and he realized it was starting to rain. Was the rain the product of Gotoh's magic? He shook his head, not caring. His arm relaxed, Gradivus was no longer held in a ready arm, and the reality slowly went through him. They had _won_.

"Coyote." Wolf said, still holding the bloodied Palla. She was doing better, but remained only semi-conscious. Wolf looked at her straining face, then to his prince. "Is it… really all over?"

Hardin looked around, seeing the rain beginning to extinguish the blaze that had encircled and encompassed the battlefield. "At long last, Wolf. No evil eludes its divine punishment forever." He held his hand out, letting the rain water form a puddle in his cupped hand. "It's hard to believe. We moved such a mountain…"

Wolf said nothing. He did not look particularly pleased, just impassive. The rain was starting to plaster his drooping hair to his face. He looked on and saw Sister Lena walking up. The woman inclined a staff and allowed the holy energy to tend to Palla. The deep cut administered to Palla by Xemcel's teeth closed, and her expression relaxed. She slowly opened her eyes and saw Wolf. She noticed how she was being held, kept from falling only by Wolf's arm, and her growing wet face turned bright red.

"It's over, Palla." Wolf said, seeing but choosing to ignore Palla's expression. The woman looked out, seeing nothing but calm before her. She released her breath, then suddenly leaned her head onto Wolf. Wolf's temple creased with frustration, but he didn't stop the Whitewing. Perhaps she had earned this much.

"Roshea." Linde and Merric found their friend lying down. He had apparently been knocked down and passed over in the final battle. Grabbing the Aurelian by the shoulders, Linde lifted him up to a sitting position, his armor making him heavier and harder to move then she expected. Roshea's eyes opened, he saw both Linde and Merric sitting by him.

"You missed out." Merric teased. "You didn't get to see us win."

"We… won?" Roshea blinked, then looked around, seeing the reality of their victory. Slowly, his face tilted up, eyes squinting against the light rain. He felt a chill inside of him. "Back in Castle Altea, Navarre said something to me." He slowly began. "That anyone who fights has a place when a war is going, and no one who fights should want a war to end." For a moment, Roshea's face was humorless, but then he slowly smiled. "We don't have to fight anymore. This feels so… _liberating_." The wind in the rain caressed his face. He closed his eyes and, subconsciously, began to lean toward Linde.

The girl caught Roshea, holding him close and letting the Aurelian's head rest gently upon her. "We're all safe. We all lived through this war." She smiled at Merric. "My two closest friends are here with me." She reached a hand out and grabbed Merric's shoulder to pull him in. "For just a moment, I want you two right next to me."

Merric chuckled nervously. Roshea looked ready to fall asleep. Linde let out a relaxed breath of air. She wanted this moment with the two to continue without interruption.

Minerva stood on the grass, the saddle of her Wyvern vacant. The creature kept watch even as there was little chance of battle starting again. Minerva stared at Hauteclere in her hand, she would not have to use it for a while, clearly. She did not smile, and wondered why she wasn't happier.

"Why couldn't you have been here with us… Michalis?" Minerva asked the question only to herself, then took in a deep breath. She knew that Michalis wanted the best for Macedon, he would have been happy to see the continent free of Dolhr, Macedon not needing to fear Dolhr's wrath. Yet, fate was cruel, and perhaps, so was Minerva's method of righting Macedon.

Not too far away, Nyna sat down on the grass. Her thoughts resting firmly on the Grustian she loved, the Grustian she could never be with. Camus The Sable… if only he was standing nearby. She would have derived so much comfort from his simply presence, from just a look at his face. Yet, he was gone, and… she would likely never see him again. She did not look like she had won a war, she looked like she had endured crushing defeat from which there would be no recovery. She slowly stood up, she knew what was coming next. She would have to become the next ruler of Archanea. No matter how little interest she had in the position, without Camus.

Abel sat down, his back against the Temple Aum had been found in. He still wasn't fit to be walking around by himself, hopefully Father Wrys or another could see to him soon, but those with Staffs were seeing to those with more pressing wounds. In the meantime, Est sat with him. He looked at her and she smirked in response. Abel's head pulled back as the girl started to scoot over to him.

"There's a new world ahead of us." Est said quietly, she grabbed Abel's arm and moved over to him, laying her head on his shoulder. "You're still my teacher, right? I want to become one of the best around."

Abel didn't speak any words, just nodding. He did not protest Est suddenly leaning her head onto his shoulder, but he hoped Cain wouldn't look at him right now. As Est seemed to fall to the subconsciousness of sleep, Abel's thoughts slowly drifted to Frey. Was he really still alive? He had every right to take part in a celebration, they would have nevere even begun to fight without Frey. He still couldn't bring himself to completely believe Elice's claim that Frey was alive, though he had no reason to be doubtful of anything the princess said.

"Norne. Norne!" Gordin came to his partner… and special someone. She had been wounded in the lat few minutes of the battle before Gotoh came. She clutched at a wound across her gut, grimacing before opening her eyes and looking at Gordin. For all the pain she was undoubtedly in, she still smiled at him. The archer lowered himself and got his arms under her. Norne momentarily forgot how to breath and felt her heart quickening as Gordin picked her up.

"Hold on, Norne." His face was red from physical contact like this, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Norne on the ground. Norne smiled, raising one hand from her wound and letting it rest on Gordin's chest.

"I'm fine." Norne responded. "I'm not going to die right after we won." She grunted. "Still, get me to a staff user, fast." She managed a little chuckle. Gordin almost smiled, then turned to try and find… Lena or Maria, or anyone who could help.

Hardin turned to the entrance of the Keep. Sure enough, there was Marth coming out. The Altean prince walked proud, Caeda was on her Pegasus at his side. Caeda looked out, looking at Ogma and his three men taking part in cheers. The mercenaries had taken part in a conflict that all logic dictated was beyond them and had come out standing.

Hardin saw Tiki being held in Marth's arms. The little girl was asleep, Hardin sighed. At least she wasn't dead. The Aurelian looked onward and cocked his head, noticing that Nagi wasn't present. Upon that observation, a dreadful lump formed in his gut.

Bantu returned to human form and walked up to Marth. The Fire Dragon looked at Tiki, smiling at the peaceful look on her face. Slowly, he took Tiki into his arms. She would be able to lead a much happier life with Dolhr ready to slip back into obscurity. No need to be put into a long sleep, and no need to live in fear of those who would hate the Divine Clan.

"Where's Nagi?" Hardin asked. Marth turned to Hardin, the Altean immediately looked away.

"She disappeared." Marth said. Hardin blinked. "After we defeated Medeus, she said she had to return to where she must, and… she just vanished." He shook his head. "I… would have wanted her to stay."

Hardin took in a deep breath. "I see. The destiny we fought for can be cruel. It took Nagi away… a price to pay to see this war end, I suppose."

Marth turned slowly with a solemn expression and found his sister, Elice, right in his face. He jerked back at first. "Marth, are you hurt in anyway?" She looked him over. There were clear wounds on him, the results of Medeus' claws raking across his chest, but he seemed somehow unbothered by them. Regardless, she started to go for her Staff, only for Marth to grab her wrist.

"I'm fine, Elice." Marth insisted. Elice took in a breath, unsure about that, but knew that trying to break Marth's grip would be futile. His wounds seemed pressing, even if they weren't encumbering his movements. If he didn't seem to be in an immediate, crippling pain, it could be put off for a moment, and _only_ for a moment. She turned her head. "Marth, if you won't accept healing, then there's something you should see. _Now_." She walked off, Marth followed her. They walked through the battlefield, Marth saw all the soldiers, most being hit by the realization that this war was well and truly over. There weren't even some final scurrying Dolhr troops to deal with. Elice continued to lead Marth, after a time he was brought to one League soldier who was lying down.

…"Jagen?" Marth asked. His gaped at the sight of his bodyguard, the man who frequently seemed nearly invincible, on his back like this. Jagen grunted and raised his neck up, death was far from him, but he was clearly in a great deal of pain as well.

"Ah, prince Marth." Jagen moved, his armor starting to creak with the movement. He had to turn over so his gut was on the ground before pushing himself up. "There are many things I can defeat. Time is not one of them." He breathed hard, despite the wind and the rain, he was burning up. "It's good that the war is over. I'm… not sure how much longer I could have fought alongside you." He was starting to stand, but suddenly hunched, Marth moved forward to try and grab the elderly knight, Jagen stretched out a palm to stop Marth, then got back up to an upright position by himself. "If only I was a decade younger. To think that the knight who fought in tandem with King Cornelius on the battlefields decades ago would be defeated, not by battle, but by his age."

Marth took in a breath. "You'll still have a purpose in Altea. Your advice and suggestions are still important to me. For me and for new recruits."

Jagen nodded, standing up straight. He was still an intimidating figure in his armor, but it was clear that the old ox had lost his horns. Despite that, the ox still knew how to fight.

Marth's mind reflected on Jagen in this war. Had the elderly knight not been present in this war, they likely would have never won. There were others the same could be said of, Hardin or Catria or Linde, but none of them seemed to have been quite the irreplaceable ally that Jagen had been. Marth recalled Jagen's sudden coughing fit in Gra Castle. Jagen's health had been catching up to him well before this final battle. It would be… much harder, to exercise good judgment without Jagen's console.

"The war is over." Jagen said, looking at the Keep in the distance. "There won't be a reason to fight. Not on this scale." He looked back at Marth. "We still have much ahead of us. Altea was in ruins when we left. It's time we went back. The realm of the continent's savior cannot remain in tatters."

"Yes." Marth said. He suddenly stretched a hand out. "We need to start rebuilding… my advisor."

Jagen quirked an eyebrow, then smirked. He took Marth's hand. "Of course, prince Marth."

* * *

><p><strong>And now, all we've got is several chapters worth of epilogues left. Marth's whole confession to Caeda will be done in a bit.<strong>


	43. Rebuilding

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>"No, not <em>nearly<em> enough wood." Cain put a finger to his temple and groaned. The restoration of Altea had begun, Marth had decided to rebuilt residential areas and communities before the noble houses or the castle. The idea went over well with most of the nation. Cain had also cheered the idea, but his cheers were cut short when he learned that he, and Abel, would be managing the recovery locally.

He wasn't a carpenter, but he could clearly see that the amount of wood they had to work with was not even coming close to cutting it. Not that there was much in the way of lumber in the first place. Dolhr had seen fit to try and destroy everything about Altea. According to the stories, the Empire hadn't the slightest interest in using anything from Altea. The Mage Dragon who was controlling the land acted as if the nation was cursed, and had been destroying Altea's resources rather then harvesting them.

The men who brought the wood looked at each other nervously. Cain shook his head and just pointed at the large but inadequate piles of wood already collected. They hurriedly moved to finish their delivery.

"Having trouble, Cain?" Abel's hand clasped upon Cain's shoulder. Cain turned to see Abel with a paper in his hand, most likely making a record of both supplies and finances.

Money and finances likely wasn't the real issue. In a great gesture of goodwill, Hardin's brother, the King of Aurelis, was providing more then enough money to see Altea through its reconstruction. Aurelis was already well on its way to recovery, and had the money to spare. By some miracle, Dolhr and the Dolhr Alliance had completely ignored the nation after General Emereus had been killed. Though it had not recovered enough to provide Altea with supplies, so the money for wages and costs was all Aurelis could offer.

And Marth saw a reason to refuse at first. He felt that another nation shouldn't burden themselves with Altea's problems. The Aurelian King just chuckled at that logic, and asked Marth what would he have done if Altea was stable and an allied nation like Aurelis was in a troubled situation. Marth relented at that point, accepting whatever aid Aurelis seemed fit to offer.

Cain wondered why they didn't beseech Macedon, now likely controlled by Minerva, for aid. Even if Minerva was likely still in the process of gaining control after her brother's disappearance and possible death. Macedon had received almost no damage from the war, surely, there had to be _something_ she could provide. Yet, it wasn't Cain's place to tell Marth how to handle the reconstruction. The thought of aid from Macedon had likely crossed the prince's mind more then once.

"Altea isn't going to have any trees left _long_ before we have enough wood." Cain grumbled, gesturing at what wood had already been gathered. A very great amount, but in the face of the huge recovery operation, not nearly enough. "And I'm a knight, not a repairman. It's not fair, Abel."

Abel smirked. "Okay. Go tell that straight to prince Marth's face."

Cain's eyes narrowed at the jape. Abel just shrugged. "I probably won't be around to see how the prince reacts to that boldness."

"So… the rumor is true." Cain turned from his duties for a moment. "You're leaving the Altean Knights. Why, exactly?"

Abel sighed. That wasn't a discussion he wanted to have, but he was the one who gave Cain the chance to start it. "I just want a change of pace, I guess. I'll still be training of course, but after the war I can't help but feel that the calling of a knight just isn't for me anymore. I'm planning on opening a shop in Macedon."

He didn't reference Est's very direct influence in his decision on _where_ to set up shop. Nor did he mention the plan was for her to visit him everyday she didn't have duties. The girl had grown attached to her teacher, and Abel could not truthfully deny the reciprocated attachment. He knew exactly what that attachment would eventually grow into, and was not at all opposed to entering a relationship with Est.

"Well, I hope you do well." Cain said, giving off an indifferent aura. Abel easily pierced it and saw that Cain was a little saddened to see a true friend leave like this. Abel was touched by the feeling, but hid it with a smile.

"Me too. Now then, these 'unfair' duties aren't going to see to themselves."

Cain groaned. As Abel watched his friend walk off, his thoughts drifted to Frey. He, Cain, and Frey had formed an awkward trio of a sort back in the day. According to Elice, he wasn't dead. Where, then, was the selfless knight? He deserved, more then anyone, to see Altea back on the road to recovery. Without him Altea would never have been able to stand proud again, it would have been well and truly dead with Gra's betrayal. The last Abel had seen of him was the knight riding off, wearing a cloak to obscure his appearance. Gra had chased after him… perhaps Jiol might know what happened. The man was dead now, as was, likely, all the Gra soldiers who chased Frey. Either by Dolhr's hands as punishment for letting Marth slip past, or their lives claimed in the war.

Abel shook his head. Frey yet lived, what kind of condition he was in was another story. Maybe he was broken and invalid in some home somewhere. Maybe Abel could inquire about him from the shop he would open in Macedon…

Whatever the case, Abel felt that Frey would still be happy to hear that his sacrifice has borne fruit. If only he was right here to see it...

* * *

><p>Gordin had his own role in the recovery. He was one of many knights who was laboring away, seeming less a soldier and more a hired worker at the moment. He had a lot ahead of him, first being part of the recovery, and he had recently squired himself to Jeorge of the Archanean Knights. As he learned, being Jeorge's squire was the dream of a lot of Archaneans, how steamed they would be to learn that that honor had been given to a foreign knight. The fact that Jeorge was the one who requested this, rather then Gordin, meant that the man who was the continent's single greatest archer had seen great potential in Gordin. That kind of praise left Gordin speechless, but he nonetheless accepted Jeorge's request.<p>

After the League returned triumphant, Gordin finally had a chance to see his brother again. Norne was the only witness to the little reunion. She had a grin on her face at the emotional moment, but it quickly disappeared. Gordin wondered if Norne had been envious, that she wondered what having a sibling would be like.

Almost immediately after that reunion was when Gordin and Norne had to say their farewells. Gordin was a knight, and lived in the barracks of the castle. Norne was just a volunteer, and though she was, at this point, not only one of the best archers in Altea, but in the continent, she was not entitled to enter the castle at her leisure. Gordin would have little chance to visit her, it was only after she departed that it occurred to Gordin that he never asked Norne exactly _where_ she lived.

He sighed, without Norne he had lost one of the few people he could speak confidently to. Though Norne had the personality necessary to make him disconcerted and flustered whenever she pleased. As he thought of her, he suddenly stumbled.

He looked in horror as the piece of wood he was holding flew through the air, ready to be fractured by whatever surface it landed on. A hand suddenly grabbed the wood, stopping it before it got damaged by anything.

"Having trouble, Gordin?" A voice responded. Gordin blinked, looking at the hand that had stopped the wood. His eyes followed the arm to the face…

"N-Norne." Gordin quickly got to his feet, wiping a hand over his eyes to make sure he was seeing right. Yes, it… it was her. His partner, and… now easily the most important person in his life. "How… did you-"

"I enlisted." Norne said with a smile and a shrug. "I'm now a knight of Altea, just like you."

Gordin was briefly overwhelmed at Norne's presence, but then he noticed something wrong about Norne's story. "Don't you have to go through training before you're recognized as a knight?"

Norne shrugged. "Sir Jagen said that all that training in Talys counted. Also, being in a war made me… a highly recommended choice for a knight." Letting the wood rest against a wall, she came up to Gordin. "I'm in a unit with kids right now, while you're with the elites. I'd say I'd need a month at best before we're by each other on and off the field of duty again."

Gordin laughed nervously. "I'm… happy."

The girl suddenly thrust her hands out and seized Gordin. "I'm looking forward to this."

* * *

><p>While most of the already enlisted knights were spending their time rebuilding the land, there was no shortage of people who wanted to newly join the army right now. These recruits were in desperate need of training. Jagen, having officially retired from fighting on the field of battle, had dedicated himself as an instructor when he and Malledus were not acting as advisors to Marth.<p>

Jagen did not like these recruits. Half of them seemed to be glory seekers, wanting the title of 'Knight of The Continent's Hero'. The other half were younger folks who thought that they knew how to train better then Jagen did.

"No. Wrong!" He grabbed the handle of the lance of one such hotshot recruit who was swinging it like an idiot. "This is not a sword. You _thrust_ with a lance. Swinging this weapon is only practical in _extremely_ situational moments."

The recruit stared at Jagen with an offended, indignant expression at the interruption and lecture. Jagen offered a far more intimidating expression that the recruit recoiled from.

"Hold up the shield. I'll show you how to thrust a lance." Jagen offered, holding a wooden training lance in his hand. The recruit smirked, Jagen looked forward to seeing that expression change.

The recruit held up an intimidating plate shield. Jagen readied himself and thrust the wooden weapon. The lance, by all logic, should have splintered when it connected to the metal. Instead it pierced straight through the plate, coming scarily close to hitting the recruit in his chest. Jagen let go of the lance as the now rattled recruit examined the plate shield with the wooden lance stuck into it.

"My weapon may be of inferior stock, but the hand that holds it is more important. Now…" He walked forward and yanked the shield from the recruit's hand, then grabbed the hand that was still holding a training lance. "Thrust as I _tell_ you to. You'll never be able to do more then swing blindly if you cannot follow my instructions."

Reluctantly, the recruit allowed Jagen to put his arm into position. "Now, _thrust_!"

* * *

><p>Despite the high feeling of joy most people in the nation were feeling right now, there were still dangers. Draug patrolled the roads of the nation, in his thick armor he could do it by himself with little cause for worry. Though Altea had little that was of value right now, scarred as it was, bandits would always be a problem.<p>

One might have hoped that, in light of the overwhelmingly good news of Dolhr's defeat, the feeling of exuberance felt the continent over, the nation would have been free of such problems, at least for a time. Draug sighed as he spotted some skulking figures in the distance, hiding around rocks on a road not oft traveled. Knives and axes in hand, they were clearly here to hunt, and not for animal meat. Holding his lance ready, he prepared to descend upon the thieves and bandits. He would recommend their immediate surrender first, of course, if they refused then their blood would be on their own head. If they fought back, their defeat and deaths were certain, they had no way of facing someone like Draug, a veteran of the front lines of the war.

* * *

><p>Marth looked at the Altean throne. When they had liberated the castle, Marth had rejected the notion of sitting in the chair. He had felt unworthy, for as long as Dolhr was still a threat in this world…<p>

Dolhr was no longer a threat. Though the Manaketes and their human servants persisted, they had been rendered impotent. There was a rumor going around that the Manaketes had gone insane. Perhaps it was grief at losing their Emperor, but it was said that the dragons seemed to be literally losing their minds and turning feral. Something that, according to history, they apparently did not do in the aftermath of the ancient war.

Despite all that, Marth still felt reluctant to take a seat on the regal chair that was now rightfully his. To sit on it… he felt more like a usurper then a successor. To sit on it would say that he was declaring that he was as good, perhaps greater, then Cornelius. He didn't feel like his father's equal. He did not feel like even half of that.

"It's your throne now." Marth turned to see Caeda approaching him with an exaggerated formal walk, which he knew was her idea of a tease. "So, Marth, I guess it's time to lead your nation as its next ruler."

"I… know." He reached out to Caeda and grabbed her hand. Caeda instantly understood his trepidation on this matter. He looked straight into her eyes, then turned and began to walk to the throne. He turned around and, taking a deep breath, slowly sat down.

The throne was cooler then he expected.

Caeda took a few steps toward the throne until she was on the staircase that led to the chair. A thought suddenly crossed her mind, she took in a deep breath to ready herself to speak. "Say, Marth… we haven't really been able to talk that much since we left Talys. Um…" She swallowed hard. "Do you… intend to turn your back on Talys, now that you have Altea back? Should I just leave?"

Marth allowed himself a smile. "Of course not, Caeda. I have to thank your father for all the support he's lent me. Without him we'd have never even begun to fight."

"My fath-" Caeda stopped immediately. She felt that her advance had been so thinly veiled as to be completely ridiculous. Marth, unfortunately, failed to catch it, or possibly, he saw it and nervously moved to evade the subject. "N-never mind, excuse me, Marth."

Caeda turned, feeling utterly defeated. She turned and began to leave, exiting out of the throne room with a clear quickness of movement. Before the doors to the throne closed behind Caeda, they were pushed back open. Marth rose from his throne as Nyna entered. Nyna was here as an Archanean representative to see Altea's reconstruction and potentially begin setting down procedures for a formal alliance between the nations. Bishop Boah was also here, but elsewhere at the moment. No Archanean soldier was in the nation, in a display of great faith, Nyna was trusting Marth to keep her safe.

She looked over her shoulder, looking at Caeda as she walked off. She turned to Marth, who was now standing.

"Did something just happen, Marth?" Nyna asked. "Caeda looked… heartbroken, just now."

"I…" Marth hesitated for the first moment as he noticed a rising awkwardness in the room. "Caeda and I were talking, and…" Slowly, he explained to Nyna everything that had happened in his talk with Caeda. He took the time to even describe the look on Caeda's face throughout it all.

As the story finished, Nyna smiled. The expression looked almost… teasing. The Archanean princess began to laugh, Marth didn't understand.

"Oh, Marth…" Nyna shook her head. Marth fidgeted uncomfortably where he stood at Nyna's amusement. "The hero who stood up to Dolhr and defeated the Shadow Dragon isn't brave enough to face his own feelings."

"My… feelings?" Marth turned his head, suddenly reluctant to look straight at Nyna. "I… don't understand."

Nyna's amusement faded. "Marth, you intend to see Caeda go back to Talys by herself? That's what you want?"

"Um…" Marth turned his back to Nyna. "Well, that's where she belongs, just like how I belong in Altea. I don't see how my feelings or wants figure into that."

She walked up and laid a hand on Marth's shoulder. "Marth, you should know that the feelings I _know_ you have aren't going to spread their wings on their own. Sometimes you have to take the leap of faith and hope your love is true."

"M-my…" Marth swallowed. It was not a proposition he was welcome to, nor was it something he felt he had the nerve to do, but he instantly knew that Nyna was right. He turned and looked at the Archanean princess. Taking in a breath, he moved past her.

Marth exited the throne room. Nyna's head bowed forward. Marth and Caeda would do well for each other, no doubt. She closed her eyes and sighed, knowing of how her leap of faith in Grust had failed.

"Princess Nyna." Nyna blinked, raising her head and gave the impression of order and calm, just as a holy princess should. She turned to see Boah had apparently entered.

"Yes, Boah?" Nyna asked. She had thought Boah was busy organizing official business with representatives of Altea. Nyna expected her nation and Marth's nation to have many years of warm interaction after this war.

"With the war over, there is something that can no longer be put off. The future of Archanea." Boah's face was as fatherly as ever, but there was a stern side to it right now. "The matter of the throne…"

* * *

><p>Marth paced through the halls. Caeda had gotten a head start, and she had already been moving swiftly. He quickened his own movements and eventually found the Talys princess standing by herself in one of the castle's many halls. Leaning against the wall, she looked to have fallen to despair. Marth went up and touched her on the shoulder.<p>

Caeda jerked to attention. Slowly turning her head, she saw Marth. The hand on her shoulder strengthened its grip, she flustered, not sure what was happening.

"Caeda… I… did not say what I wanted to or should have earlier." Marth swallowed. He suddenly realized he hadn't thought about which words he should use to speak his mind. Yet anything would have to be said now, any later time would be far too late, Caeda would slip beyond his grasp. He tried to speak, his words would come awkwardly. "I… I do not… want you to live in Talys any longer."

Her eyes widened and her head jerked back. She didn't understand what Marth was saying.

"I… want you to stay here, with me." Marth added, Caeda's mouth started to hang open, and her face was turning redder then Marth's. "After our time together, during my exile in Talys and in this war, I… do not want to be apart from you. I…" His free hand clenched in frustration. "Why… can't this come out any easier? Caeda, I'm trying to say, I…"

Caeda raised a finger and pressed it against Marth's lips to command silence. She smiled. "We don't need words, Marth." She wrapped both of her arms around Marth and pulled him in, resting her chin on his shoulder. Marth took in a deep breath and returned the tight embrace. He felt something lifting up in him, but didn't care to try and determine what.

On the other end of the hall, Catria watched the two. Her heart was sinking at the sight. Despite the feelings she had, the words she wanted to voice, she said nothing, she could _do_ nothing. Marth and Caeda had made their connection back in Talys. Catria, never had a chance with the prince. The fact that she was of common birth, and was the knight in another nation's military, would have created nearly insurmountable hurdles as well. Marth and Caeda's relationship would probably be mired by people trying to claim it to be a strictly political relationship. So many more people would have reacted negatively if Marth entered into a relationship with a girl who was… just some foreign peasant.

Reminding herself that it would have been nearly impossible didn't soothe her. There would be no blind pride or exaggeration if she said that her skills as a warrior were far, far beyond Caeda's, and Marth owed Catria her life time and again throughout the war. She would have given and provided Marth so much more then the Talys princess would ever be able to. If only Marth and Caeda hadn't met before the war started… Catria might have been able to find some way where she could be with him. Just looking at the two was becoming painful for her.

That had become her lot, perhaps. A love that would never be answered. She turned away, wishing she had been an Altean instead of a Macedonian. Then, maybe she could have…

* * *

><p>"Why does it have to be like that?" Nyna suddenly protested, Boah raised a hand to try and request silence, but Nyna did not quiet down. "Why should I have to <em>do<em> something like that? Why force someone to go along with a lie like that?"

"We must all make our sacrifices for Archanea, princess Nyna." Boah reminded her. "The royal family should understand this better then anyone. Now then…" Boah returned to what he had been discussing. "No nation was hit as hard as Altea, but Archanea is also in dire straits after the Manakete Khozen's misruling of the Holy nation. Archanea cannot be allowed to become stagnant in its recovery, the Holy Kingdom must always give off an image of strength. What better way to give an image of strength then for a new King to be one of the continent's champions?"

Nyna's eyes narrowed and she said nothing. She'd rather her King and husband be Camus, no matter how the nobility or the majority of the nation might react to the leader of the Sable Order and ranking member of the Dolhr Alliance becoming King. He had been a fine leader of the Sable Order, and she heard nothing but inspiring tales of how he governed lands during more restful times. He was at least equal to Marth and Hardin, and she would have argued that he was far greater.

"Camus…" She spoke the name before she thought of how Boah would likely respond.

"You must forget about him, princess Nyna." Boah said. "He was a man who, no matter his character, blindly followed a corrupt cause. You know that, for appearances, you must regard him as no better then the Shadow Dragon himself. Just the heartless and remorseless General fighting for the enemy."

"You must make your choice, princess." Boah continued. Nyna breathed hard, in this moment, she had nothing good to say about the Bishop she normally regarded so highly. It was not enough to suggest using lies to make Archanea appear strong, he would belittle who Camus was as well. "Prince Marth of Altea, or prince Aurelis of Aurelia. Those are your only choices." Boah waited for a response, and then saw that Nyna was upset, and likely angry with him. He sighed and shook his head. "This is for the good of Archanea. Think well, princess."

Nyna turned away. Reluctantly, she thought about the choice Boah laid out before her. She immediately knew that she couldn't take Marth from Caeda, Caeda was a good friend, and the relationship of the two was about to deepen thanks to Nyna. That only left Hardin.

There was nothing disagreeable or unbecoming about Hardin. Just, she wasn't interested in him in such a way. Even if the war would have likely ended in a Dolhrian victory without his aid. He just… in Nyna's eyes he wasn't Camus, and he nor any other man would ever be.

It wasn't what she would have ever wanted, but she had already settled on her decision. She didn't turn to Boah to say anything, her opinion of the Bishop had completely shifted in just a few minutes. She just walked off for now, she wanted to put this off for as long as possible.

* * *

><p>Days transgressed into weeks, until finally a whole month had come since the reconstruction began. Progress had been slow, mired by a lack of supplies, but there seemed to be a certain cheerfulness to the nation. After the ruling of Morzas, only better times could possibly be waiting for the nation.<p>

Word of Marth and Caeda's relationship had slowly seeped out. Reactions to that had been surprisingly positive. Some shrugged, most offered support, and close to no one had no objections one way or the other. There were a few dissenting voices, mostly coming from some noble houses who objected to the prince marrying the princess of such a vague and underwhelming nation. Such dissent was spoken in only hushing whispers, in light of the current loyalty and near worship to anything the prince did.

With the reconstruction well underway, it was time for Marth to accept a special duty. The one duty apart from defeating Medeus that Cornelius had left for his son.

It was time for him to accept his crown.

Under normal circumstances, the crown would have just gone to the oldest child, but Cornelius had defined Marth to be the heir well before his death. Elice had no objection, she wished to have a part in guiding Altea, but not from the throne, with a crown on her head. Besides, after the war, why would anyone have wanted someone besides Marth on this throne? He had become one of the most beloved people in the continent, and for all the good and right reasons.

The crowning was to take place in the throne room. Marth, apparently, didn't want it to be some lavish spectacle, done at the gates of the castle with flowers being tossed at his feet. It was a more private ceremony being held in the throne room. While it hadn't technically been forbidden for peasants and the common folk to attend, the throne room was filled only with Altea's nobles and foreign nobles of allied lands.

Nyna watched from the side. It seemed that all leaders of allied nations was present. Hardin and his brother, and Minerva, and even Mostyn had come just for this. As Nyna looked at this event, she saw another reason to not choose Marth. She couldn't deprive Altea of its clear leader.

She had been mulling and putting off giving a forced marriage proposal for a whole month. She felt her gut always churning, even as Caeda had likely felt uplifted everyday she spent in the castle. Nyna would not see that happiness shattered.

Malledus stood by the throne. The doors to the throne room slowly opened. Nyna took in a breath as Marth entered. His attire as a King would be little different then the attire he went to war with, apparently. Without a word he walked across the elegant carpet that stretched across the throne room until he at last reached the throne. All was silent, save some muted murmurs going through the crowd.

Marth always wore a crown on his head, a crown in the shape of what many might have called a hair band. It was the crown that signified him to be the Altean prince. Raising his hands, he took it off of his head. Coming another step forward, he dropped to one knee.

Malledus cleared his throat. "Our last King was stolen by a treacherous blade. One held by what seemed to all to be a good friend. This crown…" He held out a new circlet, one thicker then what Marth wore, and seemingly more elegant. "…is what King Cornelius wore. This very crown has existed since the time of the hero, Anri. It has always been the sign of Altea's King and leader. It now sees its new King, who is a worthy successor Anri and King Cornelius both in all ways."

Lowering himself slightly to get to Marth's head with more ease, Malledus placed the crown on Marth.

It was at that moment that he would be known as 'Prince Marth' no longer. Marth rose, now the King of his nation. Malledus took a step back and bowed his head, his aged body too weary to properly kneel. Marth turned around and unsheathed the Falchion, Holy Blade of Altea. He raised it into the air.

The throne room erupted into cheers. Nyna found Marth's gesture a touch generic, but smiled anyway. Marth's ascension as King would be the final sign that the war was well and truly over. The continent would have little left to fear. Nyna suspected that Altea, Archanea, Aurelis, Talys, and Macedon would make a more formal alliance in the near future.

Slowly, Marth took his seat on the throne, the small celebration of his ascension continued for another hour before the audience began to trickle out. The throne to Marth's left, which belonged to a Queen, was vacant. It would remain vacant until Marth married, which even now, even with Caeda, seemed a far off event.

Taking in a slow breath, Nyna departed with the others. They slowly dispersed and went about their way. Most of the leaders would likely begin making preparations to go back to their nations. As much as she didn't want to do it, Nyna took the chance to do what she felt she had to do, no matter how much of a violation she felt it was. She found Hardin by himself, an inconveniently fortunate fact.

"Hardin…" Nyna began, wishing she could have taken back the name even before she spoke it.

The Aurelian prince turned to her. There was a brightness in his eyes, Nyna had come to realize how he felt about her. Boah would be pleased, Nyna was repulsed at how Boah would so casually suggest and _encourage_ that they manipulate a true hero like this.

Sighing, she did exactly what Boah wanted her to do. "There's something I need to talk to you about… Hardin."

* * *

><p><strong>As a note, some character epilogues won't perfectly match to the epilogue of the game. Like Norne enlsiting here, rather then just going back to her village in her FE11 epilogue. Other epilogues will take FE312 into account.**

**Please review.**


	44. The New Holy King

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

* * *

><p>The bells were sounding throughout the Archanean Palace. Outside, the people of a charred, burnt, and tortured land were cheering. The state of land and the attitude of the people were two things in direct contrast. From a land only an inch away from being the land of the dead had come people of an almost hive-minded enthusiasm.<p>

Of note were the bells ringing in the towers at the top of the Palace.

They were wedding bells.

The princess Nyna, who would not be a princess by today's end, was walking with the one who would be today recognized as her lord husband. Prince Hardin of Aurelis, a foreigner to the nation of Archanea, was on his way to becoming King. The people seemingly had not one complaint of such a great hero becoming their sovereign, foreign or not.

Hardin's brother, the King of Aurelis, was here in support of his younger sibling's new life. Hardin's four men were also here, eternally loyal to him. They waited at the steps of the Palace, which Hardin and Nyna were slowly walking toward. Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea retained the air of composed knights, but nothing could deny how happy they were for Hardin's sake. Wolf…

No one was looking at him, but Wolf's passive face guarded a well hidden look of annoyance. He had a disdain for the extravagance that was so intricately linked to everything Archanea did. As he looked at the celebration for this marriage, the podiums crafted for this, all the decorations and ribbons, he shook his head at how much this likely cost. Money that Coyote would have doubtlessly funneled toward rebuilding the nation. A jeweled stand had even been newly made simply to contain the Fire Emblem for this ceremony. Marth returning the Fire Emblem to Archanea signaled the dissolving of the Archanean League, the army had served its purpose.

Hardin and Nyna approached, escorted by several units of guards. The guards, however great in number, were more decoration then reliable soldiers, Wolf could easily tell. They paid little attention to their surroundings, and seemed more interested in basking in the praises the people were shouting. It was a hard struggle for Wolf to not cringe at the rose petals that were coming down, being showered on them by the nobles.

Yet, for all his disdain for Archanea, it wasn't the real reason he was irritated. He looked at Nyna, and two things were on his mind. The first, that Nyna's marriage proposal to Coyote had come out of nowhere, and the second, that Nyna's smile was so painfully _fake_.

He did not dislike Nyna. She had proven herself a valuable ally in the fights against Dolhr, both before and after Marth's appearance. He knew her to not care for this kind of glamour, that she was a woman of practicalities in many ways. She was going along with this in submission to Archanean tradition. Even so, he knew that Nyna's feelings for Coyote had never transcended beyond simple respect for the Aurelian, this love, if it was honest, had come out of nowhere.

Some say that love isn't meant to be understood… _this_ was completely incoherent, and Wolf did not like it. The story he had heard, more accurately, the story Boah had personally told him, was that Nyna had come to be dependent upon Hardin, physically and emotionally, during the war. The proposal, apparently, was just a formal manifestation of such feelings after the war. Wolf didn't trust that story.

Wolf found himself not trusting the Bishop either. Boah had said the story with the classic blank, stoic expression, and it seemed to Wolf like Bishop Boah had been trying to keep a straight face.

The culture of Archanea, and the Bishop, were things he would likely have to get used to. He had had precious little time back in Aurelis once the war was over. He was, from this day onward, an Archanean Knight. He had little love for being in the same organization as someone like Astram, who he had developed an acute dislike of, and there was no love lost between them. At the very least, he would be in a four man unit with his three brothers of spirit, and would outrank Astram.

There were some Archaneans he found nothing unbecoming of. He turned his head slightly and saw Linde, now a proper Lady of the court. She was still friends with Roshea, and she was standing not far from him. Wolf did not dislike her… but if it wasn't for her friendship with Roshea he would have been completely apathetic to her. Wolf felt something was missing from the picture, and realized that Roshea and Linde looked awkward without that Altean Mage standing with them. However nerve-grating Wolf felt that Wind Mage was.

Hardin and Nyna reached the stairs, where the pledges were to be given. Nyna was dressed in a regal attire, a white gown lined with gold, her hair had clearly been tended to for hours on end. Every lock of her blonde hair had been treated in such a way that a tornado likely wouldn't mess it up. It seemed as though hours had been spent making sure the crown rested on her head just perfectly. Her appearance at this moment put her far ahead of perhaps every other woman on the continent. Then again, most of them were not kept effectively chained to the dressing room for hours on end.

In contrast, Hardin looked like his princely outfit had just been tossed on. He had the appropriately rough and gritty look of a leader who had come back from the war. Some of the Archanean nobles, Wolf suspected, were feeling reservations at such a seemingly dirty looking man becoming their next King. Wolf was pleased by the fact that Coyote hadn't been forced to submit to some Archanean dress code for this ceremony, like he had.

Wolf looked down at himself. Rather then the unglamorous but comfortable and practical light armor he had worn throughout the war, he was forced to fear an Archanean noble knight outfit. Constraining of movement and simply irritating irritating, it was designed more with look in mind then practicality. He had no love for the high cotton collar, making it seemingly impossible to look in any direction that wasn't directly forward. His only comfort lay in the fact that he, and his brothers, now known as the elite 'Wolfguard', would not be required to wear this particular outfit past today.

Boah met Hardin and Nyna. He smiled and bowed his head to them both. Wolf took note of the fact that, despite this being a happy day, there was a slight look of resentment in Nyna's eyes.

The Bishop took out one of Archanea's Holy books. "We are gathered here today to see the joining of Prince Hardin of Aurelis, and Princess Nyna of Archanea, a love that has transcended two nations previously isolated from each other. What's more, this love promises many a warm year between Aurelis and Archanea." He turned to Hardin. "Prince Hardin of Aurelis, do you take the Archanean princess to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

He nodded with a smile. "I do."

Boah turned to Nyna. "And you, princess Nyna. So you accept prince Hardin's pledge?"

"…I do." Only Wolf, and possibly Linde, caught the one moment of hesitation before the words came out. Hardin's hand met Nyna's, and the fingers intertwined. Boah placed his own hand on top.

Wolf couldn't shake the sense that something about this was left-handed, some hideously obvious thing that he was somehow missing. He paid no further attention to what the Bishop was saying. It took only a little while longer before the marriage ceremony was complete.

Hardin and Nyna, now husband and wife, looked at the crowd gathered at the base of the stairs, and stretching for miles across the land of Archanea. Hardin lifted the Gradivus in the air, Nyna placed a hand on the bicep of Hardin's still lowered arm.

The cheers were deafening. Wolf closed his eyes lightly. Though everything about him was screaming that something was off, at the moment he just wanted to retreat to a quieter area. To Wolf's ire, this celebration wouldn't end anytime soon.

The fact that Hardin would become their next King was cause for notice, but Wolf would never understand the people who could get this excited about anything. As he stood at attention, hoping for things to end soon, no shortage of people suddenly came up to him, attempting to offer some kind of great service to him. From peddlers to nobles, and it was obvious that they wanted the man who was now the highest ranked knight in Archanea to owe some debt to them. A moment of silence to himself on this day was apparently not something he was meant to have.

In any other situation he would have sent these favor seekers scurrying off with a simple harsh glance, but he had to support Coyote, and while he disallowed them to do anything for him, he did not send them off with the appropriate force. Fortunately, the rest of Wolfguard wasn't being harassed like this. He'd bear this if Sedgar, Vyland, and Roshea, especially Roshea, would be spared.

Finally, after far too much time, Coyote came up to him with word that it was time to enter the Palace, free from the crowd. Wolf nodded, relieved, but even this did not get a rare smile from him. Leaving the crowd and the peasantry behind, the nobility and knighthood entered the large, already open doors.

* * *

><p>The halls of the palace were undeniably quieter, but they still teemed with the sounds of celebration. Wolf hoped that they could hurry to the throne room and complete the ceremony.<p>

The throne room had certainly seen better days. Servants were in the process of repairing the tapestries and the long red carpet, others were polishing pillars and carefully putting works of art on stands. Whereas Marth had seen fit to give the people first priority in Altea, someone in Archanea had decided that the Palace had to be the first thing to be restored. Roshea couldn't see Coyote being keen on that, supplies to the people would likely be provided in just a few days at most.

"Home, huh?" Roshea looked around. Castle Aurelis, his last home, was regal enough, he felt like he was in a different world now. The Archanean Palace, even in disrepair, was a glorious sight. Aurelis was a lot simpler then Archanea was, and he preferred the simplicity. For now he stood at attention as Coyote's formal coronation began.

Hardin's outfit was completely different. Gone was the noble yet battle-worthy attire he had worn just a few minutes earlier, in its place was a regal red outfit befitting a ruler of the continent's single largest nation. Clearly formal, but it wouldn't be a stretch to think that one could fight unrestrained while wearing it. Completely different from the movement restricting costumes Wolfguard was forced to wear for this. Upon the Aurelian's head was a crown, he was King Hardin now, King of a nation he was not born into.

Roshea wondered if he would have to address him as 'King Hardin' now. It would be his preference to be able to continue calling him 'Coyote', as he had always done. The youngest of the Aurelians looked to the others in the throne room. Of obvious notice was Midia, who clearly disapproved but said nothing of the new King. As long as Coyote did not make some grand error in her eyes, that silence would continue. Roshea tensed, disliking the idea that anyone would be watching and studying Coyote for something, some technicality to complain about.

He felt Linde's hand on his shoulder. One look at the welcoming face told Roshea that at least one Archanean was going to make it her mission to make the Aurelians have the easiest time possible in the Palace.

Roshea saw Horace standing nearby. The reasons for his defection had been presented to the public, and despite the official pardon, most people treated him lukewarm at best. Roshea felt a little sorry for him… but he knew Horace didn't want the pity. The knight would just focus on rebuilding the nation, and hope that, over time, the popular opinion of him would change. Even if any enthusiasm he received from this day onward would be jaded at best… Roshea hoped that Coyote's heroism would never be forgotten under such a controversy.

As he continued to look around, Roshea noticed that several of the Archaneans who had served in the war were not present. Tomas, Macellan, and Dolph were all absent. Roshea was of the belief they resigned out of a dislike for Coyote. Despite how much acceptance Coyote was receiving from the people, a good one-third of Archanea's military didn't seem to like him.

"Wolfguard." Hardin spoke. He signaled for the attention of everyone in the throne room. "I would like a private moment to speak to my four men, regarding their place in Archanea."

Bows of respect were issued, and the people slowly shuffled out of the room until only Hardin and the Wolfguard were still in the throne room.

Hardin rose from the throne and began to walk down to his men, speaking as he descended. "We all thought we would just go back to Aurelis when this was all over. Fate has a strange way of working… now we are here in Archanea to stay, I its King, and you knights of the Holy Kingdom."

Wolf closed his eyes for a moment and then stepped forward. "No matter the direction you take your life, or what you choose to do with the Archanean throne, we will support you." Vows of unhesitant agreement came from the other three.

Hardin smiled. "Such loyalty is a comfort, but there is something all four of you should know." He turned and looked at the regal chair that was now his by right. "That throne offers great power, and few would be capable of properly wielding it. Perhaps I am not one of the few." He turned back to Wolfguard. "I have a very special order for all of you. If I misuse the powers of the throne in a way that can't be ignored, or should I go corrupt, it falls to you to take me down. Whether it's by simply removing me from the throne, or simply killing me."

Wolf's head jerked back at the command and he gave one of his rare completely unguarded expressions. "Coyote…!"

"There is no one I would trust more with this." Hardin said solemnly, tilting his head slightly so he had all four of them in his sights. "Whether it's a knife in my throat, or simply taking the power from me. It falls to you to make that judgment."

"We will… never have to do that." Sedgar stated. The command rattled him, and his voice reflected that. "You will be a great King to Archanea, greater then anyone before."

"I hope you're right." Hardin said. "Whatever happens, it's a well off incident. Today is a happy day. Call the Archaneans back in. They have dry throats, and we have the water for them."

Roshea managed a smirk, then went off to call the Archaneans back into the room.

* * *

><p>The celebration continued. Roshea noticed that the Mercurius had gone from Abel to Astram. The Archanean elite wielded it proudly, perhaps trying to stress that an Archanean hand was what now wielded the Archanean treasure. It was no great secret that the knight believed that the Archanean Regalia should have been wielded only by Archaneans. Jeorge still held the holy bow, Parthia, just as he had done during the war. Gradivus was in King Hardin's hand, he held it like a scepter.<p>

"So, all our enemies are gone now?" Wolf mused as he leaned on a pillar from a corner. It was a serious question to be posed even in such a happy time, and something in Wolf told him the answer was a resounding 'no'.

"Indeed, Sir Wolf." Wolf's eyes instantly turned to see Boah standing nearby. 'Sir Wolf'? As an Archanean knight, that was likely his proper title now. It felt empty to Wolf. Boah continued. "There is nothing left to fear. And with Archanea now well on its way to recovery with such a powerful King, the continent has nothing but a Golden Age ahead of it."

"Did we really defeat all our foes?" Wolf asked. The tone of voice was jaded, but it seemed as though he was challenging the Bishop. "I recall King Michalis escaped on his Wyvern. He was a beloved King, consider how many loyalists he would have. Or Grust, they've been put into a horrible, miserable position. We are the ones who did that to them. They will have nothing but resentment for the Archanean army that is stationed there now. Dolhr's Emperor is defeated and the nation's army broken, but there are still tatters who would want revenge."

Boah's smile dropped. "Yes, it is impossible to crush those sort of people entirely. However, King Michalis is missing, and considering the condition he was in, he has most likely expired from his wounds by now. Even if he was alive, he would have no way to get into contact with any loyalists. Grust's Sable Order is gone, they do not have a valid military structure to stand on, and we will have too tight a hold on them. Dolhr will simply fade into obscurity, they will move as little as they did since before Medeus' resurrection. Our enemies have lost their fangs, all the bite has gone out of them, Sir Wolf."

"…even a fangless canine still knows how to fight, Bishop." Wolf coldly responded before he began to walk off. "Rest on your laurels if you wish. I'm going to spend some time training."

"We can't let peace dull our senses, Sir Wolf." Boah admitted. "Go. You may have to prove yourself in the near future." Wolf did not respond.

* * *

><p>Midia had the option to retire from knighthood after the war. It was a tempting idea, but she opted not to, for Nyna's sake. It wasn't that she was close to the princess, now Queen, Linde could handle aiding Nyna on the personal level just fine. No, she had simply decided to dedicate herself as the Queen's bodyguard, though that was not her position officially.<p>

Nyna's official bodyguard would likely be a member of Wolfguard unless the four needed to act as one elsewhere. Midia… respected the skills of the four, but she disliked the idea of anyone besides her or Astram being Nyna's guardians. The loyalty of the four was to the new King more then the Queen, Midia disliked this strange arrangement. So long as Hardin did not mistreat Nyna she would have no objections, but…

Astram himself suddenly came up to her. He looked on with pride, his fierce loyalty to Nyna as firm as it had always been. He also took pride in their new King, who had aided Nyna ever since her escape. More importantly, he was a King that Nyna approved of.

"Archanea shall be as strong as ever." Astram asserted, clenching a fist. "We shall continue to serve, no matter how the nation changes. So long as we have our Queen…"

Midia wished she had the same conviction, but she didn't. "I can only hope that our new King proves an able partner for her."

Astram turned to her. He regarded the words for a moment, then just turned back to the proceedings. "It is not the place for the knights to find fault in their rulers. They will make the decisions for us."

Midia paused. She loved Astram, but she didn't always like his reasoning. She had no objection to him deciding to aid Dolhr in the war, that was for Archanea, but there was a _lot_ he would stoop to if he thought it was for Archanea, and more importantly, for the royal family. He could be manipulated… far too easily.

"It's not to say that I'm particularly fond of some of my new superiors." Astram admitted as Midia thought to herself. Almost just as he said the word, Wolf walked by them. Astram kept an eye on the Aurelian, Wolf turned his head and met Astram's gaze with his one visible eye. Wolf didn't break the speed of his walk, and yet the moment seemed to continue for a long while, condensed in a single second. An undeniable two way transfer of hostility went from the Archanean elite and the Aurelian elite.

Wolf walked off. Astram was Archanea's greatest knight, and he disliked the presence of Aurelis' greatest knight as his superior. He did not like it at all. He clenched the hilt of Mercurius harder.

* * *

><p>After several hours, Nyna finally had a chance to retreat to her private chambers. She collapsed into a chair, lowering her head into her hands, her well kept hair barely moving with the movement. She might have never felt so miserable before. Not even when she lost Camus barely a month back.<p>

Archanea would have gotten back onto the road to recovery just fine without this. It simply would have taken longer, but they wouldn't have been forced to demand from another nation like this. Yet Boah insisted that Archanea _had_ to be the first nation to be back on its own feet, no nation could fully recover from its woes before Archanea did. Even if acquiring the necessary speed was at the expense of another nation's recovery. Aurelis was already committed to helping Altea, now the plains nation was spreading itself thin, giving aid to Archanea as well.

That wasn't the end of it. They had turned prince Hardin of Aurelis into a puppet King. Nyna had a heavy hand in that, however reluctant. To lie and deceive a hero like that… she deserved everyone's contempt, but everyone was naively praising her instead. Her heart was still with Camus, but she couldn't even mention his name in anything besides her most private moments.

If only he could be here… she would dare to flee with him, live in hiding with him. Instead, she was reduced to living in a deceitful marriage, her husband oblivious to the manipulation, she aware but unable to do anything about it. Hardin accepted the strings happily, becoming a little marionette that both Nyna and Boah would control the movements of. He was oblivious and welcoming of this. The fact that his love for Nyna was honest made it worse, he willingly accepted the lie without hesitation, only further reminding Nyna of how inexcusable her actions were. The gods above would not have pity on her, and her parents couldn't have been anything but appalled at her lack of resistance.

She raised her head and looked to the shelves. They were lined with portraits, Nyna rose and walked over to them. Most of the portraits were of her when she was younger, some had Linde with her. The higher shelves were instead paintings of her parents. She sighed as she grabbed one of the pictures, one that had been painted after her birth, she was even in the painting, as an infant held by her father. Her mother and father had a true and honest relationship. It had its ups and downs like all relationships, but their marriage never wavered, even on the personal level.

Nyna would not be so lucky. She was trapped in a lie, and every time she would look at Hardin, she would feel the guilt, and she would tremble with fear. To answer his honest love with pretend passion… she couldn't believe that Boah, whose wisdom had always been held in high regard by her parents and by Nyna herself, would do this.

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><p>Boah walked quietly through the Palace's throne room, vacant for the moment. Archanea was already well on its way to recovery. The manipulation was regrettable, but necessary. Archanea had to be put first, even if everyone would likely question the ethnics of this. If they knew of it, and if Boah played his cards right, only he and Nyna would ever know of what was really going on. He knew that Nyna was going through a great deal because of this arrangement, but she would just have to bare.<p>

More relevant on his mind was keeping the truth from Hardin. The Aurelian was neither unperceptive or stupid, and Boah did not yet know what kind of appeals would satisfy him. The Bishop and the new Queen were the only ones who knew what was going on, but there _would_ be those who would seek an answer beyond Boah's official statement.

"In everything that I do, I am putting Archanea first." Boah said. The words were a simple fact, and were no attempt to reaffirm himself or confirm for himself that this was the right path. Progress sometimes required the use of methods some might have believed was unethical.

He was prepared for contingencies. Even the death of the new King. The staff of Aum was now kept in the Archanean treasury, safe from Dolhr's grasp. Even if something happened, some assassin came, he could still be brought back. The Staff could only be used once in a great span of time… keeping a strong king around was undoubtedly a valid use for the Staff.

He took in a breath all the same, dreading what would happen if Hardin ever found out the truth. He calmed as he reminded himself that Hardin would not. There would be no loose threads long and apparent enough for Hardin to follow, and if someone else might have caught wind…

"There is no one left who is malicious enough to try and exploit this situation for their own purposes." Boah spoke the words with confidence before nodding to himself.

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><p>The Temple of Thabes had been left untouched since the battle that took place here near the war's end. Already, dust was collecting on the chipped pillars and eroding walls. Natural winds and time had done much to make the Temple begin to fade into disrepair, the battle had only accelerated the decay.<p>

Gharnef's loyalists had fled when he died. The assassins at his beck and call had altogether left, following the heed of a Matron who served Gharnef. Where they were now, it could not be said. Yet without their clear leader they would pose no threat.

The Dark Pontifex's robe still remained, flowing through the air at the whim of the wind before settling on the ground. The tattered robes of a madman was the only thing that seemed to be truly moving in the Temple, even the strands of magic that once flowed so freely in the Temple had fallen still.

There was no movement, no life in the Temple that had been home to the face of madness. The research that Gharnef had once carried out was ended and gone, the prison where Elice had been kept was barren, with no sign as to the torment the Altean princess had endured. It had returned to what it had once been, a Temple that was all that remained of an ancient and advanced northern civilization. All that remained of the man who had wrongly commandeered it was his robe…

And the strange sphere he dropped when his body crumbled away. Resting on the ground where he had fallen to Starlight, it was insignificant and unremarkable. A seemingly useless bauble that Gharnef had seen fit to have on his person when he died.

Then, the strange black orb seemed to quiver where it lay. For seemingly no reason, it started to glow… shadows were converging on the orb…

The… _Darksphere_.

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><p><strong>Please review.<strong>


	45. To Better Times

**I'll be using this chapter to cover the epilogue of every character not touched in the last two chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>Minerva stared out from the window of the Macedonian throne room. As dusk approached the sky was bathed in orange, nary a cloud in the sky's blanket. She could see the distant silhouettes of wild Wyverns flying in the distance. Her Wyvern was nearby, now resting in the same stable that Michalis' Wyvern had once dwelt in. Minerva, who had been crowned Queen of Macedon not long after the war ended, had not spent long as a ruler, and had already developed a distaste for it.<p>

It was not in her nature to _want_ to rule. She was more soldier then sovereign, and more warrior then soldier. Hauteclere felt more comfortable in her hands then a quill pen. Though she valued peace and knew it was preferable to war, she felt like she had no place in the continent now, with Dolhr gone and no enemy left to fight.

It didn't help that people, in general, weren't receptive of their new Queen. Minerva was well aware of the fact that many people thought she was a usurper, that she joined the League for the sake of stealing the throne. The three Whitewings seemed to be the only fierce supporters of Minerva as Queen, and most thought of them as co-conspirators. Minerva did not silence such talk, she was not a tyrant.

She did, however, condemn and discredit everything Michalis did as King. She had to illustrate that the Macedon that joined with Dolhr was gone, and in its place was the Macedon that was allied with Altea, Archanea, Aurelis, and Talys. That went over horribly, and the peasants nearly rioted at what they perceived as slander of their King. Only the threat of Macedon's military charging at them stopped what could have been a violent incident.

Disowning everything Michalis did had a second effect. Maria had drifted even further away. She had loved both of her older siblings, and couldn't believe what Minerva was doing, oblivious to the fact that Michalis had been honestly trying to kill both of his sisters in the battle in Macedon.

Minerva clenched her fist, resting it on the glass. She sighed, things didn't have to go so horribly wrong… and while the majority of the blame belonged to Dolhr, Minerva shouldered her own share. What she did couldn't have been the appropriate way to release Michalis from the situation he was in, but it was the best thing she could do.

She was a ruler now… something she had never wanted to be. She had never had a disdain for her title of princess, mostly because she had always assumed that Michalis would be the next ruler. Fate had dealt Minerva's family a cruel hand…

Her thoughts drifted to Marth and Elice of Altea, two siblings that were together at the end of the war. Fate just treated some people better then others, perhaps playing favorites. The descendents of Anri were well and together, the descendents of Iote were growing separate…

Gone was Minerva's crimson red armor, in its place a movement restricting blood red gown befitting of the Queen. She would be able to go back to her more comfortable armor in time, but formality would demand that she wear this dress for all official ceremonies.

Being a single Queen ruling by herself brought with itself great challenges. She had next to no one to rely on for emotional needs, and had no one to go to for advice. All the nobles who had sworn allegiance to Michalis' cause were removed from their house. She knew that this would only earn her even more ire, but she had to stress that the Macedon Michalis led was no more. No one who had supported his decision to ally with Dolhr could be allowed to continue to hold authority.

The only people who held true authority now was the Queen herself, along with the Whitewings. All the power in the hands of just four individuals. None of which _wanted_ that kind of authority.

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><p>Catria leaned on the rail of a balcony. She was back in Macedon, with her sisters. Despite having returned home, her thoughts rested firmly on Altea. Marth was happy with Caeda… and his feelings for Catria had never gone beyond respect and friendship. Catria could replay the events of every interaction with Marth throughout the war, and she could see small things she could have said, subtle advances that would have allowed her to be…<p>

The deceptively pleasant path of 'if only' threatened to drive her insane. She could think it over a thousand times, and every time she thought of it, she was the one with Marth, rather then Caeda. She bowed her head… telling herself that if Caeda ever proved herself unworthy of Marth, either by a lack of faith or some other failing, she _would _be there. Marth had to be happy in the end, no matter what.

Est had gotten lucky in the war, Catria knew. Though neither the youngest Whitewing or the Altean said anything of the sort, it was clear the true nature of her interaction with Abel. That Altean knight was calm, dependable, and willing to make sacrifices, whether small or great, for the sake of others. All good and admirable traits, but he just didn't seem to be the kind of man Catria would want. He had satisfied Est just fine, Catria could only ever think of one person. One she would never have…

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><p>Palla walked through the halls of the castle. The castle felt colder then it had ever been before. The military had accepted Minerva as their Queen and only ruler, but it was clear that they still favored Michalis, and still had a disdain for the Whitewings. The Michalis favoring military was, for now, the only thing that held the mark of the former King that Minerva hadn't done away with. That might change eventually.<p>

She wondered what Wolf would have made of this situation. She admitted, only to herself, that she missed the Aurelian and his biting, but honest and rarely wrong words. As she thought of Wolf, she abruptly stopped as her breathing quickened, wondering why she felt closer to Wolf then she did her own family. That partnership had been something she dreaded when it first came to light, but it quickly proved to work. Somehow, returning to formation with her own sisters felt… empty. Forcing herself into a walk again, she began to move to Maria's chambers.

The princess had little interest in talking to anyone right now, but she was to have her meal with Minerva. A meal that would be doubtlessly silent and cold. Palla began to approach Maria's room, a place she shut herself into these days. Taking a deep breath as she expected to see a look of anger in Maria's face, Palla slowly opening the door and entered.

"Princess… Maria?" Palla asked, looking around the room. Her eyes darted to the left and right, and…

"Princess?" Palla called with a louder voice, growing increasingly concerned when she saw no sign of Maria. The princess, the Queen's younger sister, seemed to have vanished from the room she was always in. Palla took in a breath, and saw that a window was open. A kidnapping was the first thing that struck Palla… but she dismissed the thought immediately. There wasn't any signs of any kind of violence or forced entry into the room, the carpet was still well-kept, and the sheets of Maria's bed remained unblemished. Maria… that strong willed girl, she must have left on her own. If she was out there by herself…

She did not relish the thought, but she had to tell the new Queen that her sister had disappeared.

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><p>Minerva was still in the throne room. In her efforts to put Macedon back onto a stable path after the war, she feared that every decision she made had been the wrong one. Perhaps, acknowledging what Michalis had done well, but stressing what he had done wrong, would have been better. At least, some people would have understood where she was coming from.<p>

She wished she did not have to make these decisions herself. She wanted someone's… at the very least, someone's advice. Someone who was either more experienced, or someone who this just came more naturally to. She immediately thought of Marth.

"Marth, I… miss you." She whispered for her ears alone. Sometimes Marth had struck her as far too soft, but in the end she knew she was no match for him. His heart was too big, but he had the strength, and knew when the time to use force had come. Minerva could rarely think of a manner to get anything done without using simple brute force.

She wanted him to be right here. She… she closed her eyes and tried to deny the rising heat in her face, and told herself that she would have had no objection if he was holding her hand as King. Even if it meant a joining of Altea and Macedon. She would have had no qualms with a life with Marth, and he could make these decisions much more skillfully then she could.

Minerva was lost in thought. So lost that it took Palla four attempts to get the Queen's attention. Minerva cringed, snapping to the Whitewing with an indignant expression. She was thankful that Palla didn't know what she had been thinking about.

"Yes, Palla?" The words sounded composed, and she was growing calmer, recovering from the fluster of almost having her thoughts discovered.

"Command… my Queen." Palla said, taking in a breath to calm herself. It felt awkward to address Minerva as a Queen now. Minerva was not 'Commander' anymore. She did not want to see Minerva's reaction, but she didn't back down from what she now had to say, either. "A… about princess Maria…"

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><p>A black Wyvern dwelt in a lone cave in Macedon. The creature surveyed what was before it, like a brood mother guarding her eggs. Yet what was before this creature, beheld in its seemingly featureless red eyes, was something it regarded as more precious then any eggs.<p>

Its master, Michalis, was lying on the ground, unconscious, bloody, and wracked with wounds, just barely breathing. Not far from the former King was Iote's Shield, Macedon's greatest treasure since the day it was founded, resting on the ground as though it had been discarded.

The Wyvern was resolute in defending its master. The cave's walls were mired in the remains of simple wild animals, deer and ox and horses, who had naively wandered into the cavern. Yet there was someone else here, and rather then gore and eviscerate this person, the Wyvern simply watched this one.

It certainly hadn't been easy, but Maria had found her brother. She was perhaps the only person the Wyvern would tolerate approaching its master. The creature would not be so patient with the person who had come in with Maria. It had little fondness for the Whitewings, but did not attack Est, the one who had protected Maria in her search, and would not attack only so long as she kept her distance.

Maria had immediately gone to work with her Heal Staff. She focused, and focused, thinking only of healing her brother's wounds. The end result of that would doubtlessly be a true reunion with both of her siblings.

She was young. People thought of her as a naïve little girl, and Maria had come to understand, people would underestimate her because of that. Even Minerva, and probably Michalis as well, didn't see what she was capable of. She had seen that bringing her family back together was something _she_ would have to do, because she was the only one who _could_ do it.

Michalis' wounds had been deep when his Wyvern carried him off, time and lack of treatment had made them even worse. His condition was critical, but the cracks in his flesh were slowly closing. As Maria was trying to heal him she closed her eyes shut. The images of both of her siblings passed in front of her, thoughts of happier days now gone. Memories of something that would be lost forever if she failed to save Michalis. The idea of going on with one of her siblings gone…

A small trickle of tears came from Maria's eyes as she began to concentrate harder. She had to do this. Her family was counting on her, even if that same family seemed bent on _not_ rejoining…

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><p>The smell of the sea was all around. A scent enjoyed far too infrequently within war's altogether unpleasant smells. Yet those of Talys, who had returned to Talys, seemed to be almost drunk on the smell.<p>

The mercenaries who had fought under Ogma throughout the war had seen fit to follow other pursuits. Those that didn't necessitate the sight of blood so often. Retirement of a sort. It was not something they would have considered in the days before the war truly began in earnest, but the sight of blood, smeared across all the dirt and rocks everyday, would leave all, save few, interested in other pursuits.

Bord, for one, had traded the axe of a mercenary for the axe of a woodcutter. He was more artisan now then fighter. He beheld a piece of wood resting in front of him and immediately went to work. His methods were slow, but he was quickly becoming skilled at this. The wood began to take a better, more refined shape.

His work lasted for another hour, and then he finally took a step back and examined his results. A small figurine in the shape of a man, sockets for eyes were carved, and one could actually see the muscles, the digits on the hands, and the toga the figure wore. A handheld masterpiece, without a doubt.

"Not bad." A voice came from behind. Bord turned to Cord, standing beside a massive log, the same height as the man it rested next to. "Let's see some more speed now." Cord turned with his axe and immediately set to work, Bord watched as Cord carved a life-sized human figure in only ten minutes at best. It lacked the finer attention to details that Bord's figure had, the product of Cord's work didn't even seem to have a proper face, Bord couldn't even tell what was the front of the figure and what was the back. Cord still stood with a sense of pride and accomplishment, despite the overall crudeness of his handiwork.

Bord just shook his head before returning to the small figurine he had carved. "You make me miss Barst. Wherever he is now."

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><p>Barst took in a deep breath of the salty air. The life of a mercenary didn't seem to suit him anymore. Nor did the occupation of soldier, he wanted to wander freely to try out other things. It was in the middle of his brooding over what to do with his life, that Darros approached him.<p>

At first, Barst had balked at the idea of being a pirate, it wasn't his wish to be an exploiter of harbors and fishermen. Darros had chuckled, and told him of his idea of being a pirate. Freedom of authority to wander as one pleases, not raising the flag of any nation but not trying to start trouble for those nations either. It did not have to mean being a cutthroat and murderer. Barst thought about it long and hard, and ultimately accepted the life of a pirate.

Now he looked at the endless water in front of him from the rail of the boat. He and Darros were a two-man crew, in the largest boat just two men could handle on their own. The wind pushed their sails, coming to push their ship along on its course. Barst found himself relaxing with the soft caress of the wind…

And then orders from captain Darros came.

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><p>"To think that my daughter will now live at…" King Mostyn of Talys thought it over, then smiled. The castle, more humble then most houses of royal families, would be a little less lively without Caeda around.<p>

The Talys King's smile grew, he felt somewhat proud, somewhat bitter. His daughter had found a path to happiness, and in doing so, found a path to Talys' secure future. Altea and Talys' alliance would doubtlessly become even stronger from the relationship. At the same time, he would miss his daughter, who now he would only see in formal gatherings of nations.

There might be some that would call it a marriage of convenience. Some wouldn't realize the truth of the love, but every Altean and Talysian would reap the benefits. If only people would look at this love as something that they could also have someday. The head of his mercenaries was one of the people who should look at it in such a way.

Mostyn turned to see Ogma, still faithfully serving as the captain of Talys' mercenaries. The battle-scarred man had seen more then his fair share of action throughout the war, and was welcomed back to Talys as a hero. The people acted as though Ogma had been the Archanean League's most vital pillar, Ogma insisted that he wasn't. Mostyn believed him, as great and reliable as a man Ogma was, and for all the help he likely provided, he was just one part of the League.

Ogma didn't seem to have any personal interests after the war other then continuing to serve the Talys King. Mostyn had to smirk at that. Ogma certainly had an intimidating look to him, but if he were to only approach someone, he would likely find a life partner. Mostyn turned away from the mercenary, seemingly too dutiful to spend any time with… pleasurable company.

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><p>Castor paced back and forth. It had taken a long time, longer when he would have wanted, but he finally had the money he needed for medicine. It was far from cheap, despite just how much the princess had given him, it had only just barely been enough to cover the costs. Now he watched his mother, asleep in her bed.<p>

He could only hope the medicine was working as intended. His mother, at the least, looked more peaceful, more rested, then she had ever been since she had fallen deathly ill. He could only hope he had brought the medicine in time, his mother had not been doing well when he had left, and her condition had only worsened while he was away. Dread was building in Castor's chest, and he watched his mother carefully to be sure that she was still breathing.

He took in a breath himself, one of the medicines side effects was slightly slowed breathing. The apothecary he bought the medicine at assured him that he shouldn't get stressed out by it. He couldn't help himself, after all he went through to get this medicine for his mother…

Slowly, he sat down on the bed, his breath was shaking as his hands rested in his lap. If this didn't work out, then he wasn't sure what to do. There wouldn't be any time to find another way to heal his mother. If this failed, he'd only be able to watch helplessly as she slipped-

"Castor?" An older, female voice suddenly spoke. Castor jumped, then turned to the voice. His mother's eyes had opened, and she looked, weakly, at her son. She slowly tried to rise to a standing position, her son stood in shock for the first moment, then he moved forward and helped her fully ascend. "I feel… good. I feel all better." She looked at her hands, full of life rather then the broken things she had been suffering with. Her body felt weak, but it didn't seem to be just a crude layer of skin clinging to her bones anymore. "Where… did you get the money?"

"I…" Castor paused. What was he to say? That he had helped pirates terrorize a harbor before princess Caeda came? That he had been a soldier in the Archanean League and killed dozens of enemy soldiers? "I did a lot of jobs, mother. I… didn't compromise the morals you taught me."

His mother smiled. Castor felt a mixture of relief for his mother who was finally through the worst of her sickness, and guilt at the half-lie. Even so, today was a happy day. He laid his mother back down, it was too early for her to be walking around on her own.

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><p>Wrys wandered freely through the halls of a Church, which was now something of an orphanage as well. People from all nations had been hit hard by the war, and many children were now bereft of their parents. Some were older, and had the means to make their own way in life. Others were too young, and had nowhere to go. Those ones would end up coming to Wrys' orphanage.<p>

Whether Altean, Aurelian, Archanean, Grustian, Gra, Khadein, or Macedonian. Every nation had been hit hard by this war, perhaps Talys was the only nation that was spared. Wrys watched as some children ran by, one stopped to make sure he didn't run into the Father. Wrys smiled and let the boy run off to continue with his game of tag. The game was harmless, even inside a holy building. Just as long as they did not try anything… funny, with the holy objects, they were free to have fun.

The children all held a wound deep inside over the loss of parents… or maybe some of them didn't come from good families, and this orphanage was the start of a better life. Either way, the children seemed happy, even after the horror the entire continent had been subjected to. Life, Wrys noted, did go on.

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><p>Several bandits began to move. They were overlooking an Archanean village. The nation was in the midst of being repaired, and many of the roads were not well policed by the Archanean knights. In the eyes of brigands and thieves, that made smaller villages, such as this out of the way village, easy pickings.<p>

The bandit chief went toward a new member of the little tribe. A long haired swordsman of no small renown. A man who had been one of the greatest soldiers of the Archanean League, and was said to have little in the ways of morals. All these things made him ideal to hire. "Navarre, right?" The swordsman turned to the bandit with a smirk. "Let's see how much substance is in those stories. Make sure no one gets out of the village while we do what we do best."

"Of course." Navarre answered. "As long as I get the gold and can raise a mug of ale afterwards, I don't care what-"

_Something_ suddenly darted by, at best a shadow in the eyes of the bandits. Then three of the bandits suddenly fell, grievous cuts upon their side, the blood spurting out of their hips. Writhing and howling in pain, their cries of pain would carry for miles.

"What was-" The bandit chief asked, or tried to ask. The shadow darted by again, this time slashing a blade across the chief's neck. The chief wheezed and sputtered, then fell forward, bleeding his life out on the dirt.

The shadow continued to make lethal hit and run attacks on the bandits. Once the entire tribe was felled, it settled on Navarre. It slashing the swordsman on the thigh, bringing him down to one knee.

The man that was the shadow finally stepped out into plain sight. Holding the Killing Edge, now bloodied from his attacks, Navarre looked down at the man who had claimed to be him.

"Another imposter." Navarre said coldly. The imposter tried to stand back up, using his sword as a crutch. The look of fear in the swordsman's eye made it clear that escaping with his life was his only wish at this point. Navarre raised the Killing Edge with a chilling purpose. He did not even give the imposter the dignity of dying on his feet, and mercilessly slew the man. Without another word, the ebony swordsman turned and walked away, leaving the corpses to either by overtaken by nature, or to be happened upon by a local.

Those claiming to be him were becoming a clear annoyance. No matter how many he hunted down, more seemed to appear. Their lack of skill, and lack of attention to their surroundings, was almost insulting. He sheathed his sword as he left bloody footprints behind. He didn't care if anyone would try to follow them, any scouts would be hopelessly confounded when he began making a concentrated effort to cover his tracks. He slowly broke into a run…

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><p>The tasks Lena took upon herself were little different then the ones she partook in during the war. Working from a church, and sometimes traveling abroad, she had made it her mission to heal anyone of all ailments they suffered from. The end of the war had done almost nothing to lessen the amount of people who were either in pain, sick, or even dying. Now she found herself in one of Aurelis' more remote villages, tending to the ill.<p>

The fact that it was Macedon that invaded Aurelis, and she was a Macedonian woman, made many eye her cautiously. She paid it no mind, just focusing on those who had fallen ill to various ailments. Overtime, perhaps the Aurelian people's perceptions of her would soften.

She found herself slightly missing Julian. She wasn't used to men so cheerful and so… casual, with her. The thought of him flustered her a little, but she knew that he was busy finding a place where he could work honestly. She had to give him the space for that. Refocusing herself on her work, she watched as her Heal Staff purged an illness from a child.

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><p>Julian found himself working a shop in Macedon. Money didn't come fast. He heard things, overall, moved a lot faster with the last King. Yet, on a whole, he found this new life rewarding. Perhaps fairly uneventful, but better then the life of a thief. He also always found it amusing when people tried to haggle him. They didn't know <em>who<em> they were messing with…

Despite the new, honest life, he still had the senses of a thief. His were some of the finest-honed senses of his generation. He heard a sound, vague and seemingly insignificant, but he did not dismiss it. He turned around, heading to the drawer he kept most of his money in. Common sense would have said that the sound likely came from mice, but as Julian listened to the sound, it came to seem more like snickering then squeaking. He pulled the drawer open…

"Oh… uh, chief." Rickard chuckled nervously as Julian looked down at a familiar face, that was trying to rob him. "So, this is where you work now, huh?"

Julian's eyes narrowed. "I thought you had also decided to go honest, Rickard."

"I did." Rickard insisted as he began to slowly push the bag of money out of Julian's sight. "Just… baby steps, you know? Break the habit slowly. I only robbed two apothecaries last month rather then my usual six."

Julian closed his eyes lightly, then grabbed Rickard by his collar and yanked him out of the drawer. "You and I are going to have a little chat…"

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><p>After the war, there was much that Matthis could have done. He had been a soldier in the army hailed throughout the continent as heroes. He could have lived a luxurious life, or even become some Knight-Captain. There was much that he could do in the newly free continent, and none of that interested him.<p>

"Back again, Matthis?" A man on the other side of the counter greeted the former knight, who had become a regular at this apothecary.

"Just for the usual things." Matthis replied. There were many things he could have become after the war, positions he could have filled, honorable positions and influential positions. He instead opted for the simple and predictable life of a Macedonian villager.

He left with his purchases. To his joy, no one seemed to realize the soldier he had once been. He liked being overlooked. For so long as things were kept simple, he was happy.

Even so, a part of him did miss his traveling sister. He had a bad hunch that the thief, Julian, had a thing for her, an idea he did not like. Lena, both as his sister, and as a Cleric, could do much better then enter a relationship with a thief. At the very least, Julian and Lena were far away from each other right now, a fact that Matthis hoped would last.

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><p>Wendell found himself back in Khadein. Now he was one of the nation's greatest Sages. Perhaps, in a way, he had become the leader of the neutral nation, Gotoh seemed apparently disinterested in returning to his post. Wendell had long known Gotoh to have had an apathy to society, but this struck the Pontifex as slightly unusual.<p>

Merric was here, having come back to Khadein, and he was visiting Altea on occasion. He saw his student walking around, seeming to enjoy being treated like he was the champion of Khadein. Though it was common knowledge that he was not the one who had wielded Starlight to defeat Gharnef, that had been Linde.

Wendell had wished Linde would have had more of a desire to see her father's world, but he shouldn't judge. Many things were happening in Archanea, most of them were likely more critical then anything going on in Khadein right now. As for the situation in Khadein, the ones who followed Gharnef, unsurprisingly, were quick to renounce their vows of loyalty to him. They were put under close watch, but they were not imprisoned or executed. Wendell did not contest the decision to go about it this way, but personally doubted that any lessons would be learned from such a slap on the wrist sort of punishment.

Even so, life went on in Khadein much like it did before the war began. Teachers instructed and students learned, the nation kept its doors open to all learners of magic from any nation, save Dolhr. Wendell relaxed and cracked a smile, seeing Khadein had returned to the Khadein he wanted it to be.

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><p>"You vill take us on your ship?" The dock master closed his eyes in slight exasperation. This woman's manner of speaking was both confusing and annoying, but at the end of the day, her purse was all he had eyes for. She said she wanted to return to her homeland… wherever it was. Few people knew what lay beyond the continent, but this woman seemed to come from elsewhere.<p>

"I will supply you with a ship." The dock master said eventually. He studied Athena for a clear reaction. "Seeing as you don't intend to be returning, and there's not much I can afford to spare right now, I'll supply you with a sturdy one man vessel, but no crew. You'll have to take it from there."

Athena nodded. "That is all ve vill need." She turned to a small boat as it pulled into the harbor. The dock master gestured to identify it as the proper boat, Athena nodded and tossed a sack of gold at the man. The dock master smiled at the pleasant clinking sound the bag made as he moved it around.

"Happy sailing." The dock master saluted before walking off, the woman already being old news to him.

* * *

><p>Bantu looked at the Firestone in his hand. There would be little use for it now, now that Tiki was found and safe, and the war was over. He trusted Tiki's safety to the White Sage, but Bantu knew, if Tiki was ever in danger, he could rush over to her, no matter the distance.<p>

For now, Bantu chose to live in seclusion. He would watch the continent change from his new dwelling place in Dolhr. The land… despite those who dwelt in it, the land of Dolhr was actually quite remarkable. It was not the cold graveyard of bones and gutted corpses most made it out to be. It was… very peaceful, and Bantu enjoyed living in the Manakete's ancestral homeland.

He did not leave in a proper house or a cave, he would wander Dolhr nomadically. He knew what areas to avoid, areas where those who clung to Medeus' name were still present. They had grown more violent, naturally, with Medeus' demise. Bantu would have to be ever watchful, they would only grow bolder as time went on.

* * *

><p>Caesar returned to the life of a mercenary. He returned to fighting in the arena as he always had, and just like in the older times, he knew how to start the crowd up. He would purposely opt to fight with enemies that had the advantage of numbers. Now he stood, exhausted and sweating, as three well rested enemies were before him. He charged forward, his three enemies seemed confident that victory would be theirs.<p>

That confidence disappeared fast, Caesar broke through the first foe's defense and struck him down easily enough. The other two held back and tried to maintain a defense, Caesar was remarkably unimpressed. His sword crushed the shield of one enemy, and he then lashed out against the second enemy with the blunt side of his sword.

It took only a moment more, and Caesar was raising his hands in victory to the sound of cheers, and the sound of groans from those who had bet money on his adversaries. Battles in the arena were all too easy, and after the war, he had no complaint about things being easy. So long as life was simple and easy, he found nothing wrong with it.

Not far form the arena, in the harbor's pub, Radd sat quietly. He took a sip from a cup of water, and yawned. Life had become boring after the war… though Caesar would have been thankful for an easy life, and Radd didn't like things being too hard, but there had to have been such a thing as too easy as well.

Another cup, on the house, was put on his table by a waitress. He stole a glance at her as she turned away… and caught sight of a stunning head of brown hair on the woman. He blinked, then watched as the woman continued to do her job, blue eyes and a seemingly unblemished face in her shoulder bearing getup made her seem to be the only interesting thing in the otherwise tedious pub, and he instantly smiled. He just found a new excitement.

* * *

><p>Jake stretched his arms, feeling the relaxing sensation of his muscles loosening. Away from his Ballista for a moment, he was ready to board a ship with Anna. The red haired girl smiled at him, a finger on her chin, a face she seemed to enjoy giving. Jake smiled back.<p>

Going to different lands had been a special dream for both of them. Jake had always dragged his heels on actually embarking on such a journey, but no longer. Jake and Anna had decided to leave the entire continent behind and see what lay beyond the horizon. The distant mist that none had before dared to try and pierce, Anna smiled at the challenge, Jake emulated the expression. Excitement at the unknown coursed through both of them.

* * *

><p>Arran had found a new station in Castle Altea. The knight who had once been captain to many men was now captain once more. He was in the training grounds within Castle Altea. With a Silver Lance in his hand, he watched the new recruits emulating his thrusts, perfecting the skills that they would someday use to fight for the land of Altea.<p>

Jagen and Arran were the two primary instructors of the nation. Arran was known to have a only slightly softer touch, but he was considered no less skilled in hammering lessons into the heads of the troops. Arran himself was likely a greater threat in a fight then Jagen was right now, suffering from old age as Jagen was.

Arran was saddened by what was happening to Jagen. It seemed that the loss of a champion like Jagen would have a negative impact on not just the military of Altea, but the entire nation as well. Arran only hoped that he could fill Jagen's place, when the inevitable finally came. In a small pause in the training exercise he stole a glance at his reflection in a lake, and wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Surely his face wasn't as pale as it looked in the water.

* * *

><p>Samson turned away with disgust.<p>

After departing from the army, many people sought out such a capable, and now recommended, mercenary. That should have been a convenient situation, jobs would pour in, and gold with them, but some of the jobs he was given were completely devoid of conscious. This one that he turned away from was one such job.

A wealthy merchant was asking him to slay people who were damaging a warehouse of his. That is, young people, ruffians, spreading paint across the side of it to create crude images. It was behavior worthy of punishment, but not the kind that the merchant sought. Without caring about the consequences, Samson walked away, but not before stopping to throw the offered sack of gold into the merchant's face.

He did not care if only taking on jobs that met his standards would result in less gold then possible. Going to bed hungry would be better then comprising his morals like that. The jobs he took, he would only take from people he respected, were those that matched his moral code.

His next stop would be Gra. There would be much to do in Gra as it was rebuilding, perhaps he could find someone with a moral code to match his.

* * *

><p>Etzel was familiar with Khadein, as all wielders of magic were. Yet, compared to many others, he had spent comparatively little time here. Most of his studies had taken place abroad, returning to Khadein was a rare occurrence. A very rare occurrence. He was here only to see if the libraries had received any new tomes, and then he would see about acquiring some amulets. After that he would leave.<p>

He took Ursula's Ring out, letting it gleam in the sunlight. Her life was taken without remorse well before her time, but that had been fate's decree, and Etzel would have to make the most he could out of it. He still had warm memories of his subtle nudging, and Ursula's awkward advances. Until the day they were joined again in the next life, he hoped to continue to warm himself with those memories.

His eyes caught two mages. The young man and woman he saw walking past him… he took note of the way they were holding hands. They were obviously an… item. He smirked. The same stories of when he and Ursula were just getting to know each other.

* * *

><p>"Tiki. Princess of the Divine Dragon Clan, daughter of the Divine Dragon, Naga." Gotoh looked at the girl with his closed eyes, who innocently cocked her head.<p>

"Found her for you." Xane innocently chimed in, putting his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose. No one had caught wind of the fact that he had been sent by Gotoh, not even Marth and Hardin. Gotoh paid Xane's cheerful demeanor no mind, focusing entirely on Tiki.

"Tiki, princess Tiki." Gotoh said. "Please, come with me." He nodded. He did not understand what was happening, but he sensed the madness coursing through other Manaketes. It was a disturbing thing he had not witnessed before, and he put himself in motion immediately. He would at least keep the last Divine Dragon from falling to this strange madness.

"Where are we going?" Tiki asked. "Someplace where I can be with people? I don't want to be alone, or go back to sleep."

Gotoh paused for a moment. Putting Tiki back into a long slumber, like the one Naga put her in, would be the best way to save her. At least until he knew what was going on. He had an unsettling belief about this strange madness…

"Yes, Tiki." He lied while extending his hand. "We're going on a little… adventure."

Tiki cheerfully, obliviously, took the extended hand. As Gotoh and Tiki left, Xane casually followed them.

* * *

><p>Lorenz readied himself in the new Grust. He had consented to the Archanean occupation for the time being. However, he also made it clear in a letter to the new King Hardin that he would not tolerate mistreatment of the Grustians, either the people or what was left of the military. Hardin had responded that any sign that the occupation army is abusing their authority will be a slight that he would personally deal with. Lorenz was well pleased with this situation.<p>

King Ludwik's children, the twin prince and princess of the nation, had been found and brought back. A formal coronation would have to wait until the Archanean Occupational Army left. For the moment, Lorenz was waiting to meet the leader of the occupation army. The Grustian prince was away for his own protection, Lorenz was not sure if he should be here for this.

Suddenly the doors flew open. Lorenz stood at attention as Archanean soldiers filed in. At their head was a man whose clean and detailed armor clearly identified him as a General. He walked forward, flanked by Archanean bodyguards, slowly coming up to Lorenz.

"Grustian General Lorenz." The Archanean started, the man sounded refined, but it seemed clear that speeches were not his strong-suit. "I will be heading the occupation of Grust until such a time that we are deemed to no longer be necessary in the land."

Lorenz nodded, but a chord of worry was suddenly struck inside of him.

"Where is your prince, General Lorenz?" The man asked. "I would speak to him now."

"He is… elsewhere right now, General…" Lorenz paused, waiting for an identification.

"Lang." The Archanean responded. "I am General Lang." Lorenz felt his blood chill, and it seemed as though his heart momentarily stopped.

"Now, where is your prince? I will see him _now_. Failure to comply with this order will see you and your nations suffer grave consequences. Understood?" The rising anger in the Archanean's voice felt like a dark tiding. One Lorenz was not sure if he's survive.

* * *

><p>Ymir finally returned to his village. The one place where he knew he had acceptance, where his imposing height, inhuman strength, and intimidating visage did not strike fear into anyone.<p>

The Devil Axe had been put away, there would be no need of it right now. The elder would be pleased to see that Ymir no longer held something so dangerous in his hands. Ymir was now wiling away his days, telling the villagers war stories as he continued to train his body and enjoy the food the village offered. The tale of the battle against the Manaketes in Dolhr seemed to be what engrossed them the most.

The village was thankfully outside of the spectrum the Archanean Occupational Army would be viewing Grust through. Even so, Ymir did not like this army's presence. He had little opinion of Grust's army when it was intact, but at the moment he's have rather had the Sable Order return. Despite the tatters the Order was in, he had been told the Order held honor in the highest regard…

* * *

><p>Belf sighed. He, Robert, and Leiden sat around a campfire. They had been on the run ever since the battle in Grust and the loss of their commander. They stopped only to sleep, and someone always stayed awake on watch. With the defeat of Grust and the death of their King, they were now fugitives, hunted by every authority in the continent.<p>

One of them might have been thinking what point was there in going on at this stage. The General they put all their faith in was gone, and Grust was losing its pride under Archanea's rule. All three of them were deeply certain that it would be a horrid misruling of Grust… if only Camus was here, throwing off the yoke of an Archanean oppression would be simplicity itself.

"…and now he's dead." Robert said, saying what he felt his two companions needed to know. "Grust is dead with him."

Leiden looked at Robert, seemingly offended at the simple insinuation that Camus was gone. He looked ready to say something, then Belf raised a hand, putting an end to the potential hostilities.

"Remember what General Camus was capable of." Belf said coolly. He closed his eyes, remembering being taught how to fight by Camus. "All the skill we lay claim to now, it all came from the General. He wouldn't die from what would just be a glancing wound to him. Don't write General Camus off, until you see him die. Face to face."

Leiden and Robert said nothing. There seemed to be fire, and more importantly, a certainty, in that statement.

* * *

><p>A storm was churning in the air above the shoreline. As rainwater fell in violent torrents, bolts of lightning came threateningly close to hitting structures and objects. Waves crashed ferociously on the shore, dragging away whatever trinkets people might have left there. It seemed as though the waters had seen fit to claim the land.<p>

It was not a day fit for man or beast. No one seemed to dare to wander outside in such weather, staying inside their houses as the wind and the rain beat upon the wooden walls. Children huddled in fear at the weather, and even the most learned of seamen acknowledged the intensity of this particular storm. The people could do little but offer prayers in the hopes that the storm would soon depart.

Over the course of three days, the storm ran its course, and finally the people were able to leave. People flocked to the beach, some might have come to see what had washed up. One woman came to the beach, and found something completely unexpected.

She inhaled quickly, then knelt down, right beside a body that had to have washed up in the final hours of the storm. The body wore formal black clothing, and she acknowledged the handsome face, but for the moment she focused on other things. Turning the body over, she witnessed a grievous wound, a large weapon had seemingly gone straight through his chest, leaving a gaping hole. The man suddenly sputtered. Unbelievably, this man was still clinging to life. The woman placed her arms under the man and lifted him up gently.

There could be no way for her to have realized that she was holding General Camus of Grust, leader of the Sable Order.

Camus groaned, the will that had served him so well for so long had allowed for his survival, despite all that he had gone through. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing an almost angelic face above him. For a moment, the face seemed almost nostalgic to him, he blinked, unable to remember what he seemed to be reminded of.

"Sir, are you okay?" She asked, seeming to be in a slight panic. "W-what is your name?"

"My…" Camus croaked out a single word, then tried to think, he felt as though he should know the answer to such a simple question. Yet, it eluded him. His name, who he was, everything seemed to have vanished. "I… I don't know." He blinked as confusion overtook him, then he looked at the woman he was in the arms of. "Where am… who are you?"

The woman seemed to be calming down. She placed a hand on the amnesiac man's cheek. "This is the continent of Barensia. I am… Teeta."

* * *

><p><strong>Some character endings were edited from what they were in FE11, mostly to take 312's story into account. Then there's Camus, which is taking FE2 into account.**

**This fic's not done. Not quite yet.**


	46. Unrecorded Conspiracy

**It's hard to believe, but here I am, uploading the _last chapter_ of the story. This story began the 22nd of May last year, and the final chapter goes up the 3rd of July this year.**

**Disclaimer: I only own OCs, of which there won't be many.**

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><p>It had taken several months after the war's end, but it was finally time for an alliance of nations to be finalized.<p>

The leaders of the nations that had comprised the now dispersed Archanean League were meeting again. Those who held the reins of the League now met as leaders of nations. They met to form an alliance that would bring the continent to the greatest unity its had since the days of Anri.

Marth didn't exactly want this to be a large, glamorous spectacle, but it was hard to downplay an event of this scale. The leaders of most of the continent's nations were meeting in one place, all to make and sign a peace treaty between them. What that meant for the continent… it was no surprise that many were enthusiastic about this, and wanted to make it an event to remember for all time. At the very least, no one was being announced with trumpets and dancers, nor were they being identified by some shrill page. Marth and Caeda had arrived first, but the other leaders of nations, and their armies of bodyguards, had collected in the area over the course of several days. Now Hardin, Nyna, Minerva, Mostyn, and the Aurelian King were all here as well. Wendell came as the representative of Khadein.

There was going to be little talk today. Discussion of trade and offerings of help with specific problems would likely wait until a few days later. Today would only see the formal declarations of peace treaties, what _exactly_ that entailed for every nation would be negotiated later. The nations would, obviously, go out of their way to render aid, but, regrettably, Marth noted, there was a point where one nation might be forced to pull back the hand of friendship.

The nations might be allies, but they couldn't completely exhaust themselves in an effort to help an allied nation that couldn't handle its own problems. Marth could only hope that he would never be forced to withhold aid for a desperate ally to keep Altea stable.

The alliance would be finalized in a surprisingly humble looking fort. Albeit, one surrounded by a sea of soldiers. If a bandit was unlucky enough to come by at this moment, or an assassin foolishly tried to enter the fort, they would be cut down in a matter of heartbeats.

Despite the newfound peace, there was a rigidness to the soldiers. Careers, and lives, had been lost out of carelessness on pleasant, seemingly victorious days. The soldiers took to their patrols, ones devoid of any faults. Despite the proximity of the armies of various nations, some having very different values, there were no scuffles or flaring tempers. At the same time, the armies were clearly compartmentalized, and not even the Aurelian army and the Archanean army interacted with each other.

Cain felt almost… incomplete, not in formation with Abel. He had already not been with Frey for quite some time now, and now… most of Altea's other soldiers weren't good enough for him to be the partner of. Frustration gnawed at him at the loss of his former two comrades in arms. He could look at all these soldiers present, Altean or otherwise, and just see the imperfections and flaws in their stance, their gait, and the way they held their weapon. With the exception of those who had served in the Archanean League, this was a combined force that clearly banked more on quantity then quality.

He took solace in the fact that Marth was well protected enough, and Elice was safely back at the castle. With Dolhr snapped in half, there was nothing left to fear. Badly formed armies should have been the least of his worries, and Abel and Frey's absence should have been an insignificant cross to bear, and yet…

Cain just wanted to go back to the castle and train. This hot and muggy day did not suit him. It did not suit a person who had fought without complaint in even hotter weather.

"Don't tell me something is bothering you now, of all times." Cain blinked, with so many people around it took a moment for him to realize that the speaker was talking to him. He turned to the direction the voice came from. Sedgar looked calmly at the Altean knight. "This should be a happy time, Cain. We'll have a continent held together by the tightest unity since Anri's time, and under leaders we know we can trust." Sedgar looked toward the mass of soldiers all around him. Each one of them looked as if they'd be ready on their feet if another war started right now.

Sedgar shook his head. "I'm a warrior, and I am familiar with war. At the same time, I assure you that I've grown sick of it. This is everything any sane man would want."

"I know all that. I feel the same." Cain said after a moment, but there was a struck chord of reservation in his voice. "I just feel like I've lost my place. I lost a good friend, who's supposedly still alive, just missing, and another good friend who willingly left the Altean army. I feel like I don't know what to do in the aftermath of the war, and I've lost most of the people I can talk to."

The Aurelian knight's eyes looked searchingly into Cain's face, and he nodded. "I suppose I understand that. You wouldn't be the first soldier who felt like he had lost his place after a war. Sometimes they become… hindsight casualties, of the war they survived." Sedgar raised a hand to stroke his chin. "I'm content with this peace, even if it means my finer skills won't get as much chance to shine. If the warriors and soldiers don't have much to do… well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

Cain shrugged. "Maybe. At this point I just want this day to be over."

Sedgar chuckled. "I can agree with that. Everything Archanea is involved in feels so stuffy. You wouldn't believe the ceremonies I now have to put up with every day. This, honestly, isn't so bad. You should have just seen how needless the celebration for Coyote's crowning had been." He craned his neck, not seeing any of the tossed flowers or ribbons that marked _that_ shallow and empty spectacle. If it had been anyone besides Coyote or Coyote's brother, he and the rest of Wolfguard would have left in disgust. Hopefully, on the interior of the fort, things were going well, and without needless flourish.

* * *

><p>Discussions went fast inside the building. The room was occupied only by the rulers, and the most trusted of vassals. Marth had Jagen standing beside him, while Hardin had Wolf, Mostyn had Ogma, and Minerva had Palla. Minerva had little role in the discussion, her mind was elsewhere, on her runaway sister, but she kept it to herself. Beyond nodding a few times at what others said to her, she had little part in the discussion.<p>

Palla took the chance to look at Wolf, who wore a grim expression, his effective trademark. He clearly had little taste for these formal occasions, and yet these sort of ceremonies were likely commonplace in Archanea. Palla was honestly happy to see Wolf, though the Aurelian didn't even look at her. If this had been a more casual moment she might have entertained the thought of asking Wolf to walk with her for a time, but he'd likely dourly decline.

A slight bit of frustration creased Caeda's forehead. She was standing near her father, and Ogma, rather then by Marth. Thanks to the wonders of political necessity, she was a representative of the Talys royal family and had to stand right here. Regardless, the talk was mercifully already starting to wrap up. Caeda had paid it little attention, giving more focus to Marth, even he looked somewhat bored. Everything discussed must have been even more predictable to him then it was to Caeda.

A declaration of alliance was slowly penned. An oath of friendship, and a decree that the allies would band together in times of trouble. An oath that hopefully would not be made flexible by politics and intrigue. One by one, every leader left their signature, and a seal, on the declaration.

That would be the signal for what everyone believed would be a new golden age for the continent. Friendly faces exchanged gestures of agreement and satisfaction. Nations that in past times gave each other no trouble and a wide berth were now legally holding hands. It should end up being the peace the continent so desperately needed.

Hardin, as the new King of the holy nation of Archanea, began to speak.

"There was once a time that the leaders of nations meeting like this, to exchange such goodwill, would have been just a dream. I would have disregarded it as an illusion and delusion myself. Yet, here we are, coming out of a war to join together, to create what will be the closest thing to continent-wide peace we've ever known." He looked at those before him, allies he fought alongside of. People who, in times past, he would have never suspected he would fight alongside of. "It doesn't mean that what lies before us is an easy path. Many of our nations are still in the process of rebuilding, and the expectations people expect us to live up to are harsh and heavy. Expectations that perhaps no single person can meet by themselves."

He looked at Minerva, the only conquering war hero who was ruling by herself. She was already distraught over what she had lost in the war, and… though he was too tactful to say it, he could not see Minerva's rule going well. Not at all. He could only hope that she could weather what she had gone through and emerge as a successful Queen.

"May this alliance never be sundered. By neither treachery or ill pursuits. If we keep our integrity and never fall to corruption, we can create a peace that will continue to last. I hope to be able to count on you… and I hope I never fail in your eyes either."

Hardin brought his hands together. "To better times, with hands held tight."

The meeting of leaders ended. They departed, taking their armies with them. The goodwill exuded from the leaders, and their armies, was overwhelming. Conquering heroes were being hailed as saviors as they readied for the trip back to their nations.

* * *

><p>Marth and Caeda returned to Castle Altea as the celebrations of the treaty ended at the fort. The celebrations began in Altea upon their return, and would likely be ongoing throughout the rest of the continent for some time to come. Caeda had a very jaded perception of it all, and while she placed much value in what the results of the treaty would be, she just felt… tired, right now.<p>

In the King's private chambers, they were both sitting on Marth's bed, and Marth's hand was on her shoulder. She turned to him and smiled as softly as she could, then took the new King into her arms. Caeda would have wanted to be able to share the bed with him, but tradition dictated that she couldn't do that until they were married. It was a struggle to withhold a sigh at that, but she didn't fight Altea's traditions. Even now, their legal joining seemed far off, even after they had both confessed to each other. A passionate embrace, and a kiss, which Caeda began to lean in to give, seemed to be the greatest physical gesture of affection they could share right now.

It was a moment devoid of words. Caeda was certain that they weren't even necessary. Not even the best selected words, spoken from the heart or chosen carefully over several weeks, would match the simple feeling of this moment. There had been so many times she dreaded that Marth would be killed in the war. The war was over, and Marth was safe, and if she had it her way, he would never put himself in a dangerous position again. She ached for this moment to last, but even as she tightened her arms, she knew it wouldn't.

As the embrace ended, Caeda sighed and stood up. She turned to Marth and brushed a hand across his forehead. The day they would truly share a room was, hopefully, not as far off as it seemed to be. Caeda still hadn't… completely convinced Elice that she was the one for Marth, but Elice at least respected Marth's choice.

"Good night, Marth." Caeda whispered. She turned and left the room. The halls of Castle Altea were larger then those of Castle Talys. Her father would have said that it would mean that Castle Altea would feel colder and icier, but Caeda actually felt like these halls were warmer then the ones of her old home. Any place she lived in with Marth would feel warm…

Her room in the castle was what used to be Marth's room prior to the betrayal, which proved to be the catalyst for his rising to answer fate's call. The room looked like it hadn't been touched since that day, though it remained almost free of dust or collected dirt. Rapiers, likely once used by Marth, lined the walls, Caeda had no familiarity with such weapons, she was only familiar with lances. Her Wing Spear was also kept in Castle Altea now, but not in this room.

She looked at the bed, and felt a sense of dread. Throughout the war, she had been plagued by visions of Marth's death. Over and over, each a different scenario, and each almost happened, but some twist ended up saving Marth. With the war over, such visions should have ended, she dearly hoped that they would…

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she placed herself under the covers. She slowly closed her eyes…

* * *

><p><em>Caeda inhaled quickly. At this point she knew it was a vision, but what lay before her was horrifying all the same. It was always the same. She wanted to know why she was cursed to see these things, even if seeing them allowed her to save and protect Marth.<em>

_This time, Marth was impaled on a lance. His corpse was hoisted into the air by a figure dressed in a regal red color. The clothing seemed… very Archanean. She focused on the face, wondering if she could identify it, perhaps it was some noble who thought that the death of Anri's bloodline was doing a favor for Archanea. Maybe someone who thought that the honor for slaying Medeus should have gone to a member of Archanea's nobility. She examined the face, beginning to recognize certain features… certain…_

_She gasped._

_It was _Hardin._ There could be no mistaking that face. At the same time, he looked… warped, manic. His eyes were red, more red then blood, his skin seemed to be the wrong shade, almost ash in tone, it was as if Hardin had turned into a demon. Or she was looking at a demon that had assumed Hardin's form._

_Behind Hardin were four figures, all female. Caeda was able to list them off, it was Lena, Maria, Nyna, and Elice. None of them seemed to care about Marth's death, not even Elice seemed to be bothered by her brother's death. Their eyes were cold and glazed, it was an unnatural and chilling sight._

_As Hardin moved, Caeda noticed something, it seemed like his movements were not his own. Her eyes traced skyward, and she saw a hooded figure, Hardin's movements seemed to conform to this figure's movements. Caeda couldn't see anything about this figure, she couldn't see anything within the hood. All she could see… was two small lights shimmering from within the darkness, where the figure's face should have been._

_The only other thing left to see was… something, behind the hooded figure. A figure as black as midnight with a vaguely draconic shape. She couldn't understand what she was seeing, all she knew was that this thing behind the hooded man was quite possibly the most frightening thing she had ever seen._

Caeda suddenly awoke, jumping up to a sitting position immediately. She breathed in, hard and slow. Her arms wrapped around her legs as she rocked herself. Suddenly, going back to sleep was an idea that unsettled her. As she sat there, fearing for Marth's safety, feeling her beating heart pining to burst out of her chest, she quietly told herself that Hardin would never strike Marth like that. Nor would Elice ever be so uncaring about her brother's death. Hardin… she could _trust_ Hardin. What she had just seen was too illogical, too unlikely. Hardin would never fall prey to such manipulation, and Elice would never reach the point where her brother's death would have held no meaning to her.

This dream… it had to have been just that. A dream.

* * *

><p>Hardin reclined on his throne. The Queen's throne to his left was vacant right now. Nyna had already retired to her private chambers for the night. Hardin closed his own eyes as if he was ready to fall to an irresistible slumber himself, but he remained very awake. His thoughts cycled through the recovery operation of Archanea. The nation was rebuilding quickly on all fronts, he reminded himself not to surrender to pride, but there could be no denying the fact that he had yet to make a single bad decision as King.<p>

The King of the holy nation of Archanea, leading it to better times. Four soldiers he could trust with his life, and a Queen that he loved, and loved him back. He still had many duties, but at the same time, life had turned out well for him. He could only hope that it would continue like this…

"It will only continue… if you continue to be willingly spoon-fed lies." A voice answered his private thoughts. Hardin's eyes snapped open. He looked around, there were no guards in the throne room at the moment, and the only figure his eyes settled on was a hooded figure in a shadowed corner.

Hardin tensed, he held Gradivus, but he did not expect an attack. If this person was an assassin, he would have not so foolishly revealed himself. He was, then, a messenger. One who had apparently slipped into the castle by his own means.

"Lies?" Hardin asked. He did not like the word this man used, who he couldn't even see the face of. Hardin felt as though he was recognizing the general build of this man from somewhere, but could not determine who it could be.

"The holy King, come from a nation of horses and plains. He has become a great and trusted King in remarkably little time, and holds the hand of a Queen who loves him. Undoubtedly, he will see Archanea to a shining future." The man's voice dripped with… not sarcasm, but he was clearly belittling the tale of Hardin.

"Fool." The hooded figure raised his head slightly, revealing none of his face, but allowing Hardin to see eyes glowing in the blackness within. "All you are, is a man too blind and daft to see the chains the good Bishop has bound you in. You know nothing of what you have willingly accepted being a pawn in. However…"

A low chuckle.

The hooded figure took an item out of his robe. A sphere of fair size, and as black as the interior of the man's hood. "This is an item of no insignificant ability, King Hardin. It has the power to allow a man to seek justice on those who have wronged him, those who have manipulated him. I could give it freely to you, and its power will lead you to the truth."

Hardin looked at the sphere, which seemed like an empty husk to him, then laughed. "So you're a merchant. I've seen many useless trinkets be described as being able to bestow great power on their owner." He looked away. "If it was so powerful, you'd use it for yourself. I'm not in the mood for games, nor your attempts at accusing anyone I know of ill intentions. I will give you once chance to leave peacefully."

The hooded man seemed at a loss of words for a moment. Only for a moment. He pulled the sphere back into his robes, and chuckled again. "As you wish, Archanean King." He emphasized Hardin's title, but not in a respectful manner. He made the title sound… undignified, and empty. "Some people need to discover deception on their own, not be lead to the first traces of the puppeteer's strings by another. Know this, King Hardin, what another person says is true, may not always be the whole story." The man started to turn away, Hardin did not see the smirk within the blackness of the hood. "I'd suggest you begin looking at your wife. Hard. You might be surprised by what you find. And when you do, I shall make my offer again…"

Hardin looked away for a moment, not even considering what the man was saying. He suddenly turned his head back to demand the man identify himself, but he was already gone, seemingly vanished into air. Hardin's hands strained on the armrests of the throne, and he wondered what thoughts had been planted in his head.

It was an uncharitable thought, to think of Nyna as some willing practitioners of ill play… no, no, more then uncharitable, it was idiocy. That man had been a raving lunatic, desperate to sell a worthless trinket. That was the simple truth.

He expected to feel put at ease. Instead, he could not quell a strange churning in his gut…

* * *

><p><strong>And, we're done.<strong>

**When I decided to change this from a novelization of FE11's prologue to a novelization of the entire game, I didn't quite grasp how big of a project I was undertaking. In the earlier days of the fic, I admit that I sometimes felt the temptation to drop the whole story, but I kept going on.**

**After this, I'm going back to one-shots. _Origin of The Prince of Light_ has given me new... ammunition, for one-shots. Prior to writing this I never would have considered scenarios like Roshea having a crush on Linde, and the like. I'm certainly not going to be embarking on any big projects like this anytime soon.**

**I _did_ have the intention of writing a FE12 novelization, and some things I wrote in this story were to be set ups for that. But I'm unlikely to write such a thing unless I can play the game myself, and seeing as hope for localization is virtually zero, and not being one to port or emulate, the chances of me novelizing FE12 are exeedingly low. A shame, I did have a MUxKatarina story arc already worked out. At least FE didn't go back to being Japan-only, with the announcement of FE13 being localized. A fact that did not satisfy me so much as... placate me. I've grown more enthusiastic for 13 then I expected I would.**

**Please review.**


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